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pandoramusicbox · 1 year

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Drowcember part 3

ok so these are

ok so here's prompt & , flora, fauna, and fungi. so here's me testing out some of the ideas for plants and fungi along with drawings of the three animals that represent the three different cities. here's what some of the

Prompt , flora and fauna- lots of flora and fauna can be found in the caves of the underground, all of the plants and mushrooms I showed here are edible and often used and eaten in the in the cities of the underworld. - Sivin Bloom; grows near the surface, it blooms white to golden and then will grow a sweet golden berry - Rensustall antenna mushroom - Broad leaf mushroom - stick twal - Underworld orchid - inkling lantern mushroom - ink drop glowshroom -stoopospors -lusmoss -Pomber -dinsm berries -drip leaves - top duster Fauna wise I drew the three animals that are the symbols of the different cites: the symbol of orai’ral, the dual Millapede symbol of Elgar, the cavern bats symbol of black chowl, the black cowled spider.

Prompt 7, lgbtq+ here we have a bit of a messy picture it shows two lgbtq cuples. the first (on the left) is a historical couple, one of the two brothers that established the dark fauth as what they are today, Calvive and his husband who is actually the founder of the black scorpion den, and is a Robin Hood like legendary figure in his own right. they are both legendary figures on their own, but their love story is a tale involving pirates, kidnapping, a darling rescue from a tower and a bunch of shenanigans. the other less exiting love story is That of lillygaurd the mayor of cavern bat city and her laquiam girlfriend. they just are a lovely and quiet couple with no intense story around them, but that's the way these two lesbians like it. - other things also in that photograph are a drawing of the lush caves.. still thinking about copying a bit of Minecraft's homework... and part of a sideways map of the continent of O’sten. the part of the map that has no labels on it what so ever is the one where most of these cave systems that make up the under world is located.

Prompt , some one else’s drow, so originally I was not intending on doing this prompt, mostly because the dark fauth are only baised on drow and are not drow in and of themselves in the dnd sense of the word, most of them are not even elves. But at some point or another that changed because I made some loose scetches of what other cities are like from some of the other designs floating around on the drowcember tag. So pictures 3&4 from left to right, here’s credit to who gave the inspiration for the design:

1. Dragon fish city, inspired by the elegant and flowing artwork of @j--mno-art. The moon crescent coat on thier oc xaston is so fun. As for the what I decided on for the people of the dragon fish city

- weird genetics as they accept anyone that needs a place.

- fashion tastes are the closest aligned with that of the taste of the surface world of that region.

- often wear familial tattoos or make up.

- lots and lots of pirates

- worship of the moons are commonplace

-live in a grotto by the sea so have easy access to the ocean and surface

2. The blood spot millipede, inspired by the rigged and delicate design of @linaswalaf their art is so technically excellent and the red and grey color schemes prevent in a lot of the drowcember art was so pleasant. I just adored the overall aesthetic that thier drow art had. As for the bloodspot millipedes, the city is called Teri

- fuzzy ears are common as there is a good deal of troll blood in their ancestry.

- are cavern dwellers and do not venture near the surface unless nessesary

- known to be excellent scholars and jewelers as they mine a lot of precious materials

- despite not going up to the surface often they have extensive trade with the surface world.

- well infamous as relentless and absolutely brutal warriors

- weavers of kelper cloth.

3. The black scorpions, inspired by the drow of @eaglewind13 the colorful drawings of hers was a delight to see. But this design was most heavily inspired from the family day prompt, so the information

- simple genetics, an interesting thing about the city of the black scorpion is that most of its citizens are not permanent residents. Instead a lot of the people of the city will travel around the surface world and then hide out in the city come winter or due to other circumstances

- grey extremities, because of the rather migratory nature of a lot of the cities citizens the magic radiation that has changed the appearance of the people of the other cities has not been able to as effective in the people of black scorpion, though people who’s family has been in and out of the city for generations tend to have grey fingers, toes, hands, legs, or freckles and thier hair tends to be pale or purple in color.

- they interact a lot with the surface world and the underworld

- den of thieves, the city is full of thieves and robbers who use it as their hide out from the law of the surface, the “other circumstances” mentioned earlier. The city can be a bit chaotic.

-they make some strong booze.

- large cape like coats are common so that no one is aware of what you are carrying. Along with spikes on shoes to help access and climb walls of the cave. Also honor among thieves and all that, there’s unofficial rules a person needs to follow in order to get to stay in the city as a hide out.

4. The violet visage spider, this one is inspired most hevely on the normal dnd idea of the drow. All the good all the bad. It’s that one city that the other cities tell you to avoid if you are traveling the underworld. (The inspiration for the design in this one is the same as the ghost spider so I’ll get to that later)

- eugenics, awful, but let’s go with it. So for this city they are very particular on what kind of people are welcome to live here, and much more selective on who can have a family. Raquesasha, vickor, the few eyes of the region, the allets, troll blooded and so on and so forth are not allowed, and if they are they live in very specific areas of the city and surrounding villages (they got dibs on the largest cave in the know underworld)

-dark/grey skin. They have a few very set looks.

-spider worship, so I’m thinking that backstory wise the reason that these people are down here is because they were a really big cult that had some views that didn’t mesh well with the popular religion and opinion of the surface world and the violet visage moved to the underworld as a result

-matriarchy. And a really controlling and violent one. So what I’m thinking is that there is a bunch of family house and that they are in constant competition with each other and such to rule over the largest swafts of city territory. Basic but workable.

- sexist hiarchy, why not let’s throw all the bad tropes in here, slavery why not, badly treated harems, shure. I can play it straight but I might try to do something different with them even so. But for now the violet visage spiders are the closest dark fauth to Dnd drow. At least those imaged in the 80s-2010s

5. Ghost spider city, the city is called elisk and is actually the oldest parts of the idea regarding the dark fauth, a group of people who lived in the caves of the continent of O’sten and have a relation ship with large spiders called ghost spiders, at some point someone commented on how they where like dnd drow and I decided to embrace the idea. Now I also stumbled upon the ideas of @fantasy-anatomy-analyst and her (?) blog by a comparison of her(?) drow to the drow of mainline dnd. And I have to say the monkey like drow are so neat and cool. Unfortunately the picture I drew for the inspiration I was taking is too close to the reference image for my liking. So apologies about that, I’m trying to make them more distinct so it’s less of a copy than it is inspiration.

-oldest of the underworld tribes, they and the silver centipedes are the decedents of the people who lived in the underworld before the two brothers claimed it as a place of the forgotten and forsaken.

-have the most adaptations to the caves as they have live here the longest, including motion sensitive whiskers/eyebrows and a keen sense of hearing, also their hair can glow slightly in the dark. Slightly short on average.

- cultivate spider silk, and some of it glows (because that is so cool)

- respectful to elders, matriarchal mothers, lots of sibling rivalry, some different gender roles and identities than those of the surface world.

- wear clan markings, either painted on or as tattoos.

Prompt 19, exploration, some bat cavern people exploring some tunnels Prompt 27 nobility. here's the different current leaders of the cities lillygaurd is the youthful leader of the cavern bats. youthful and youthful she's in her mid 30s, got a girlfriend and a city to be concerned about. she was a well known zordezoth in her youth, (zordezoths are robin hood or Zorro like figure, they are called Zozoths for short.) she was elected into her position ilnor, the hereditary leader of the black chowl caverns, she was chosen from a group of cannidents by the elder council, she is in her late middle age, also shown here is her daughter Rät, more on her later. Seven, the three armed king of the Duel millipede, he was born with three arms and lost his eye in the duke to become king. Prompt 22, half drow, this was also originally not a prompt I was planing to do as I simply did not know how to do that with the fauth as they are all technically humans sort of, and vickor are also considered fauth. the raquesasha on the other hand are not, they may live among the dark fauth, but they are jevels according to O’sten and O’ller (they are heaven kin in the kin system) but then I drew Rät, she is half dark fauth and half Raquesasha. the daughter of ilnor, and the raquesasha horek. she has a few of the abilities of raquesasha with the ability of teleportation and surounding manipulation with a plum colored core. only half of her mouth is sealed when closed. she is rather asymmetrical, but lacks the excess limbs of most raquesasha. though many raquesasha on the O’sten do not have these extra limbs. Prompt 15+16 villains and heros. the legend of the lek brothers. two sons of a witch, they lived centuries ago as slaves to the people of the cricket lands. They stayed together, through thick and thin. They eventually grew into a pair of rebellious trouble makers who stole a power and dangerous magical artifact called the fifth moon. They used their cunning and hard work they freed hundreds or thousands of slaves and moved them into the safety and freedom of the underworld. Then more impressively they stayed free against the might of the sun king. It’s much more of a legend these many years later than it is entirely historical events.

(I’ll finish this later but I want to upload in December)

#worldbuilding #pandoramusicbox #fantasy #worldbuildingculture #fantasy creature #fantasy species #fantasyland #drowcember #dnd drow #lgbtq #lgbtq characters #cw spiders #cw slavery

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tyetknot · 1 year

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King of the Witches - A Review | Chapter 2 - A Magic Childhood

King of the Witches Chapter Two – A Magic Childhood

Thank you for joining me once again as I examine June Johns’ King of the Witches, a biography of Alex Sanders, founder of Alexandrian Wicca. In previous installments we looked at the Introduction and chapter 1 – The Young Initiate which detailed Sanders’ physically impossible initiation into witchcraft at the hands of his maternal grandmother who, as I explained in the last entry of this series, died 19 years before he was born. If you think that sounds ridiculous and absurd, well, strap in because there’s lots more coming.

Chapter 2 starts out telling us that Sanders was a quick study in the secrets of witchcraft (allegedly he learned to read at the age of 3) which he was taught by his grandmother after school. He would go to see her, ostensibly for lessons in Welsh, but after half an hour or so the language lessons were put aside and mystical secrets became the subject instead. The book tells us about him learning about the ritual tools:

“The runic symbols dating back thousands of years when prophets cast sticks into the air and, from the pattern they made in landing, foretold the future; the inscriptions on the witches’ dagger – the kneeling man, the kneeling woman, the bare breasts touching, the arrow speeding through the wheel of life down into the pointed blade, ready to strike at its owner’s bidding; the miniature whip, a harmless substitute for the earlier weapon with which members were scourged, sometimes to the point of death; and the glistening crystal, which fascinated him most of all.”

Now, we know of course that evidence for the use of runes in divination is skimpy at best, but the part that interests me here is the fact that the symbols described here for the athame do not quite match the ones commonly used for this tool from the Greater Key of Solomon, because the symbol representing the Perfect Couple is absent from that symbol set – its earliest source that I can find in print is from Huson’s Mastering Witchcraft which came out in 1970, after which we see it suggested in a modern and Wicca-specific variety of these symbols composed by Doreen Valiente, which is described in the Farrar’s A Witches’ Bible / The Witches’ Way (published 1984). It may be that King of the Witches is the first printed reference to this variety of the athame symbols. If anyone has earlier sources for this, please let me know!

The symbols for the athame from Huson’s Mastering Witchcraft. The symbol for the Perfect Couple is third from the right.

The black-handled knife from the Mathers Key of Solomon. The relevant symbol is the first one on the second row of the handle, and is very plainly the ancestor of that shown by Huson, but the Farrars say that Gardner’s explanation of these is a serpent representing life and a sickle representing death.

The bit about people being scourged to the point of death is obviously hyperbole.

We are also told of Sanders that “He learnt by heart the meaningless chants in a long-dead language” and practiced scrying into a bowl of water with a drop of ink in it. He foresees the birth of his sister Patricia, although this can’t have been too much of a shocker as she was apparently born three months later.

There are stories of visions he has of things that will happen to his schoolmates and consequences for childish mischief – apparently no scrying required! In addition to learning fortune-telling his grandmother also teaches him some rudimental theology:

“His grandmother had explained that there was only one God but that he was known by many names. It was easy, too, to accept that the Virgin Mary was the moon goddess in disguise.” I wonder if the Virgin Mary is as keen on castration as the Moon Goddess mentioned at the end of the previous chapter.

Grandmother Bibby regales the young Sanders with stories of Robin Hood, who was actually a witch who “used his powers to direct money where it was most needed, and to escape his pursuers.” This is rather obviously lifted from Margaret Murray, as is the book’s mention of Joan of Arc, “who was really the Witch Queen of France and unashamedly declared it by her dress in an age when witches were the only females who would wear men’s clothing.” Nonsense, of course. Margaret Murray cast a long and dark shadow.

Fortunately if someone was captured and sentenced to death, there would always be other witches hidden in the crowds at an execution who had smuggled drugs into the prison (obviously lifted from Gardner, this) and if not then they would hypnotize the victim with their magic powers.

Sanders learns herbalism from his grandmother’s teachings and also learns what each plant looks like from pressed examples his grandmother had kept in a book from when she was a girl – we are expressly told that there was barely even any grass where Sanders grew up. We also learn that his grandmother had been a member of a coven of four witches who at night went to an unnamed island in an unnamed mountain lake (belonging to witches since the Middle Ages) do perform rituals.

Sanders performs his first full moon ritual at the age of nine (so 1935 or so) where he also receives and consecrates his athame in a ritual nearly identical to Gardner’s method. Afterward he performs some manner of “calling down the moon”.

Keeping this double life secret poses some difficulties and he has some trouble after boasting to his friends that his grandmother owned swords and that he knows magic. He also starts assisting his grandmother with the rituals she performs to help sick neighbours who asked for help, and copying his own Book of Shadows using hers as a master. This was allegedly copied into an exercise-book and in the impossible event of Sanders’ story being true, I wonder what his explanation for what happened to it was. Possibly he re-copied it in a more adult hand at a later age? Doing this apparently allows him to advance his powers (because of more training? Because he has the athame?) and his grandmother lets him start using the magic crystal. His first attempt at crystal-gazing grants him a horrible vision of things to come, which we know is the aftermath of German bombings during the Second World War.

We learn that his grandmother gave him the witch-name Verbius and that hers was Medea. Now, this may be a bit of actual truth in Sanders’ account, for diFisoa in Coin For The Ferryman (2010) notes “Medea later meets Alex Sanders and makes a decision to initiate him on March 9, 1962.". Medea’s identity is still uncertain, but the prevailing theory is that this was Pat Kopanski. Sanders is following Gardner’s example here, in that Gardner used the conveniently dead Dorothy Clutterbuck as a cover for his working-partner Dafo. In the book Sanders asks his grandmother what would have happened had he never encountered her in a magic circle and she is unsure – she also says her own mother never knew she was a witch and neither did her own children.

He conjures up spirit children to play with (?) and is warned that using magic for selfish means will end in the magician’s destruction. His grandmother uses her powers to help her neighbours without their knowing, although this directly contradicts an earlier page where she uses her powers at their request.

The chapter, like the last one, closes with more grim portents of sadness to come.

#Wicca #Witchcraft #Pagan #Alexandrian Wicca #Alexandrian Traditon #Alex Sanders #Traditonal Wicca #traditional witchcraft #King of the Witches #Review

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cartersharermerch · 10 months

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xtruss · 2 years

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Recession-Proof Your Life: What To Do To Protect Your Money Now

— By Diane Harris | 07/27/22 | Newsweek

The signs of financial gloom are seemingly everywhere. Inflation is now at its highest point in more than 40 years. Stocks officially fell into a bear market in June, dropping more than 20 percent from their peak in January. Bonds and cryptocurrency are bleeding red ink too, with Bitcoin losing over half of its value so far this year. And, as if all that weren't bad enough, economists are now warning in increasingly heated language about the rising risk of recession—a three-syllable term with four-letter-word implications.

By one common but unofficial definition of recession—two consecutive quarters of economic contraction—the downturn may already be upon us. Newly released government data shows the economy shrank by about an estimated annual rate of 0.9 percent percent during the three-month period that ended on June 30, following a 1.6 percent drop in GDP in the first quarter. But it is up to academics at the National Bureau of Economic Research, a private nonprofit group, to officially determine if the U.S. is in a recession, which it defines as a significant decline in economic activity that's spread across the economy and lasts more than a few months.

Predictions about if and when that official recession will arrive are all over the place. A recent paper by Federal Reserve economist Michael Kiley suggests there's a greater than 50 percent chance of a downturn between now and March. Meanwhile, Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley peg the probability of recession within a year at 30 percent, Deloitte forecasters put the likelihood at just 15 percent and BlackRock simply predicts "real economic pain" ahead as the Fed continues to raise interest rates (there have been three hikes already this year) in an effort to combat inflation.

"The biggest elephant in the room for investors, market experts and everyday individuals is the level of uncertainty about the future," says Lindsey Bell, chief markets and money strategist at Ally Invest. "It is clear parts of the economy are slowing and serious headwinds are present for both the market and the consumer. What is uncertain is which way we break from here. It is causing a lot of anxiety for everyone."

In fact, many people already feel like their personal economy is in the dumpster or could land there soon, whether an official recession is coming or not. In June, the University of Michigan's index of consumer sentiment hit the lowest level in its 70-year history and it has remained near those record lows ever since. Nearly six in 10 Americans in a recent BMO Harris Bank survey said that inflation was adversely affecting their finances and 42 percent said they are struggling to remain where they are financially, according to a Monmouth University poll in early July—an 18-point increase in just one year. And if recession does hit, a new MagnifyMoney survey found, more than two-thirds of Americans don't feel prepared.

Fortunately, there are steps you can take to reverse that sentiment—to ease the strain inflation is putting on your budget, protect your savings and your livelihood in case that feared recession hits and dampen the stress of money worries. Says financial planner Stephanie McCullough, founder of Sofia Financial, "The antidote to anxiety is action."

You just need to be sure they're the right actions. Here's what financial experts advise now.

Soothe Your Pain Points

Britt Spencer

For most Americans, the immediate squeeze they feel is from dramatically higher prices on everything from gas and food to rent, new homes and cars, not the threat of a possible recession that could be six or more months away. At an annualized rate of 9.1 percent, inflation is now at its highest point since 1981, and the basics have risen even more sharply: Gas prices, even with recent declines, are still up more than 40 percent over the past year; electricity is up 13.7 percent; groceries, 12.2 percent.

Small wonder then that nearly half of consumers in the University of Michigan survey blame inflation for eroding their standard of living. And 54 percent of the respondents in the Monmouth University poll cited inflation, gas prices and everyday bills like groceries as their family's biggest worry right now, crushing concerns over abortion and reproductive rights, guns, crime and climate change, despite the record heat wave sweeping much of the U.S. and Europe.

What to do? Some 62 percent of Americans say they're cutting back on spending, according to MagnifyMoney—by far, the most popular step consumers are taking to prepare for recession and helpful in curbing your personal inflation rate too. That's smart, but there's a lot more you can do to lower your cost of living in these inflationary times.

Use Hacks to Save ▸ Creative workarounds for the everyday expenses that have shot up the most can save you hundreds, often thousands, of dollars a year.

Take gas, for instance. Use a gas-station tracker such as GasBuddy to identify the lowest prices at the pump in your area; AAA and GPS services like Waze and Google Maps have gas trackers on their apps as well. Cutting down on aggressive driving—rapid acceleration, high cruising speed and braking sharply—can cut gas consumption and costs by a third or more, according to real-world tests by Edmunds.com last year. Paying in cash or, alternatively, with a rewards credit card from a gas chain you typically frequent can also save a lot of money. If you're a Costco member, for instance, you'll get 4 percent back on the price of already cheaper-than-average gas from its stations via Citi's Costco Anywhere Visa, though you'll probably have to contend with long lines to fill up.

Grocery prices got you down? At the supermarket, favor your inner vegan: Fruit and vegetable prices are "only" up around 8 percent over the past year, vs. about 12 percent for meat, poultry, fish and eggs and 13.5 percent for dairy products.

How to Beat the Highest Price Hikes On Food, Clothing, Travel, Cars, MoreREAD MORE How to Beat the Highest Price Hikes On Food, Clothing, Travel, Cars, More

Get a Little Payback ▸ As long as you can pay your balance in full every month, cash-back rewards cards can be a smart way to retrieve some of the extra money you're spending due to inflation. A top pick is Blue Cash Preferred from American Express, which gives you 6 percent back on groceries, up to $6,000 a year (1 percent after that), 6 percent on streaming services and 3 percent on gas. The card has a $95 annual fee but a typical family might save $400 a year on groceries and gas alone, calculates senior industry analyst Ted Rossman of Bankrate.com.

Among no-fee cards, Wells Fargo Active Cash and Citi Double Cash offer a flat 2 percent back on everything you charge. Rossman also recommends using shopping portals for extra savings: Cardholders often get an extra 3 to 5 percent back via Shop Through Chase, he says, and third-party portals like Rakuten can offer good discounts too.

Pay Off the Plastic ▸ The Fed's recent and likely future rate hikes, while key to its inflation-fighting strategy, are making carrying credit card debt even more expensive, which puts an extra strain on households already struggling to keep up with inflation. According to LendingTree, the average rate on cards accruing interest was 16.65 percent in the first quarter of the year and the average on new offers is 20.82 percent, the highest rate since it began tracking new-offer rates in 2018.

To pay off high-interest debt faster, LendingTree chief credit analyst Matt Schulz recommends transferring any balances you have—roughly four in 10 Americans don't pay off their bill in full every month—to a balance transfer card with a long zero-percent interest period (at least 15 months) and reasonable fees (3 percent of the amount you're transferring or less). Among the best offers currently: Wells Fargo Reflect, which has an interest-free period up to 21 months and Citi Double Cash, up to 18 months.

You better move fast, though. As interest rates continue to rise, Schulz believes balance transfer offers will start to shrivel up. "It will get harder for banks to justify these deals, leading to shorter zero-percent introductory periods and higher transfer fees," he says.

Stay in the Game

Britt Spencer

Stocks recorded their worst first six months of a year since 1970 in 2022. July has been no picnic either—a roller coaster of big ups and downs that has left many investors feeling a little nauseous and anxious about what comes next.

Tempted to get off the ride? Don't do it. The history of the market shows that gains tend to come in short, sharp, unpredictable spurts, and the biggest advances frequently come within days of the worst declines. Missing just a few of those great days over decades of investing can cost you dearly, according to an analysis of stock market performance from 2002 to the start of 2022 by J.P. Morgan Asset Management. Missing stocks' 10 best days over that 20-year period cut returns by more than half, while missing the 40 best days—out of a total of 5,000 or so trading days—resulted in actually losing money.

The moral of the story, as the old New York Lottery slogan said: You gotta be in it to win it. But there are steps you can take to protect yourself from the worst losses while positioning yourself for solid gains when the market eventually recovers—you don't have to simply ride the wave.

Fix Your Mix ▸ With stocks, bonds and crypto all down sharply this year, there's been almost no place for investors to hide. That doesn't mean, though, that the basic advice to diversify your investments among different kind of assets—the old don't-put-all-you-eggs-in-one-basket approach—no longer holds true. "The S&P 500 was down 20 percent through June 30, but a diversified portfolio holding different types of stocks and bonds was only down 14.6 percent," McCullough says. "Down 14 percent sucks, but it's better than down 20. It means diversification is actually working."

The secret is knowing the role each asset plays in your investment account, and adjusting the percentage you hold of each one to reflect your personal appetite for risk and how much time you have before you'll need this money. Bell suggests thinking about the various investment classes this way: "Stocks are for long-term appreciation, bonds are for stabilization and crypto is for fun money or long-shot bets. Each can have a place."

In general, the younger you are, the greater the percentage of higher-risk, potentially higher-return investments you want to hold in your account. One rough rule of thumb is to subtract your age from 120 or 110 to land on an appropriate percentage for stocks—if you're, say, 40, you'd keep 70 to 80 percent of your investment money in stocks, and most or all of the rest in bonds. Or you can invest through a target date fund, which gives you a pre-mixed portfolio of stocks, bonds and other assets based on the year you're likely to retire. As you get closer to your "target date," the fund automatically shifts more of your money into more stable investments.

Act Your Age ▸ Time is, in fact, the greatest asset younger investors have, which is why financial advisors urge them to try to find a way to increase contributions to their 401(k) plans now. Bump up the percentage you're putting in at least to the maximum your company will match and a little beyond that if you can. "If you're early in your career, these down markets are your friend, they're the opportunity to put more money to work, to buy more shares for the same amount of money as when things were higher," says Christine Benz, director of personal finance at Morningstar, in a video discussing bear-market strategies on the company's YouTube channel. "They're really beneficial for you even though it might not feel like it at the time."

For older investors who are within five years or so of retirement or who have already left the workforce, the goal should instead be to avoid tapping retirement accounts for as long as possible or to minimize withdrawals. That buys time for your investments to recover from their recent thrashing. Maybe you delay leaving your job for another year beyond your intended quit date, or do some freelance work or take a part-time job to supplement your income so you don't need to tap as much from savings.

Look for Small Wins ▸ One of the best investment deals lately: government-issued inflation-protected savings bonds, or I-bonds. The bonds are guaranteed to pay 9.62 percent interest for the first six months, and the rate is adjusted twice a year to keep up with inflation—a sweet proposition at a time when most other assets are losing money. Says Bell, "It's hard to find other investments that can help fight against inflation to this extent."

Still, there are caveats. You can't redeem the bonds for at least a year and if you cash in before five years, you'll forfeit three months' interest. You can only buy $10,000 worth ($20,000 for a married couple) and you need to purchase the bonds through the government's TreasuryDirect website, a sometimes cumbersome and time-consuming process.

Pump Up Your Savings

Britt Spencer

A possible recession is the very definition of a financial emergency, yet with the high price of everything these days, it's tough to find extra cash to put aside for that proverbial rainy day—let alone save enough to cover at least six months of living expenses, as financial advisors recommend.

Still, it's important to try to tuck away whatever you can. Nearly 60 percent of adults surveyed by Bankrate last month said they were concerned about the amount they have in emergency savings, a 10-point rise from last year, and one in four has no emergency fund at all. You're going to need that cushion if the job market starts to soften and your income takes a hit or you're laid off. "Even one month of expenses saved is better than nothing," says Chris Browning, host of the Popcorn Finance podcast.

Here's how to get started.

Put Saving on Autopilot ▸ Don't wait until the end of the month to see how much cash you have left to put into emergency savings (hint: there probably won't be any). Instead, take it off the top, designating a set amount to go into your emergency savings account every time you get paid via direct deposit (most employers allow you to split your paycheck between two or more accounts) via a bank, brokerage or money-management app like Qapital. Qapital also has a few quirky preset rules you can use to add a few extra dollars to your account every time, say, you go to the gym or buy coffee from your favorite java joint.

Most people find they automatically adjust their spending to the amount they have available in their checking or money market account. But if you find yourself falling short and unable to pay your regular monthly bills, you can simply lower the amount you've designated to go into emergency savings or suspend contributions until you're flush again.

Earn a Little Extra ▸ One silver lining to the recent interest rate hikes by the Fed: Yields on savings accounts are finally climbing out of the basement level of the past few years.

Still, don't settle for whatever rate your bank is offering to pay on your emergency stash. While the average yield on FDIC-insured savings and money market accounts is still a barely there 0.1 percent, according to Bankrate, you can earn 10 to 15 times that amount or more by shopping around. Among the institutions recently offering highly competitive rates on savings accounts, with minimum balance requirements of $1 or less to earn top payouts, Bankrate reports: New York Community Bank's My Banking Direct, yielding 2.02 percent; CIT Bank, 1.65 percent; and SoFi, 1.5 percent.

Take Some Credit ▸ If you've owned your home for a while, chances are you've built up a fair amount of equity, given the 45 percent average rise in housing prices over the past three years. Taking out a home equity line of credit that you can tap as needed if times get tough can be a good backup to your emergency fund, especially if saving enough to cover the recommended six months of living expenses is out of reach.

The time to secure the line is now, before a recession hits; once the economy goes south, banks become more reluctant to approve loans or may limit how much you can borrow. And if you are laid off or your income drops, the chances that you'll be rejected for a HELOC skyrocket, no much how much equity you have.

Warm Up Your Network

Britt Spencer

Right now, the job market is still a very bright spot in an otherwise gloomy economy, with historically low unemployment and open positions outstripping the number of workers available to fill them. But jobs are a lagging economic indicator; an uptick in unemployment is typically one of the last developments to presage a downturn, so don't get too comfortable.

AnnElizabeth Konkel, a senior economist at Indeed Hiring Lab, sees mixed signals in the labor market—indications of ongoing strength as well as "signs of temperance." On the plus side, employer demand for workers form her vantage post at Indeed remains robust, with job postings on the site recently at 54 percent above their pre-pandemic level. Meanwhile, payrolls have grown by an average of 400,000 jobs a month over the past three months and nominal wage growth remains strong.

On the negative side, Konkel notes, there have been a variety of announcements lately about layoffs and hiring freezes—Tesla, Coinbase, J.P. Morgan Chase and Netflix among them—particularly in the tech sector. The biggest outstanding question, in Konkel's view and that of many other economists, is whether the Federal Reserve can manage a soft landing. "Tightening of monetary policy [to fight inflation] is like threading a needle," she notes. "How the Federal Reserve proceeds will impact what we see in the labor market."

There is, of course, nothing you can do about the Fed, which this week raised interest rates by an unusually large three-quarters of a percentage point, its fourth increase of the year so far—and signaled that the move is unlikely to be its last rate hike of the year. But you can take steps to make your current job more secure and position yourself to find new work quickly if a recession develops and your income takes a hit or your position is eliminated.

"Hiring still occurs in down markets," says career coach Caroline Ceniza-Levine, founder of the Dream Career Club. "People who leave need to be replaced, new projects need to be staffed."

Reach Out and Touch Someone ▸ Still working remotely or only venturing into the office on rare occasions? Make an effort to interact more with colleagues in real life, both at work and socially, if appropriate. Says Ceniza-Levine, "Face time is important because it adds another dimension to relationship-building."

If going back to a physical work setting isn't feasible because you live in a different location or have health-safety concerns, make an extra effort to build relationships in other ways with your boss, colleagues and senior leaders. This means more frequent reporting on your work results and the status of your projects, and might include social Zooms so you can have friendly interactions. "People want to like who they work with," says Ceniza-Levine. "Likability matters when companies make decisions on who to keep during a layoff."

Focus on Measurable Results ▸ Companies will use bad news about the economy to gain back the advantage they lost during the Great Resignation, says Ceniza-Levine, who believes employers may soon start to negotiate harder on salary and raises and be pickier about who they hire and retain because they think they can be.

Counter that burgeoning trend by driving home what a valuable employee you are, and back that up in ways that can be quantified. "Make your boss look good," says Ceniza-Levine. "Check in with them to ensure you're working on the projects that matter. Show a positive, can-do attitude."

Kick Your Job Search Into Higher Gear ▸ If you're not working now, double down on your search; you want to get hired before more layoffs occur and candidates flood the market. Add temp and consulting work to your radar, suggests Ceniza-Levine, and be visible with your connections.

Also rekindle old connections where you might have fallen out of touch. Say hello and share what you're seeing in the market. She says, "Don't make every outreach about your job search—that's annoying and makes the outreach transactional."

Instead, make the interaction as much or more about the person you're reaching out to as it is about you. Among Ceniza-Levine's tips: Share leads that might fit the other person; they'll be flattered you thought of them. Make introductions to recruiters, as appropriate; both the recruiter and the person you refer will see you as a connector. And when you do talk about yourself, make the interaction about more than just your job search—share what you're reading, any consulting (even pro bono) that you're doing, ideas you have.

Cultivate Your Inner Zen

Britt Spencer

It's hard not to be anxious about your finances now, with a constant barrage of news about one or the other worrisome development in the economy and constant reminders of the personal impact of inflation and falling financial markets every time you fill up at the pump, check out at the grocery store or look at the balance on your 401(k).

That mindset, however, is not only bad for your mental health; it can prompt you to make poor decisions about your money, if clear, long-term thinking gets clouded by the emotions of the moment. "When we are emotionally charged we become rationally challenged and we are wired to do everything wrong when it comes to money," says financial psychologist Brad Klontz, author of Mind Over Money: Overcoming the Money Disorders That Threaten Our Financial Health. "Typically our financial situation won't kill us but chronic financial stress can."

Here are some tips for keeping cool when the financial hysteria around you is threatening to heat up.

Adjust Your Point of View ▸ Instead of focusing on what's happening now or could happen in the economy and your own financial life over the next few months, develop a longer-term point of view. Take the stock market's recent swoon, for example. Says Klontz, "If you are a long-term investor you just hit a pothole. If you have a short-term view you just fell off of a cliff."

How do you keep the economic turmoil in perspective? Check the facts. Browning of the Popcorn Finance podcast points out that there have been 12 recessions since 1948. Since the '90s, the typical downturn has lasted less than a year and the period of economic growth that always follows has lasted roughly eight years on average. Not counting 2022, there have been 14 bear markets since 1947 that range anywhere from one month to over a year and a half. But the growth in the stock market that occurs after a bear market is almost always much greater than the drop itself.

For younger people especially, Browning says, "The money that you're investing into a 401(k) won't be needed for decades and then needs to last for decades of retirement. The temporary downturns in the stock market today will have no impact on you in the long run."

Think Through the Worst-Case Scenario ▸ Think of all the bad things that could happen in your life if the economy goes south and how you would handle them, mentally working through possible solutions. If stocks don't bounce back for a few years and you're close to retirement, could you work a year or two longer to delay tapping your savings and give your account more time to bounce back? If you're laid off, how much could you trim your budget? If you can't cut back enough to cover your basic bills, would you have to sell your house and downsize to something smaller or move in temporarily with your parents or in-laws?

Klontz says that rather than heightening your anxiety, this "what-if" exercise helps alleviate it, as you develop a longer-term perspective and are prepared with a workable plan if the bad stuff actually happens. He says, "Typically you will land on a temporary uncomfortable setback but something that is non-life threatening and that you can bounce back from."

Tune Out the Noise ▸ Once you've taken the steps you can to protect yourself from whatever bad economic developments could hurt you, put your blinders on. Shut off CNBC and Fox Business News for a while, take a walk, read a book or stream a comedy to distract yourself the next time the market has a meltdown or the government releases another worrisome stat and avoid checking your 401(k) balance for the next several months at least.

As former stock trader turned "fin-fluencer" Vivian Tu, a.k.a. Your Rich BFF, recently told her 1.6 million followers on TikTok: "You will hurt your own feelings checking your investments right now. Don't do it."

That's sound advice for anyone right now. Focus on what you can do, not on what you can't control. And if a recession doesn't materialize anytime soon, all your preplanning—building your emergency fund and retirement savings, taming your personal inflation rate, shoring up your professional network and developing a long-term perspective—will still serve you and your family well.

That's the thing about smart financial planning: It works in good economic times and bad.

— Additional reporting by Kerri Anne Renzulli

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thecatsreaderslibrary · 3 years

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Stellar Book Reviews Including a 5-Star Awarded Readers Favorite Review For Author, Marilyn L. Davis & Her New Book "Finding North: A Journey From Addict to Advocate". . .

Stellar Book Reviews Including a 5-Star Awarded Readers Favorite Review For Author, Marilyn L. Davis & Her New Book “Finding North: A Journey From Addict to Advocate”. . .

Written by Author Marilyn Davis Finding North:A Journey from Addict to Advocateby Marilyn L. DavisNon-Fiction – Memoir 256 PagesReviewed on 04/10/2021 ~ Reviewed by Mamta Madhavan for Readers’ Favorite Finding North: A Journey from Addict to Advocate by Marilyn L Davis takes readers on a journey of the author’s life. Marilyn speaks about addiction and how easy it was to experiment with her…

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#5-Stars #Author Marilyn L Davis #Available on Amazon #Award Winning Blogs #Book Reviews #Find North A Memoir #Founder Of Two Drops Of Ink #Read Free KU #Readers Favorite #Recovery Blog From Addict 2 Advocate #Writer

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tenderlyrenjun · 3 years

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[9:15 am]

(feat. Mark)

You barge into Renjun’s private study, pushing the classificatory Azure Dragon emblem on the push plate so violently that the doors clammor deafeningly against the walls they hit. The force, even quicker, drives the doors to shut before the head guard, Mark, can follow you in, even with his vampiric speed. Surprisingly, the doors remain intact, likely due to the fiberglass material. But Mark still enters, half a second after you, bowing apologetically to Renjun who reads a sales and revenue report.

“What the hell is this?” you demand, waving a letter with Jaemin’s government seal stamped prominently contrasted against the black-inked characters and tinted white parchment.

Renjun gives you a momentary look until returning to his deep red wine and business report. And neither of you spare a glance at Mark, who immediately assesses the entire room, looking underneath the desk, leaning against the wall to scan the garden outside through the curtains, taking out his ear piece to listen for the slightest of movements, etc. etc.

“I don’t know,” Renjun answers, eyes glossing over the drop in profit, trying to figure out where it comes from.

Every couple of decades, the two of you obtain successive internships at your various companies, under the guise of nepotism, usually to oversee any errors or the general income. And with Renjun having suggested attending college a few months back, this internship with your tech company seemed to just fit the whole college students persona, particularly your A accompanying that computer class Renjun asked you to take. Plus, he wanted to review why the stocks have been going down, especially since your companies are privately owned and you two, the owners, are well-hidden from the public. The only people, prior to your new reemergence into the 21st century, who saw you were other ancient vampires and the members of your coven - Kun, Aurora, Mark, Jiu, Woosung, in addition to the security detail turned and operated by Mark.

“It’s Jaemin’s signature,” you state obviously, crinkling the parchment louder in the air before pulling it in front of you again to reread the message.

“Mhmm,” Renjun hums, already having gathered that, simultaneous with Mark’s reaction: a whispered Oh.

Both you and Renjun turn to Mark, who finished surveying the area. Your vampire hearings amplified the exclamation, so you two raise matching eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Mark excuses himself formally, then resumes the composure of a head guard again: shoulders squared, head up, position alert. He stares blankly at the wall but receives challenging stares ordering a real answer. “I just,” he concedes to his founders, “thought it was something more zealous, or, even, outrageous, like an ex-lover or something.”

You eyebrow raises further, and Renjun closes his file, setting his feet firmly on the ground. It is ... entertaining when vampires make passing comments about your intense relationship - even Jaemin mentioned that he had not seen either of you separated in all 700 years that you three have been friends. Scarcely anyone knows about Renjun’s earlier indiscretion, and you would like to keep it this way, especially if the future unfolds as Doyoung’s right hand predicts it to. The thought paints an intense stare on your face that almost scares Mark.

“We’re both two and a half millennia old,” Renjun reveals, something he rarely admits to people and something that Mark largely underestimated, given by the way his eyes widen and body stiffens. Renjun turns to you, smirking. “Do people always assume that we are first loves?” You glare at him, not wanting to answer, especially after the incident Mark unintentionally brought up. Renjun drops the corners of his lips, right, then reclines in his chaise longue, resuming his casual position crossing his ankle over his knee. “Not that it matters, of course, because you are my only love.”

“And you are my last,” you respond equally.

“What did Jaemin sign?” Mark interjects, not wanting to be caught in yet another lover’s ... to be honest, he cannot describe the intensity; he just knows that he does not want to be in the middle of it again.

“A declaration of war,” you announce, tossing the opened envelope into Renjun’s lap.

Renjun slowly sits up again, then closes his file and chugs the last of his blood, in case of a surprise attack. Younger vampires ... they tend to be more dramatic, and he would not hold it against them if they waited for this exact moment to make a move and jump all three of you at once. So, he needs the last of the blood to have more than enough strength to fight them off.

“Against who though?” Mark asks, making sure to emphasize his presence. Sometimes, you and Renjun slip into that fabled telepathy supposedly shared by Mates (it is fake; you two just know each other well), and as head guard, he needs the information to make a protection plan for the entire coven.

But to his surprise, you answer, “I don’t know,” and rub your forehead. You walk toward Renjun, rereading the message over his shoulder. “Some faction in North America, I assume, based on all the tensions both politically and economically - what with one Lee clans slaughtering an entire town to occupy it.” You sigh, then realize how callous the sentence sounded and look up at Mark, who shared that surname in his mortal life. “Sorry, Mark.”

“Not a problem,” he amends, “Likely no relation.” He triangulates in front of Renjun to watch your back in case a vampire appears from the large mirror at your blind spot. “Was it one of the newer factions?”

Still standing, you exhale loudly through your entire chest (to give yourself a pause to think, to remember), then step a bit further from Renjun, mimicking Mark’s protocol: creating a triangle position amongst the three of you. You would honestly love to sit with Renjun, like all those nights lounging on a couch, studying or watching TV, but the both of you need to be as alert as Mark always is, if not more; the responsibility of protecting your newly rebuilt coven weighing heavily. It took centuries after the last war just to be able to trust other vampires into your hours, and even more decades to do extremely thorough background checks on those who live with you now. At the beginning of the war, assassins infiltrated your manor at your weakest point and Renjun had to rescue you from Yeon’s kidnapping and extortion attempt (possibly even murder, if Renjun had been too late). That was when you lost Xiaojun, Mark’s predecessor who was sire bonded to you. Then, more spies, from all sides, from all covens, absolutely decimated your numbers until only you and Renjun remained. Renjun, too, barely managed during the war, to keep you safe. Luckily, his special compulsion ability was able to order vampires away, undermining their sire bonds to defy their traitorous leaders. He currently keeps this gift secret, only using it when necessary (or as a party trick with his closest friends), though it does still come out subconsciously, hence why his first impressions are always so great.

You sigh again. “Newer vampires don’t know just how many of us there are, or how long we have been around. Aurora is barely 35, and prior to joining us, she was not aware of Jaemin or the Laws. So, of course they have to be a new faction. An arrogant new faction, likely affiliated with one of the Italian clans who want ultimate power again and for the capital to return to Volterra [Italy] again.”

“Rumor has it that Jaemin’s Mate even returned to Korea after drifting through North America,” Renjun gossips. You are always surprised to hear about Jaemin’s Mate, because while he has not been off the compound in 90 years, his Mate is scarcely ever with him. It reminds you how horrible that century without Renjun was; you cannot fathom wanting to be separated for more than a few days. “Perhaps there is some benefit to his Mate having been gone; Jaemin might have more to say than what he send.”

“What did Jaemin want?” Mark asks, as the only person in the room who has not read the letter.

“For us to pledge allegiance,” Renjun answers before you do, also recalling that darkest time when you perfected your poison techniques on treasonists. He deadpans and crumples the letter into a ball, feeling your anger rise with Jaemin’s words. You give Renjun a look, Jaemin cannnot be serious, right? But Renjun shakes his head, unsure; Jaemin is a fan of loyalty, even more than you, so neither of you know what this invitation means - you will have to schedule another meeting with him.

“Does he not remember our commitment to neutrality?” you seethe, balling your hands into fists like the ball, shaking your head with Renjun but in disbelief.

“Does he want to absorb us as well?” Mark asks more realitistcally than you. “Our vampires are highly trained and over half possess special abilities, so -”

“Jaemin is not Doyoung,” you seethe again, interrupting Mark before he can accuse Jaemin of one of the highest crimes (passed into law by Jaemin himself): stalking vampires into a coven. It rose into law after one New Year in the early 19th century when too many newly turned 20-year olds emerged as vampires. Covens grew; entire high school classrooms slaughtered; police stations were at an all time high for corruption as leaders bribed them to turn the other way. The law had been coming for a long time, especially since this is how Doyoung acquired all of his member. Doyoung only recruited leaders with special abilities; hence his left hand atrium, a vampire with subjective precognition born under a chancellor following the Dark Ages, and his right hand (Jeno) atrium, a prince, a former East Palace in the years preceding the Dark Ages, with the ability to recognize any relationship and induce one, though only if he is present. But that holiday was the final deciding factor.

“No,” Renjun agrees, his voice rising to command the room. “But do not forget, love. We wanted Doyoung to rule as well.” You share a lot of qualities with Doyoung, hence why you are old friends, but Jaemin is the current leader and a good one at that too.

“Not at the cost of war.”

“So what do we do?” Mark asks, looking between the two of you for a direction before he creates a plan. “How do we avoid the war?”

Renjun glances at the letter. Jaemin was very firm and strict. So he sighs, resigning in doubt.

“We don’t.”

#renjun #huang renjun #nct #nct renjun #renjun timestamps #renjun imagines #renjun x reader #nct x reader #nct timestamps #nct blurbs #nct fluff #nct angst #renjun fluff #vampire au #nct mark

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getgoodlol · 3 years

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An Unwelcome Meeting

part 3 of my Bdubs' Betrayal fanfic!

heyo! disclaimer before u read; i never claimed to be good at writing. this is purely for fun! i am aware that the hermits are all great people and they're all good friends. i am just playing on the roleplay and the characters they play within the storyline.

please do not tag this as ship. thank you and enjoy!

Grian rocked back and fourth on his feet, his hand in an L shape resting on his chin. His eyes were narrowed, staring at one of the chests in the Barge. He was pondering a price change on dirt; it wasn't selling particularly well. However, there were a few diamonds in the chest, so he took them out and eagerly went to his profit box to deposit his earnings.

Upon opening it, he noticed a thin leather book placed gingerly inside. He recognized it immediately- it had once graced his hands, after all. He dropped the diamonds carelessly, now focused on the presumed response from Bdubs. Grian gripped the book with two hands, excitement pulsing through him. A risky offer was always a rush.

He closed the shulker with his gaze still glued to the book. Swiftly, he opened it and flipped past his note. A few pages in, he noticed more writing that looked shaky and wobbly.

Grian scoffed with a smirk. He tried real hard to make it secret, didn't he?

He read each line with an eyebrow raised. Seemed as though Bdubs had turned him down. He was in denial, of course- nobody would want to be a mayor's doormat.

Then his eyes grazed the final scentence. The word accept looked like it was written slowly, the ink was heavier and it was smudged a little bit.

The pure excitement that beamed on Grian's face was priceless. Luckily there were no shoppers to be blinded at the time.

Quickly, he whispered a message in chat to Bdubs. Perhaps he could've sent everything like this from the start. That wouldn't have been as dramatic, though.

Hey Bdubs. Got your message. Meet me at Stress' potion shop.

Almost immediately, he got a response.

Alright, G. Scar's not around, is he?

Grian sighed. So what if he is? You won't get caught. And no, he's not even online.

A few minutes later, Bdubs popped into view, his elytra making a shadow across the shopping district. He folded his wings and landed not-so-gracefully in front of Grian with a nervous grin on his face.

Grian let the previous goofy excitement die down within him. Despite it all, this was still serious, at least for Bdubs. He expected the Mycelium Resistance to be light hearted, but he had to admit, Scar was taking advantage of his power quite ruthlessly. Although G's attitude was normally jokey, he felt maybe he should tone it down for now. A little bit.

Bdubs opened his mouth to speak- man, when did he ever stop rambling? Grian shushed him before he could say anything. The base had to be kept a secret away from all the other Hermits.

Swiftly, Grian showed him the way in through the shulker box.

"Ohhhhhh," Bdubs murmured, earning a glare.

Once they were inside, Grian led the newcomer to the table and had him sit down. "How does it feel?"

"Different," Bdubs sat awkwardly, clearly feeling out of place.

"Different as in: you're not literally sat on the floor."

"I guess you could say that."

He wasn't talking as much now. Had Grian been too harsh?

"I'm gonna call the other guys, okay? I haven't told them I recruited you."

Visible fear washed over the taller man's face. "I'm the mayor's second in command. There's no way they trust me."

"And I'm Mother Spore, founder of the resistance. What difference does it make? If you really care about the environment, you'll make them trust you. Plus, they trust me. And I recruited you."

"...M'kay. You'll introduce me?"

Grian nodded. He was afraid he was going to fast, but he needed to act quickly. He knew this really wasn't about the environment to Bdubs, of course it wasn't!

It really wasn't to him, either. It was about the principal.

Grian pressed the button with a firm press, eyes staying on Bdubs. His gaze was aligned with the table in front of him

"Y'know, G, you did a really great job with this table, the whole place is really cool! You say you're not great at interiors, b-"

Though Grian would have loved to sit and gloat about his builds, Bdubs' scentence was cut short by six ender-porters being activated, and six servermates finding their way into their respective chairs, looking frazzled.

"Grian?? Did you call this meeting?" Impulse asked, fixing his hair. He looked like he had been working on something.

Most of them did; Beef was covered in paint. Or blood. Could have been blood, knowing VintageBeef, but Grian assumed he was working on another album cover.

Stress' hair was full of nether-y bits, twigs, even flowers that were seperate from her regular head piece. She must've been working on her base.

Jevin was holding endstone, which was a surprise to no one.

Ren was quickly putting on his lab coat, brushing off ash from his shoulders.

Etho looked unfazed, but curious, his eyes locked on the new member.

Bdubs, on the other hand, sat quietly, eyes wide. He didn't really know where to rest his gaze, his pupils darting back and fourth. His neatly folded hands came undone, his fingers tapping on his palms.

"Yes," Grian answered simply, "Don't worry, everyone, everything is fine."

Before Grian could explain further, Etho pointed at Bdubs. "Uh, Grian? You sure everything is fine?"

Impulse gasped. "An infiltrator? We have to get out of here!"

Anxious chatter broke out amongst the crowd, everyone starting to get up from their seats. Bdubs looked over at Grian with a bewildered face.

"Everyone! Sit down! He's supposed to be here."

Everyone obeyed him. He held back a smile; it was nice to be in charge.

"So you've captured him, then?" Jevin asked, folding his arms.

"He doesn't look very captured..." Stress pointed out.

"No, I've recruited him."

Silence blanketed the table.

After a moment, Grian continued. "Bdubs has had a change of heart. He's on our side now."

Everyone exchanged looks.

"... He's literally Scar's second hand." Impulse gestured towards the silent man at the foot of the table.

"His lackey," Said Beef, leaning on the table.

"Hey! Am not!" Bdubs exclaimed defensively.

"Bdubs," Grian silenced him. He paused for a moment, looking around at his resistance. "Welcome, Bdubs, to the Mycelium Resistance. We have many things in store for you."

"So, what, you're just gonna tell Scar that you're with us now? He's gonna like... blow up the shopping district!" Ren straightened his goggles, as if he hadn't put them on correctly.

"I was planning on it, tonight, actually. He's expecting a note from me, about the shops or whatever, and instead, I was gonna just leave him a goodbye note."

Grian shook his head. "No, no, you're not doing that. You're now named the Head of Secret Angency."

"You really couldn't come up with a better name?" Etho muttered.

"Hey, mine is 'Head of Farming'. You take what you can get." Jevin laughed.

"Enough about the names. Bdubs, you're a secret agent now. You will be sticking by Scar's side, and reporting everything he does back to us." Grian explained.

Bdubs looked as if he had been put under a hydraulic press. Was he up for the job? Sure, Grian could manage the resistance on his own, but ... something about morals? Taking Bdubs away from the capitalist power? Something like that.

"I dunno about this, G, what if he just... double-agents us? Feeds us false information and tells Scar our plans..." Impulse suggested wearily.

Bdubs took a deep breath, then a long exhale escaped his nose. "Look, fellas, I get it if you can't trust me. I'm Scar's... 'lackey'! I wouldn't trust me either... but you'd wanna join the other side, too, if you were under Scar's command all the time."

He got stares from everyone around the table. Grian almost laughed. He knew it.

As soon as Bdubs realized what he had said, he added swiftly, "He's just so prominent about putting all the grass down! H-he really doesn't realize that the mycelium is the natural land..."

"I think I trust him." Stress offered, making Bdubs smile.

The rest of the table stayed silent.

"You're dismissed." Grian said after a moment of quiet. "Bdubs, go to Scar tonight. Find out anything you can about his plans, and report back at the next meeting tomorrow."

Bdubs nodded.

As everyone started to leave, Grian could see Bdubs gingerly grab Impulse's shoulder.

"Impulse? Can I talk to you after we get out of here?"

#hi there #i know its been a while but a couple people said they were still interested #sooo here you go?#this is so fun to write lmao #making both sides 'evil'#bdubs' betrayal fic #y'all like my cliffhanger? i tried it out #hermitcraft #hermitcraft s7 #grian #bdubs #bdoubleo100 #hermitcraft fanfic

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twistedapple · 3 years

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Neve Bosconero - Snow White didn’t leave her home (part I)

Aaand here it is! The backstory I’ve been teasing for some months while secretly struggling to find the most suitable tone for it! I recommend you to check Neve’s playlist for the full reading experience - especially if you enjoy listening to background music while reading (check the #neve bosconero tag, I haven’t added to the masterlist yet but it’s been published two days ago so it should be easy to find)! This backstory is rather long so I divided it in two parts, this is the first one, the second one will be released at a later date (I’ll be taking a small break to reply to asks and handle my To Do list). And of course, feedback is more than welcome! This isn’t just a hobby, it’s actual training for me and readers’ opinions are needed to improve and experiment (especially since English isn’t my native language)! So feel free to comment either by reply or reblog so I can see what’s up and even chat up a bit (I also react to tags)!

Because of the heavy topics mentioned in it, I also recommend you to be careful while reading it.

Without further ado...

Neve was preparing the yarns of colourful wool she had carefully picked for her new haute-lisse project. The model had been placed behind the loom, and the shuttle was ready to be used.

She had a little story to tell.

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The story had two versions, yet both had the same beginning. A long time ago, back when the Valley of Thorns had yet to become, the border between men and fairies wasn’t as clearly defined as it was now. This lack of clarity caused the existence of a liminal space in which both men and fairies could interact, where magic itself seemed to gather and take curious shapes. The very first of those shapes was a set of twin apple trees, silver and gold, growing intertwined and bearing fruits said to have powerful magical properties. These trees were the central piece of a larger grove hidden in a large clearing hidden deep in the forest and overlooking an even deeper valley atop a tall cliff. They quickly fell under the protection of a group of fairies that could bind themselves to various trees. The second shape came from two drops, one for each of the twin trees, falling on old bones resting at their feet. As it came to life, it chose to take the form of an antlered, amber-eyed fairy with foliate hair, and started living among the trees and the shadows of the deep, dark woods.

Keeper of the forest, he would don crowns of oak and holly according to seasons and wear a mantle of greens that’d hide him from prying eyes. On the last day of the year, humans would pour a glass of milk to honour him who was known as the Green Man, for he had blessed the land and taught them how to grow and tend to plants from mere seeds. An agreement had been passed between him and the humans as well: the dark forest was his domain, and they weren’t allowed in without his consent. However, a human life is but a fleeting moment to a creature such as the Green Man, whose own life had been meant to be much longer. Thus, as time passed, the agreement became a story, then a legend before fading from memory – for a time. One unfortunate day, humans breeched the then forgotten agreement and started roaming the forest, appreciating the quality of its wood and the amount of land they could use to expand their fields. This angered the Green Man, it angered him so much he cursed the humans and their lands. For wanting to uncover the secrets of the dark woods, he sent shadows to stalk and route them out, for wanting to expand their fields, The Green Man ruined their crops, again and again, until there was no food left for the cattle, and then for the humans themselves - until they begged for forgiveness. They obtained it and order was restored – however the Green Man made sure that the agreement wouldn’t be forgotten this time...

At least, that is what humans tell. From the point of view of a fairy, about half of the story remains forgotten, and it all starts with the guardian of the orchard. See, the twin apple trees and their surroundings were tended by a fairy with ink black hair covered in apple blossoms. That fairy had taken the heart of the Green Man, and under the stars and the silver-gold light of the twin apple trees they had pledged their life to each other. By the time the agreement between Men and the Green Man fell into oblivion, humans had learnt how to wield magic themselves, and they started coveting the forest and its treasures again, though they were regularly pushed back by the Green Man’s beastly shadows, haunters of the woods that would assist him in its defence.

However, one fateful day a human child lost his way in the woods and happened to be found by the Green Man and the fairies. Tired and confused as he was, it was agreed to allow him entry so he could rest a bit, before being guided back out of the forest. The kind-hearted fairies took the little boy to the grove, where he discovered all the magical plants, chief among them the twin trees of gold and silver. Once the child felt better, the Green Man had him swear he would keep the existence of the precious grove secret before guiding him back to human lands. When the child came back, it was said that what felt like two days by the fairies seemed like two months for humans. His reappearance was deemed a miracle, and if he seemed to do his best to keep the secret, as promised to the Green Man, it still ended up being uncovered. The secret orchard had been found, and with it the especially precious apples from the twin apple trees. Confrontations between the fairy and groups of humans became more and more frequent, to the point even her found herself at a loss. The violation of the old agreement wasn’t the only thing that outraged the Green Man that fateful day when he cursed humans. Similarly, the newfound humility demonstrated by the humans wasn’t the only thing that had put an end to the curse. While commonly forgotten, the intercession of dragon fairies, fierce but wise, had contributed to the end of the deadly feud and a return of the balance between the worlds of Men and Fairies. This point in particular was the reason why, when the Draconia household started ruling what became known as the Valley of Thorns, a family of woodland fairies with a foliate face representing the Green Man as coat-of-arms was prompt to bend the knee and serve both as vassals and old friends.

That was the weight behind the name Bosconero.

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The shuttle was going through the threads at a quick pace, colour after colour, as Neve started humming in rhythm with her hands.

This story was only the beginning.

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Over centuries, the Bosconero Estate had grown. Born as an ancient place of worship, it became a place of habitation as well for the noble House, all nestled that it was between dense dark woods and steep cliffs. As time passed, walls were built – first to add further protection to the clearing, then for actual buildings. Lobed arches decorated with ceramics and delicately twisted columns, aging walls covered in ferns, ivy, jasmine and wisteria, an ornate wishing well in the middle of a cloister-like space, an open crypt and a large belvedere dominating the valley – and then there were the gardens and the greenhouse. A wonder in themselves, they held all sorts of plants, both native and exotic, both magical and purely decorative, a complete botanical garden organised like an ornamental garden, with plays on twists and turns, lights and shadows, organic from the plants and mineral from the various statues scattered everywhere. And in the middle of it all stood its crown jewel, the precious orchard with, at its centre, the twin apple trees of gold and silver, a nearby healing pool reflecting their light as if it was challenging the often gloomy skies of the entire Valley.

Neve knew all of its nooks and crannies, ornate tile floors, arched painted ceilings without a single sharp angle, white walls decorated with plants, tapestries and paintings... The main corridor was remarkable for its numerous family portraits, and Neve had taken the habit of observing each of them every time she passed through the corridor. The family had a peculiar tradition of accepting people in, rather than marrying outside, and of having an inclination towards a matrilineal order. Ink black hair would produce ink black hair, no matter the appearance of the one who gained the name Bosconero. Cat-like eyes would mostly be moss green and liquid blue as well. Mostly. This was when a break could be seen, with the occasional golden amber erratically cutting through time, a constant reminder of the founder of the family. It made itself known with her generation as well – the recent family portrait in the entrance showing a tall, masculine figure with rich auburn hair and bright blue eyes, a smaller feminine one with black hair and forest eyes, and then two even smaller figures that could have been a mirror of each other had it not been for these golden amber eyes. For the Old Blood running stronger in one of them.

A thought would often occur to her, the idea that maybe these ghosts from the past would leave their portraits at night to haunt the estate. It wouldn’t have surprised her, considering she never failed to feel their eyes burning her back when she walked down the corridor.

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In the Valley, spinning the wool was an affair for women, no matter their station. It was even how Crimilde had wished for a child and ended up with twins – a rare event among fairies, which lived longer than men and didn’t need to worry as much about the number of children they would and could have.

Neve kept passing the shuttle through the threads, with a skill honed through habit, and still humming.

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The Bosconero family valued its traditions, most of them either remnants of ancient rituals, or rites still alive. With all the customary events that would dot the life of a fairy to the rhythm of the seasons, they added up to scream what made the family what it was. The very first ritual had been made under the light of the ever glowing twin apple trees, a custom to bind the newborns to their respective tree. In a bowl filled with water from the pond at the feet of the trees, always glowing with their reflection, engraved twigs and thorns of various trees and shrubs were mixed, secret words were spoken, and the newborn would have one of its fingers pricked with the plant decided to manifest itself. Then, an oath in blood would be made with more secret words – a life binding oath. This rite was important, as it was also an act of divination – the bound tree informing about the path of the fairy. The ritual was conducted by the head of the family, and the Lady of the Yew, Crimilde Bosconero, made no exception.

That was how Bianca and Neve had been respectively chosen by the blackthorn and the hawthorn, how they had been set on their respective path in life – one for strife, one for protection. The secret words always spoke true – or so the family said.

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With a quick turn of the wrist, Neve would switch threads at great speed. It wouldn’t be her most colourful piece, but she still wished for some dimension in the composition. She’d dreamt of it, and for once it wasn’t as chilling as what she’d usually see – though the topic remained rather ominous.

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After the first ritual of their life, they had been presented to the Draconia family – another custom to show deference to the dragon overlords, and yet the only time the twins and the barely older Young Master really ever met. After that, years of preparations started for them, with three specific purposes in mind: to reflect their peerage, to be prepared for their future life both as Ladies and Magic wielders, and to develop their mind and creativity in a manner that’d promote a suitable Unique Magic.

In practice, Neve would show a consistent dedication to her work and progress, something the hired tutors never failed to report – and something Crimilde never failed to point out in comparison to her sister’s own devotion to irregularity. Yet, it was that very sister who would push Neve to always give so much of herself in everything she set her mind to. Bianca of the Blackthorn, Bianca and her golden eyes. Neve had many memories of the little things her sister would keep doing, her general distate for order and propriety always forgiven because of seemingly bottomless well of raw magic she would wield. Alone, these memories amounted to nothing – but there laid the trick, as added to each other, they’d slowly start looming, the tall shadow of a motherly figure who oversaw everything with an iron hand, and a prodigious sister raising like a wall next to her.

As time passed, Neve started feeling the weight of the situation in the way she pushed herself only to see her dear sister somehow manage to overtake her, despite always starting one step behind. These ever loud leaps and bounds felt like an unspoken formula to push Neve in a forgotten corner. When her singing was technically flawless, Bianca’s improvisations would end up attracting more interest. When Neve was capable of identifying heraldry and persons on the spot, Bianca remained the one who would quietly decline the identity of their mother’s interlocutors during events at the Estate. When their personal maid would brush their hair, Neve’s ink black curls would be compared to Bianca’s, yet the reverse never happened. No matter how much she would give, it always seemed to Neve that she was bound to fall short as long as her oh-so-perfect sister remained by her side.

Her mind slowly became her shelter, an untouched place that belonged solely to her, where she could push the bitter poison back when she started feeling overwhelmed; a place where she felt free from her mother’s and her sister’s shadows. There, she could spend hours absorbing what she’d been learning, what she’d been experiencing, to understand how to use it to her advantage. It was around that time she picked up sewing and weaving – a simple occupation at first, that quickly turned into a mean for her to express herself and to let the building poison out, stitch after stitch.

If her more public needle work was appreciated for its refined elegance and precision, a part of it was kept secret still - the part done at night, when she was too anxious to sleep, afraid of tomorrow and even more fearful of what her own dreams would offer. During that quiet time, it felt easier for her to explore and understand her own thoughts and feelings, let them out lest she’d either take it out on her family... Or even herself – that thought always left her with a sinking feeling in her gut, the dark impression that if she fell on that path, coming back from it would be even harder, if possible at all.

And then came the teaching of magic.

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Neve kept weaving, letting her thoughts wander and reach times past as the haute-lisse was slowly taking shape.

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A part of their life as young fairies was focused on their magical training as well, and this is where things would turn especially sore for Neve.

Their general education, especially its artistic components, served to promote focus and creativity, both elements necessary to produce and control magic, as well as develop a Unique Magic fitting their character. Everybody had their eyes on Bianca and her golden eyes – as expected. Yet, there was already few things in which Neve felt competent, next to her sister. Sewing was one of them, though mostly because Bianca showed little interest in the exercise – she seemed to favour books, potion ingredients and music. For that reason, sewing had become Neve’s thing, a reassuring shelter when her sister took too much place. A space where she wouldn’t have to hear her whisper first all the correct information to their mother’s ear at a party, where she wouldn’t have to feel the smooth inflexions of her singing, where she wouldn’t witness her elegant spells. She was her own ruler there, and would let her inventive mind overflow to become drawings and embroideries. If Neve couldn’t get her life with the support of her family, she’d weave it herself. Yet, that protective isolation also proved a double-edged sword that prevented her from seeing the cracks forming, early onset of a larger catastrophe.

The second most important ritual among woodland fairies was tied to the discovery of their Unique Magic. Once the young fairies had been sufficiently prepared through lessons and various activities meant to help them form their own magical quality, a ceremony was to be held by their family or caretaker in order for them to fully take hold of their magical abilities. When that day arrived for Bianca and Neve, it was yet again conducted by their mother, with the help of her newly hired assistant, Erico of the Elm – their father, Sigfrido of the Willow, would be absent for work, as always. The twins had been prepared for this moment, each step of the way carefully explained to them, since they’d be the ones conducting the ritual for themselves. Crimilde and her assistant would be there as witnesses and helpers in case of trouble, although the sisters had been certified that trouble never happened, since it was all about discovering one’s Unique Magic without pushing it, only defence was allowed to deescalate the situation and protect oneself if necessary – thus Crimilde had framed the ritual as an extension of their usual defensive magic classes. Bianca and Neve both had a set of alchemy tools, as well as the ingredients required. Led in a small building on the Estate, apart from the others and strangely windowless, the only way for the young fairies to see in the individual rooms they were respectively set in was with the help of faerie fires, dim gloomy lights meant solely to allow them to make their preparation, just like they had been taught.

Focusing on her task, Neve made sure to carefully prepare the potion, which looked like some sort of thick, dark liquid – so dark it felt like it was even swallowing whatever light was coming out of the floating faerie fires. Once the preparation was ready, Neve took the large brush they had both been provided with, and started drawing the symbols she had been taught on the floor, in the correct order and with decisive strokes. Then, she placed the set of candles – a profound black just like the preparation she had painted the floor with – all around to form a circle in the middle of which she knelt. Taking a deep breath, she lit the candles with a simple gesture, and the faerie lights went off automatically as the candles and symbols on the floor started shining in a manner that made them look like liquid glass veined with pulsating blood – her blood, she thought, as she gently clutched her bandaged hand. It was her last consideration before she found herself enveloped in a thick, numbing murk she hadn’t noticed. Reflexively closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, as if she was about to dive, and lost all notion of time and space in the process.

The noise of a door slamming made her come back to her senses. Realising she was laying down, Neve sat up, and took a look around. She was in a long corridor, with a series of seven doors peppering both sides – she had never seen such a place before. Getting back on her feet, she decided to see what that corridor had to offer – it wasn’t as if she had another way to go anyway. As she walked, she inspected the seven doors from a safe distance first – they were all different in design, and all closed. Stepping forward, the young fairy felt an uncontrollable, ice-cold shiver run down her spine. The corridor stretched and stretched, yet the doors always seemed to remain at their place, as if the whole, well, place was forcing her hand. As she stopped in her track, she started considering each door more carefully, trying to pick what seemed like the safest one. However, she promptly realised that it wasn’t about seeming, but feeling right. This realisation came to her as she approached a pitch-black, perfectly smooth door, save for the ornate handle. As her fingers were about to touch it, the impression of a dreadful pull started overtaking her every thoughts, while at the same time something deep down screamed at her to get away, as far as possible from that door. However, it was only thanks to a creak coming from the opposite side, at the furthest door, that Neve managed to shake away both the pull and the dread. Her attention shifted to the noise, and it seemed to her that a shadow had just passed through the now slightly ajar rustic wooden door.

As she went through the door, she found herself in a bright clearing, covered in thick, fresh grass. Further away, she could see the clearly defined shape of a cottage-like house, and a movement at the window left from the door caught her attention. Considering her surroundings for a few seconds, she didn’t feel any sense of danger, nor any sort of inner bell ringing the alert so far. Not wanting to be a sitting duck, she quickly moved along the small path drawn amidst the thick grass and went straight for the small cottage which seemed, oddly enough, her only way out. The heavy door let out a rusty creaking noise as she pushed on it. Inside, there was only the silence of a house that felt recently abandoned. Crossing the main room quickly, Neve decided to count the number of steps required to reach the staircase –even and she’d go left on the upper floor, odd and she’d go right. Neve often practiced these little games, it had been particularly useful to overcome her worry-fueled indecision and helped strengthen her resolve. Left she went, not sure of what she’d find, yet choosing to not chase after that elusive shadow she’d seen twice already. As long as she didn’t feel threatened or enticed in any way, Neve judged it simpler to let the shadow come to her first.

The young lady didn’t expect the corridor that served as her starting point to appear again, the same doors in the same order, though adapted to fit in the cottage – fit in as much as a corridor clearly too long for the house could. This peculiar setting led her to realise a now jarring detail that she had somehow missed the first time: the corridor had no defined end. As she moved, she noticed that the doors seemed to follow her, as if they’d always trail behind, the endless extremities of the corridor extending appropriately. The door she’d first picked was now closed, and rather than checking it again, she chose to pass it and its facing door on the right hand of the corridor, to open the next one. As she walked and passed in front of the right-hand door, she could hear a faint, regular clicking noise in it. However, her decision had been made, left, always left. With resolute steps, the fairy reached the next door and went through it.

She found herself on a scene, in a large room that looked like the emptied remnants of a theatre. Strange mists and fake trees surrounded her, and as she made a move to step away, a pitch-black, elongated silhouette suddenly slid right in front of her, making her jump in fear yet reaching out to silence her scream with a hand just as dark. For some reason, that touch was enough to help Neve settle down, which allowed her to take a look at the... The thing in front of her. It looked like it had tried to take a vaguely familiar humanoid shape, yet was there without really being there. As it took a quiet step towards her – it was more sliding than walking, really -, its body and arms became disproportionately elongated, its neck following the same path as it leaned towards her. When it spoke, the words didn’t came from its faceless head, but seemed to resonate gently through her whole body, an echoing whisper that felt like smoke.

- To find the way out, never look back. Beware of the Stagman, don’t trust the Black Hands.

- Wha – What are you?

- Help.

The strange shadow wasn’t there anymore, and Neve felt dread pile up in her belly as she observed the whole room. As she was about to take a step back, unwilling to take another step forward, the words the shadow had spoken rang in her mind. Realising she had no choice but go forth, she took a large gulp of air and swallowed her apprehension before going down the scene. To help gain some focus back, she reminded herself of the rule she had established – always left. And always up as well, she realised as she was off the scene. For some reason, the simple action of going down made her skin crawl. She hurriedly crossed the vast space meant to hold seats, towards the only way out.

From that point, it felt like a winding maze of strange corridors devoid of doors and windows and yet dimly lit. Neve kept walking, always forward, always left, always up. Nothing special ever happened, and her initial wariness insidiously turned to a disquieting boredom from the repetitiveness and gradual loss of her ability to guess space and time. That is, until she found herself in a new room, just as bleak as everything she’d previously seen.

There stood a masculine silhouette, all strength and bare feet and torso, with a hart for a head and dark blood slowly dripping from his shoulders – right where the stained, mated fur would be replaced by humanoid skin. The drops ran to his hips, where a long knife and a full quiver assorted to his hunting bow rested. Neve knew then what the strange shadow meant by Stagman. Both of them stayed still, held breath making the tension raise in the windowless room. There was no way out aside from the corridors on each side of the Stagman. Neve risked a small step forward, and he slowly reached to his quiver in return, taking a silent gliding step as well. Startled by the unexpected move, Neve stepped back and made the mistake to check behind her by reflex. No way out. The corridor by which she’d come had simply disappeared, replaced by a bit of wall similar to the rest of the room. Her attention came back to the Stagman, just in time to see him pull an arrow and nock it. The cold impression of a smile she couldn’t see yet knew was there, the smile of a creature ready to eat her up alive, pushed her out of her shock. Urgency of survival kicked in and she went for the closest corridor, using her small size and light weight to move as fast as she could. An arrow flew right past her, making her pick even more pace – as much as she could to escape. Behind her, heavy steps could be heard as the Stagman went after her.

Neve ran, her vision narrowing only to see forward, her train of thought locked in a loop as she fled across the windowless rooms and corridors. All she wanted was a door – and a door kept appearing, but not the one she wished for. It was the black door she’d passed from the start, the locked one that had left her with a bad feeling. Now, every time she passed it, it seemed slightly more ajar and she ignored it to save herself – until it wasn’t possible anymore. There it was, fully open and in a dead end. With nowhere left to run and the only option being forward, Neve gritted her teeth and jumped in the room. The door shut behind her and loud bangs resonated through the large room as the Stagman was slamming against it.

The new room was completely silent, a wide empty space with a ceiling so high it would be lost in the dark, and balconies that indicated the presence of floors yet had no stairs to access them. In fact, the room was distinctly devoid of exits. Feeling trapped, Neve decided to do the only thing left and explore the area. As she moved towards the center of the room, she started hearing faint noises, whispers. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from, and had the impression of being surrounded. As she made her approach and reached a more central position in the room, she started feeling the floor become unequal under her feet. Looking around her, she noticed irregularities in the walls and floor – they weren’t there before. The room was breathing, thousands of breaths coming from everywhere. That is when her mind, already on edge since the encounter with the Stagman, who could still be heard banging on the door, left room solely for panic.

The room seemed to feed on her fright, as the walls and floor started taking shape, humanoid forms pushing against a skin-like texture, making it look thinner. To Neve’s horror, the misshaped hands she could almost see through had an awfully dark tint to them. Beware the Stagman, don’t trust the Black Hands. The shadow’s warning came back to her, yet she had no way out and the cold realisation that she’d been trapped on purpose only resulted in dread weighting in her stomach. She tried to move away from the centre of the room, away from the evermore grasping hands, pushing on the surface like it was nothing. Something clasped around her ankle and started pulling with a strength her small body couldn’t fight against. Her voice, held tight by fear until then, sprung in action only to allow her a wail of terror as more hands started grabbing her.

Suddenly, a loud noise like a crack, different from the banging of the Stagman on the door, resonated throughout the room – no, the entire space, as if something from the outside was forcing its way in. The walls started crumbling and a vault made of stars fell over her, as she started feeling something warm all around her. A gentle embrace, holding her and rocking her as she heard the echo of her own scream in the room she’d been using for the ritual. Despite her desperate attempt to flee, Erico kept her close, using his own Unique Magic, Heart to Heart, to soothe her. Slowly, she calmed down and settled for loud sobs as the assistant’s magic left her mildly sedated. Once she was deemed safe to handle, he took her in his arms and brought her out, all the while apologising with a quivering voice.

- I’m sorry, Neve. So sorry. We should have suspected something like that would happen... No, don’t look there, look at me, it’s alright now.

Neve only caught a glimpse of it before Erico put her head back against him and took her away, but what little she saw was a partially destroyed building, her sister pale as death in a shining cage of glass and blood, blood everywhere.

The event of the ritual meant to help them produce a first shaped Unique Magic had ended terribly for both sisters. Bianca spent three hundred days in a deep slumber forcefully pushed on her by Crimilde, at first to stop the rampage she’d been causing, then to allow her to heal. Lady Bosconero did her best to focus on healing her wounds in a manner that would leave as little scars as possible – thankfully, Bianca seemed to have protected her face during the event, and thus it remained untouched. Meanwhile, Neve developed a fear of being touched, as well as darkness. Dismay regarding her sister also started being noticed once she’d been explained what had unfolded that day. It seemed that the Old Blood, The Gift, had made itself known at the same time as Bianca’s Unique Magic, mixing with it to turn the creatures she’d seemingly summoned into destructive abominations. Even worst, it had started sipping everywhere – even reaching out for Neve while she was exploring her own Unique Magic, poisoning the experience well enough to turn it into a living nightmare for the young fairy.

Once Bianca woke up in complete confusion from her magic-induced sleep, however, the family dynamics started shifting for a new balance.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #oc #neve bosconero #fairy tale #fairy tale rewriting #rewriting #snow white #sleeping beauty

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

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Hi Evoe, can I ask for you to write this MCxVinca fic? The request is where mc made deal with demons by giving up ability to feel touch to obtain darkness and light powers so she can keep up with Vinca and her friends. However, demon magic corrupt mc’s soul. Mc went dark and betray her lover by using Vinca’s knife to kill her so she can become Pride and take her mind reading power. Mc made it looks like it’s from Vuzgamad’s ambush and claimed that Vinca made her a successor before her death

PART 1

Written by: @evoedbd

WARNINGS: Violence Blood Broken Bones Psychological Abuse Verbal Abuse Strong Language A whistle Morbid Idolization (testing how this is received before putting the darker stuff out) *************************************

What Yvette dragged out of the bar was not human. Not anymore. It was a tapestry of torn, mutilated flesh. Of fury and indifference mixed into the most toxic being to draw breath. It was pain personified, five foot two and perhaps 100 pounds soaking wet worth of utter agony. Something so utterly twisted, so broken, that just a glance could cause tears to leak from one’s eyes like blood from a serial killer’s knife.

The woman’s head was almost entirely void of hair, covered instead by rows of raised scar tissue from hairline to the back of her neck. Burned and clawed into the skin. The faintest hint of grey bloomed between each row, stubborn black hairs regrowing amidst the pain. This only made the stark white tissue stand out more prominently, especially against bronze-tinged skin. The self-mutilation didn’t end there. Her now pointed ears were uneven, the healed edges bubbly with regrown flesh. Reminiscent of a goblin; an inhuman monster. It was not a clean, surgical modification. Instead, it appeared as if earrings had been torn from open wounds. Again and again until even calling her ears human was a stretch of the imagination. Through each was ring, jewellery far finer than her actual appearance. An echo from the past, of someone else’s past.

Rae Wren, or what was left of her, gave no fight. In fact, she strode with a wicked smirk across her lips, a glimmer of unnaturally sharpened, wolf like teeth gleaming behind blackened lips. The pattern of teeth continued along her lower face to her ear, carved like the lines across her head, then outlined with ink, each point a tattooed monstrosity representing those she had killed. They weren’t for human lives; those were far too simple. Too easy to erase and forget. To replace. One warm body was like another. Breakable. Disposable. Prisons of utter filth for her to pick and choose. It was almost like shopping for chastity belts or cock traps to keep her little demonic slaves in check whilst she played. And played, and played and played… or was it murdered? She didn’t even remember anymore. No, the wolf like grin permanently marked upon her flesh with scar and ink was very special. Each tooth was a life of host and demon both, of those who had seen the end. The final moments. The sacrifice. When Pride had become Rae’s mantle. When Rae had ceased to be anything and everything.

The other demons and humans had their places across her body. Each a line for the demonic veins that should have marked her body. Everybody knew she was a demon, even demons. At this point, she was a whisper in the realms of hell. The devil awaiting every demon who dared rise. Lucifer may have been the terror of man, but Rae, but the Proud Wren, was the terror of nightmares. It had once been said no mortal could make a demon beg, could make a demon fear or willingly return to hell. Rae had taken those words to heart, then proven otherwise. She had proven again, and again and again and again. Until her mere name was proof enough. Nevermind her loving attentions to her adoptive siblings.

But apparently someone still didn’t get the memo.

“You can’t keep doing this, Rae!” Yvette’s words were low, a hiss as much as a sigh. That was so Yvette. So broken herself, so naive. So hooked on her dreams and submerged in her fears. Once, Rae had admired Yvette’s strength. How she was unafraid and stood up to demons. Now… now Rae knew the truth. Yvette was the worst type of coward. She wasn’t even in denial. She was so utterly oblivious that it was almost laughable. Simply sitting next to Yvette for five minutes was a hoot. Popcorn worthy… if popcorn had still had flavour.

“I doubt anybody is going to stop me. You won’t.” Rae retorted, lips peeling further away from her teeth. The reveal of pink may have been a relief, a reminder of her humanity. Yvette flinched as Rae’s artificially forked tongue poked out, splitting around a splatter of blood across her lip. Blood which was not her own. Catlike, she lifted her bloodied knuckles to her tongue, smirking around her mouthful as she lapped at her tarnished skin.

“You’re going to get sick off of that.”

“Well, heaven won’t want me, and the devil has a restraining order against me.”

“Ever wondered what it must take for demons to fear you.”

“I did dethrone your pathetic little act, didn’t I? Hashtag, so sad.” Rae mocked, her lips turning into an exaggerated pout. One she emphasised with fingers pulling on the corners of her mouth and a sluggish drop of her shoulders.

“If you keep doing this, I won’t come for you. I’ll leave you to deal with the police again. Then you won’t get to continue your little vigilante act, Rae.” Yvette’s tone was firm, her brows lowered dangerously over blazing azure eyes.

Oh, it was adorable. A good effort. Truly. Solid jaw, dangerous eyes, crowding her space. All an A plus mark in big girl intimidation…

“You won’t.” Rae laughed, almost ready to collapse with her malicious mirth.

“You’ll try, sure, but we both know you’ll fail. You need me, Yvette. I’m sure only one who can ever truly understand you. The others try, they really do, but none of them have really been there… have they? You and I are the founders of the killed your girlfriend club… so, unless you want to encourage some homicide of the human variety, you’re stuck with me as your therapist. Of course, you could always fix that with just a little kiss. Get your special badge back.” Rae taunted, leaning a little closer with pursed lips, taunting further.

She was so close; Rae could feel it. The way Yvette’s body warmed, teasing Rae’s skin like sunlight on a spring’s day. Refreshing. Comforting. Just like a hug from the latest murder victim. Who cared if the hug was post-mortem… wait, perhaps the warmth was blood then… maybe Yvette’s little tantrum was more akin to demon dust fluttering across Rae’s naked body? Warm with death, ripe with fear and justice… the tingly kind of delightful. Fun and morally responsible. A two for one deal.

“You didn’t kill her. That wa-”

“My own deal to help save your girlfriends ass. I chose to help family and look where it got me. No family. No fiancée. Very little humanity. I’ve gotten more reward for hurting people than I ever got for helping… so thanks for the reminder, but you already know the drill. I’m naughty, you come play mommy, your breathing reminds me I lost everything I ever loved saving your sexy finger warmer. It’s a whole thing.” Rae sighed, pausing long enough to lift a hand to her shades between shrugs.

Cold, lifeless eyes gazed from behind expensive sunglasses, the ones from Vinca Wren’s last project. Rae’s eyes were so scarred, so utterly void of humanity that even Yvette shuddered. Rae’s pupil was more reminiscent of an ink droplet, running into the whites in little sickly veins. The pattern of an infection. What once had been soft, gentle browns had hardened, as if the pigment had been drawn from them until only the yellows of the shade remained. Rare veins and streaks of brown remained, lightning bolts within the everlasting storm of grief.

“If you hate me so much…”

“Why stick around? Oh Yvette, its nothing personal, babe. Pride’s honor.” Rae began, pausing to slide those precious shades into a hardcase hidden within her jacket. Her hands were so gentle with those shades, fingertips lingering as if she might project her touch through time and space, as if somehow Vinca might feel her affections. A moment the world allowed her before the sound of footsteps echoed. The snap of the case was the snap back to reality, a snap which echoed off of the old brickwork. The first beacon. The second was a silver whistle, chipped and worn, one which Yvette was already reaching to slap out of Rae’s hand as the fallen assassin laughed.

“You’re just the best bait.”

Then the whistle sounded.

A short blow, then a longer one, then a short one again. An SOS. One wavering with Rae’s laughter. The whistle sounded only thrice before it was slapped aside, Yvette huffing and puffing furiously.

“You’re a special kind of cunt, Rae!” The Greed assassin growled; decorum lost to her outrage. Rae could already see it, the torn loyalties waging war within Yvette’s blazing blue eyes. The misguided belief in Rae despite everything. It was so obvious, from clenching jaw to pained eyes, how desperately Yvette wanted to avoid this. How it pained her to let Onyx suffer around the corner, just as much as it pained her to war against Rae. In the past, Rae may have broken at such a thing, at such a display. At Yvette letting her heart beat for two sides. For a sister and a lover. Now, it was all merely an annoyance. Not what Rae needed.

“Dawww… don’t you want to go save your girl?” She cooed, before raising her voice.

“Here, puppy, puppy. We know you like it rough, so come play… I may not be Dorran, but I can probably hit as hard. I can even entertain your emotional whore kink!”

The shing of a blade leaving its scabbard was the only warning Rae had before she was sent staggering by a burst of heat delivered in a solid punch to the gut. Before she could even right herself, the slap of the scabbard across her face forced her back another few stumbling steps. There it was. The snap. The goal she’d had for weeks. Weeks of volatile behaviour. Misbehaving a little too close to Yvette’s secrets. Once, it was a line she’d never have crossed. Once, those young lives held meaning to Rae. All life did. Now? Now it was all ash in her mouth. A thirst she could never slake, not that she truly wanted to. Afterall, Assassins fought demons, and Rae had worked incredibly hard to perfect her mutilated appearance. To leave no illusions that she was truly a demon in human skin, even if none from the depths of hell would touch her… well, now she had her own little slice of hell. All fired up, enraged, protective even. Lunging with her blade with the intent to harm. Maybe this time, it would be enough.

Yvette was not like the other assassins. They all fought with a sense of honor. Each had things too low for their heroics. Yvette held no such qualms. She struck high and low, lunging and twisting. A single foot out of place was punished by blade and heels, driving Rae backwards. It was an exquisite dance. Duck. Weave. Twist. A thrust of Yvette’s blade. Countered by a duck and a jab to the ribs. A quick hand was at Yvette’s wrist, twisting her arm aside, tearing her guard down for Rae’s following punch to the tender gut. Break it down, bruise it, take the air from Yvette’s body. For her efforts, Rae received a backhanded slap in response. The echo of gloved hand against flesh was accompanied by matching screams, two immensely powerful individuals reduced to hissing and screeching like fighting cats in heat.

Yvette was again the first to strike out, a wild slash of her blade. Rae ducked, falling right into the precise thrust of the scabbard straight to the collar. She shoulda read that. It was too easy to reach out, to capture every thought flittering through Yvette’s mind. From there, it was a different dance. Yvette could no longer land the blows, yet Rae’s shorter range kept her from truly inflicting any harm. The dance switched from snakes slithering under one another’s guard and striking out with fast blows into wolves circling one another. Assessing. Manoeuvring. Rae didn’t need to keep her eyes on Yvette, in fact doing so was playing the game. So, Rae waited, allowing Yvette to slink around her, letting Yvette find the faux opening… then launch.

Yvette was fast. Rae was faster. A twist later she had her left arm hooked over Yvette’s, forcing the blade to pass her. A swift toss back of her head saw Yvette’s nose broken, bloodied. Tears blinding those remarkably clear blues. Snot and blood choking her. Rae followed through with her elbow, driving it straight into Yvette’s throat. It was calculated. Too hard would kill her, too gentle wouldn’t be enough to drop her. Greed fell to her knees, spitting blood over Rae’s boots. Pride wasn’t done. A tug on Yvette’s trapped arm had Greed falling into Rae’s rising knee. The blow sent Yvette sprawling to the ground, into the grease and muck like some common drug addict. Like the homeless orphan Yvette had once been.

“How does it feel, Yvette? To be back here?” Rae mocked, kicking the lethal blade aside. The clattering of the weapon filled the alleyway, a sound far too familiar for Rae. The Pride assassin flinched, drawing back from the sound for only a moment. Then, it was so much worse.

“Rae! STOP!”

Rae’s teeth clashed together, biting back the enraged scream as she turned towards her worst nightmare.

Onyx Wren. Five foot nothing of gorgeous blonde bombshell. A little fuckwit wearing the face of Vinca… only Onyx couldn’t wear it right. Her bold, neon makeup was a child’s game at beauty, like a toddler playing with mommy’s makeup from her teenage Scene phase. Onyx was all cherub and sweet, with eyes the colour of sunlight through an ocean wave. Figures Onyx would represent the water beneath the skies that Vinca embodied. She was never better than Vinca, never appreciative. She’d let Vinca endure it all. To save her own pathetic skin, Onyx had let Vinca be condemned. Over and over. Now, she pranced about, the good girl. The grieving sister. Forgiven for putting her abuser above Vinca, even in death. Onyx was the sister who let Vinca throw everything that truly mattered away and repaid her with vicious rumour.

She dared? She fucking dared! She dared show her face after everything, to rip into Rae’s chest all over again. It was a holocaust in her heart, memory after memory dragged into the chamber feeding her agony. Each felt like a death all over again. A blow to her chest unlike any physical pain. A lance into the side of a great beast, until said beast was reduced to a feral being. Onyx’s fucking face took Rae’s breath, brought her to her knees before the jeering crowd. It tore Pride down, leaving only a screaming, sobbing wreck behind.

“Fuck off!” Rae screamed, tearing her vocal cords with the strength of her cry. It was torn from her churning, bruised gut, loud enough to drown out the monotonous drill of cars. The former Mechanic howled, hands brought to her scarred head, nails dragging down the scars in practiced desperation. The teeth carved from the corner of her mouth to her ears began to glow, illuminated a deathly bone white. The glow spread, radiating across every scar, until the veins stood stark against her skin, a homage to the demon she swore was within. It was a terrifying duet with every tattooed line, shadows now. Or rather, the complete absence of colour and light. The void left behind in Rae’s heart given physical form.

“You have to let go, Rae. Please. We all lost-”

“I CAN’T!” Rae’s cry cut Onyx’s sentence short. Her hands fell to the ground, fingers clawing the asphalt as if she might find something, anything, to settle her tornado of an existence. On her hands and knees, the Pride assassin once more looked small. Broken. Defeated. So lost and helpless. Her back curled, shoulders caving beneath the weight of her angst. Her forehead met the ground, taking comfort in the greasy coolness for a few seconds before she defiantly lifted her head, fixing Onyx with a look of pure, seething hatred.

Envy looked cut to the bone, deeper than all of Rae’s torments. All her jabs and digs. Every secret she had gleefully sung to the other Assassins, publicly tearing Onyx down. Publicly shaming her, shaming all of them. All the assassins were fucking idiots. They hadn’t seen what was unfolding right beneath their noses, too content to gripe about a harsh leader as Onyx begged for him to stop. As she concealed his darkness to preserve a fantasy. As she was morphed into his little punching bag. His little victim. The Harley Quinn to his Joker. With Onyx’s secrets, Rae had torn all the Assassins down, brought them to their knees weeping, then strutted across the corpses of their self-esteem. She wasn’t Vinca. She didn’t care about these people. About what was right and wrong. They’d all condemned Vinca. All willingly cast her out rather than face reality. If they hadn’t, if Onyx had just spoken…

“It’s all your fucking fault.” Rae no longer sobbed, she snarled, a tapestry of shadow and light, a monster digging into Onyx’s brain, wrenching everything to the forefront in the hopes just one memory flashed across Onyx’s conscious.

“You may have been happy to let her go. I refuse to. I won’t. You’ll have to tear her from my cold, dead ha-” whatever melodramatics Rae had planned were interrupted by an enraged scream, followed by the swing of something straight into her temple. The Pride assassin teetered, forearms trembling to hold her weight for but a moment before she fell, surrendering to the abyss.

Perhaps this time, things would be better in the void.

****************************** 3 years Ago ******************************

She was so tired. It was something which went deeper than a mere sleep could repair. The weight of the world was constantly upon her shoulders; dragging her chest down towards her gut. Her heart felt as if every beat was sluggish, a constant painful rock in her chest, yet one she could not feel. Rather, she felt the absence of her heart, the pain stopping only there, whilst her lungs were further tormented. Even here, with sweat running down her body, leaving her hair stuck to her forehead as if it were a layer of paper mashe upon a child’s sculpture. Even with her blood rushing through her veins, muscles screaming with ever hurried stride she took, her heart did not warm. Each beat sent a pulse of cold through Rae’s body, a seeping despair she was continuously clawing her way out of. Only to find herself somewhere far… darker.

Tendrils of that darkness drove her onwards, pulling and pushing each muscle as Rae desperately just tried to stop. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was collapse, to fall into Vinca’s arms and just feel the embrace. Feeling. It wasn’t so long ago Rae had taken it for granted. Now, it was simply gone. Forever. It was her sacrifice for the abilities she had gained. For what had allowed her to save Vinca time and time again. What had allowed her to save Onyx, Vinca’s twin sister. The power over light and shadow, and the temperatures they could bring. Durability to stand against Vinca’s foes, the strength to protect. If only such a thing hadn’t cost so much. Touch. The ability to ever feel another’s touch ever again. It had rendered Rae’s hands useless, for no longer could she feel a pulse, nor how deep wounds were. Without touch, she couldn’t heal anybody. Couldn’t help them. Couldn’t feel when she hurt them. All she had ever been, gone. Taken from her in a deal she had barely understood in her desperation. She’d tried. She tried so hard to continue on. To pretend touch wasn’t so important. But, night after night, she watched Vinca’s pleasure without ever being able to feel it. She held Vinca close, without ever being able to feel her. The simplicity of holding hands was robbed from her. No, not robbed. She’d given it up in a foolish moment of insecurity, convinced it was to save Vinca’s life. To save Onyx’s life. That was a pretty small comfort now. She just wanted a hug, darn it! No, not darn it. Darn was close, but not what she truly wanted to say. Fuck it. FUCK. IT. She just wanted one fucking hug she could feel. Just one to remind her she was still tethered to this world.

“I’ve got you.” Vinca’s huff in Rae’s ear was accompanied by a sense of flying. Of floating. There was no more pain in her muscles, that migrated to her chest. She wanted to scream, to tell Vinca to stop. That this was wrong. This was all a trap. All dangerous. Something was screaming within her, writhing against the darkness, the tendrils… fighting to be the voice dominating her brain. Even that was murky. The river of the Nile running red with blood. Her blood. Vinca’s blood… maybe if it was Vinca’s she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“-I wouldn’t be… I’d feel her again. Something. Anything. It’s not like she told me. Nobody told me! Vinca cheated this and couldn’t even tell me until I’d already paid the fucking price… does she really deserve- NO! Stop! What am

I doing? I love her! This isn’t me! I c-can’t hurt her!-”

Rae’s war didn’t end there. A droopy blink later, she registered the feeling of metal beneath her fingers. A kunai. One of Vinca’s weapons from her collar. The blade so close to Vinca’s jugular vein… whilst the Assassin was oblivious. So utterly clueless, or so utterly trusting of her devoted fiancée. Fiancée… they had a life together, a life to live. Years to figure this out. All Rae had to do was hold on, was fight as hard as Vinca had.

“It’s back, Vinc… I almost…”

“I know. Your heart isn’t cold yet, Unco, so stay with me. There’s still time, and I will never give up on you. It’s not our style.” Vinca’s voice was firm, the great wall of China between Rae’s doubts and her conscious. It was only the sound of lips smacking and the momentary loss of breath which let Rae know Vinca had leaned close, had pressed a kiss to her lips. What type of kiss? Was it one flavoured with desperation? Was it biting, Vinca demanding Rae’s submission? Was it tender and sweet? The brush of morning breath and vulnerability only Rae ever experienced? Bitter tears of frustration fell silently from her dark eyes, bathing Vinca’s shoulder as they continued further into the warehouse.

“Yeah… not our style.” Rae muttered in agreement. After all, what else could she do but believe?

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amusedyan · 4 years

Text

Mamma Mia

“Are you going to invite your dad?” You look up from the drafted seating chart and the list that’s being compiled. The table is littered with post-it’s and address books, sheets of paper and pencils, even the odd photograph.

Aya, your soon-to-be sister-in-law, examines a photo- one of you and your mother on the front porch. You know that photo, your mother had just bought the house that you would grow up in, and she looks so happy, holding you on her hip.

“I don’t know.” You admit, wanting to drop the subject.

“It’s not every day your daughter gets married,” Aya grins, “you can’t tell me you don’t want to get walked down the aisle by your father.”

And it’s ridiculous, you’re a grown woman now, not a little girl hunched over her desk on Father’s Day, burning with envy as your classmates complain or chat about their other parent.

“I would if I had one.” You finally say, and thankfully that shuts Aya up.

-x-

Once the thought is planted, though, it doesn’t go away.

What would it be like to have a father to walk you down the aisle and give you away?

You turn over in your bed and close your eyes.

You’ve wanted a father before, of course. What little girl doesn’t?

Family is your mother- only your mother.

When you were a little girl, and you came home from school and asked “where is my Daddy?” your mother had faltered and said, ashamed, “you don’t have one”.

When you got older, your mother had said she’d been young and in over her head.

Your mom has never not been enough of a parent- and you feel guilty even now for wanting this one thing.

But you burn with that want.

-x-

You feel ashamed, going through your mother’s things in the attic. You have a spare key of course, and you know your mother’s schedule- she likes routine, and Tuesdays are her grocery days. There’s boxes of things up here- old clothes, photo albums, holiday decorations, furniture. In the back, under a sheet, next to the box of old china, though, is what you’re looking for.

Your mother is a journaler. She always has been- “I need to keep my thoughts straight,” she’d explained once. If there’s any clue to your father, it’ll be in her old journals. So you do the math and take the small stack of dusty volumes and leave, locking the door behind you.

Your heart pounds like you’re guilty, because you are, you’re a thief, you broke your mother’s trust and you did something horrible. You feel so guilty, in fact, that you can’t actually bring yourself to read the thing for a week. It just burns a hole in your vision wherever you put it, drawing your gaze to it like a magnet no matter where you put it. So you stow it away in a drawer for that week. When you finally get the nerve to read it, it takes time.

Your mother’s thoughts are personal and warm- she has doodles on the pages, and smudges of ink, or places where the pencil wore away and you have to take your time sussing out the words. You’re terrified that maybe this was all for nothing. Maybe there isn’t a name here, even, and you’ll just have to deal with that.

X/X/XX

I met the sweetest guy today! His name is Oboro, and he has such a nice smile, you wouldn’t believe it. I saw him walk into the store and my heart just jumped! I was trying not to be creepy about it, he’s so pretty, I just wanted to look at him, you know?

But then he came up to me and asked me on a date!

I can’t believe it- it was so easy to talk to him, this is going to be amazing!

Oboro? You jot down the name. It’s still a few months from when you could have reasonably been conceived, but it’s still a name.

X/Y/XX

Oboro took me out for dinner on the water. He’s such a nice guy, he let me talk and didn’t interrupt, didn’t act obnoxious at all! I had such a good time with him, and he wants to go out again!

Mom kept up with that, along with some doodles- unfortunately your Mom isn’t a very good artist, so it’s not very helpful.

After a few pages though, you frown.

X/YY/XX

Oboro introduced me to a couple of his friends today- Hizashi and Shouta. They’re an odd pair. I really wish he’d warned me that I’d be meeting them instead of just springing it on me on date night.

It was a little weird. Apparently they just got back into town, so I offered to leave so they could catch up, but they all wanted to hang out. So they joined us on the date. I mean, they’re nice, but yeah. Awkward. Hizashi is a bit like Oboro, cheerful, I mean. He doesn’t light me up the way Oboro does. Aizawa’s the odd one out, very quiet.

Hm.

You take a break after that, getting up to stretch and rest your eyes. You text your fiancée, eye the journal and your laptop. First names aren’t enough to conduct a search, you reason.

Then you sit back down.

More dates between the four of them.

Eventually Mom had warmed up to Shouta and Hizashi. They started hanging out casually, after assuring Oboro that it ‘wasn’t like that’. Apparently her boyfriend had laughed and kissed her silly, and told her ‘I know’.

But as the light faded and night encroached, the diary entries started changing. Instead of laughing accounts about her friends and boyfriend, they became jotted notes using, you assumed, surnames.

Aizawa picked me up from work.

Shirakumo was waiting for me at home.

Yamada offered to grocery shop for me.

Car stopped working. Shirakumo picked me up.

Date was crashed. Shirakumo was overjoyed.

Then there were missing entries. Nothing. For weeks.

One more, then the journal was over.

I’m leaving. I can’t take it anymore.

So…

It…it had to be one of them, didn’t it?

You closed the journal and turned to your laptop, your heart pounding.

Things were weird. So weird. What the hell had happened between the four of them? Had the relationship turned toxic? Had Mom fallen out of love? You wanted to ask her, but you were afraid of the fight.

First off, you googled Oboro Shirakumo. Mom referenced Shirakumo as the one she actually dated, so logically speaking, that had to be it, right?

Your first link was an article about an accident.

Young CEO critically injured in mugging, left in coma.

Oboro Shirakumo, founder of company Cloudbreakers was attacked last Friday evening on his way home from work. The attackers hit Shirakumo over the back of the head with what authorities believe is a pipe. The attack has left Shirakumo in the hospital with extensive brain damage, though doctors are noncommittal if the patient will wake up from his coma.

“In a time of grief such as this,” co founder of Cloudbreakers Shouta Aizawa commented on Sunday morning, “we, as a company, can only come together and hope for the best. Our hopes and prayers are with Shirakumo.”

Shirakumo still hadn’t woken up yet, and it had been years, and while that was tragic, that really answered a big question.

Shouta Aizawa.

So that just left Hizashi Yamada.

Their actual residence was harder to find- but you found articles about the historic houses that they’d bought, and from there you were able to just google that address.

But what do you say?

“Hi, I’m getting married and I think one of you might be my dad? Did you sleep with my mom? Or is Oboro Shirakumo just my dad?”

Worth a shot, right?

-X-

The letters were identical, except for who they were addressed to.

They were fairly formal, introducing yourself, explaining the circumstances, and, obviously your mother’s name- along with formal apologies for Shirakumo’s current state, and apologies about the circumstances and possible misunderstanding.

You sent them off two days later.

-x-

Your phone was ringing.

“Hold on babe, I have to take this,” you apologized, kissing your fiancée on the cheek. The sweetheart that he was, he just grinned and told you to take your time.

You excused yourself from the dining room and answered.

“Hey mom-”

“What did you do???”

You jumped at the volume, in the background there was something banging.

“Is someone at the door-”

“Did you write them?” Your mother demanded, still screaming. It was so loud, was she in danger?

“Mom what’s going on? What is that?”

“You called them- they found me, why? Why would you- AAAAAGUH!” You flinched as she started screaming. “GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE- JUST-”

“MOM?” People were staring, but you felt cold all over. Was she getting murdered? Do you stay on the line or call 911?

“You bitch! You think you can just do what you did? Hide like this?”

“GO! YOU NEED TO HIDE- DON’T LET THEM FIND YOU-”

The phone went dead.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #shouta aizawa #eraserhead #yamada hizashi #present mic #shirakumo oboro #yandere #yandere bnha #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere eraserhead #yandere yamada hizashi #yandere present mic #yandere shirakumo oboro

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crimsonfluidessence · 3 years

Text

Prompt 11: Preaching To The Choir

Esredes was always somewhat tense on these nights. It was recruitment night, and one he was at the head of. Ysayle did the bulk of these, seeing who showed up to the invisible ink on the innocuous flyers and seeing who would step forward and join their ranks. She was incredibly good at it, even from the start. But the woman could not be everywhere at once, and Esredes was one of the many others who volunteered to do the task. Security was always tight at the meetings. A lot of his own stood by as guard to both the invited guests and the speaker, and incidents were rare. The meeting was always held somewhere they did not return to again, and with plenty of room to get away by flight, and plenty of distance between the speaker and the audience, surrounded by his people as guard as they were. Yet it never helped that tension of the fact any one could be the incident, and there was still always so much put on the line. Not to even mention, being the speaker himself was always worse than simply guarding it. When he was standing by and managing these events, he was in his usual combat uniform inspecting people one by one to check for weapons, and then standing near Ysayle as guard afterwards. But when he was the speaker, the uniform didn't cut it. The speaker had to have presence, they had to try and captivate the vulnerable and questioning audience. So the weavers at the camp had settled on constructing him a long, black cloak that draped down to his feet, with equally long and draping sleeves. The sleeves add a lot of character, they said. The whole of the cloak was adorned with silver stitched accents, in a way they claimed evaded feeling too fancy, yet evoked a sense of mysticism necessary to captivate the audience. Every other speaker had a similar cloak attire made to them. It seemed they were the uniform look to go with. Esredes somewhat understood the power of the cloak. When he wore it before the ceremony began, it felt a bit awkward, like he was pretending to be a mage when he was an imitator of it at most, and he found himself fumbling idly with the sleeves often. It was only once he took his place and got into the thick of it that he truly felt the concept of presence it evoked. For now, though, Esredes had to stand awkwardly among the rest of the guard on a cliff above the gathering, as below his people continued their process of vetting everyone who came, and watch quietly, reciting his speech in his head repeatedly. It didn't matter how many times he had given this exact speech before, or the fact he often went scriptless for motivational speeches to his people, he still felt the need to be sure he did not mess it up. Behind the cloak's hood, his orange eyes peered out at every new person who arrived carefully, contemplating to himself if they would join or leave, if he would get to know them or they would be just another lost speck on the wind, and what brought them here. There was always an element of fascination to each individual story, no matter how many similar ones came. Finally, a hush fell over the gathered crowd. The guard moved into position, a circle upon the cliff, and he took his place in the middle. How odd it did feel, to be the guarded item in the middle, as if he wasn't just as often on the outer circle, as if there was really anything to guard and he wouldn't just immediately attack anyone who thought they could shoot the messenger. But spectacle was spectacle. Esredes slowly made his way into the center and peered down at the crowd once more from beneath his hood. The air hung silent for a moment as all eyes peered on him, and then he raised his hands up and let his gloved hands point out at the crowd as the long sleeves trailed down gracefully. "Good evening, people of Coerthas and beyond," he began. "Whether you have truly come from within the city's walls or lands beyond, I give you the warmest welcome to our humble little gathering. Though I am sure all of you come from vastly different backgrounds, one thing has brought you here tonight- doubt." He made his first strategic pause, watching the crowd a moment as his words fell down below to them. "We live in a world where there is much and more to doubt- how can the people of Coerthas be truly certain of sleep's next embrace with all that rages above and below?" He paused for a small moment, and began to pace to the left, one arm across his abdomen. "Nor will the walls of Ishgard itself protect anyone, for within them the Church listens to your every thought and ravages its people for heresy. Thus, you are brought here." He turned the other way and dropped both arms, returning slowly to the center. "In all of the doubt that swirls within you, you have come to listen to a truth that hides out here on the northern wind. A tale of the lies of the Church and the origins of our very nation." He faced the crowd full on once more, and held his arms out directly out from their place on the side of his body, forearm and palms raised a little and facing the sky. "The Dragonsong War that has plagued the lands of Coerthas for a thousand years did not begin how we are asked to believe it is. It began even earlier." Murmurs and whispers came from the crowd, and Esredes allowed them to ripple through before he continued. "Long ago, when these lands were fresh and new to the Elezen, they came to settle and encroached directly on the existing territory of the dragons. When war broke out, only one thing could bring it to a ceasefire- that of a maiden named Shiva. You might know her as a witch who lied down with dragons, the original heretic- but she is anything but. She is the one who had the courage to seek out the voice of the other side and found the great wyrm by the name of Hraesvelgr. The two fell in love, and it was the witnessing of their bond by all that lead to a ceasefire. For two hundred years, man and dragon worked together, they built structures that still stand today in Dravania. But it was not Nidhogg who ruined this fleeting peace, but the very founders of Ishgard." Esredes paused. "Do you ever stop to wonder why the wyrm is as lost to vengeance as he is? Why his rage upon the city is so unending? It's because he was betrayed. The founders lured him to the city and stole his eye, devouring it for the taste of a dragon's power without the need to rely on one. And so the wyrm rages on, forever unable to regain that which is lost." Esredes paused once more and trailed slowly across his makeshift stage. "Nidhogg rages on, trying to destroy Ishgard. And Ishgard crumbles piece by piece to his attacks, accelerating its own destruction by tearing each other apart from the inside with accusations of heresy and the lines between high and lowborn. Tonight, all of you have come to the middle." To emphasize his point, he stood in the middle again and raised both hands up. "We are the people who fight not for the self destructive Ishgard, nor the raging horde, but for the one thing neither of them are capable of, peace. For just as Shiva brought man and dragon together once in the midst of conflict, so must something rise again to be the missing link, or else the lands of Coerthas and possibly all of Eorzea, will be eventually be consumed in dragonfire." Another strategic pause came and went. The crowd had much louder murmuring this time. "Until the people of Ishgard can see the light of the truth, there will be nothing but continuous warfare, and the continued destruction of its own people. Ishgard is eating itself alive day by day in its desperation to survive. It fights and resists us at every turn, but it is up to us alone to bring it to parley by any means possible. We will bring salvation to Ishgard and punishment to the wicked, through the collaboration of people of all kinds and dragons who will rise to the task. The very future of this land rests on everything we try to accomplish." Esredes stepped forward and scanned the faces of the crowd. "I expect for many of you beyond the simply curious, you have come here because something in your heart cries out for justice unseen. And for all of you, I say now- justice is possible, and justice will come. Your wounds are not without their sources of healing. For Ishgard is never to flourish again without the weeds exterminated from the garden. Imagine it, for a moment. A land where once again man and dragon work together, benefitting from their mutual talents, the populations of each flourishing and allowing the land to thrive. Children never again wake up afraid of being burned by dragon's fire. That is our greatest future. And that is a future worth fighting for." Esredes moved his hands up to his hood and threw it off, exposing his face and hair to the crowd. With it, he rose his hands all the way up past his head and into the air. "People of Eorzea! I ask you now, to search through the depths of your hearts, and find it in you to take a stand for something greater than yourself. To channel the grievances of your heart into making a world in which others will not suffer the pain you go through each day, and this land will shine with beauty it hasn't glimpsed in a very long time. It is a path of hardship and sacrifice, but it is nothing compared to what will befall everyone if the war is allowed to continue to stain the soil with blood. Through our collective will, we shall bridge the gap, we shall sweep upon the hearts of man and dragon to make them one again- and nothing Ishgard may do will stop us until the Archbishop has atoned for his crimes and every dragon in the land is beyond blind rage." He paused there, to let his words fall over the crowd for a moment, and slowly lowered his arms back to his side. "If you would like to stand with Shiva's people, please step forward and gather by the group of people in front of you. If not, you are free to leave, and never speak of this night again. But make your choice with all due consideration, as there will be no reversing it." The crowd looked to one another. Slowly, one person stepped forward, then another, until every single one had stepped over. The guards began to instruct and lead them up the cliff to rejoin his group up here. And with that, Esredes stepped aside and rejoined the group himself. "Well done," one of them said to him with a soft elbow nudge. "Have you ever considered becoming an actor after you're done saving Coerthas?" "Not in the slightest." Esredes said. "This is just practical acting for a purpose. I don't think I could do artistic acting. People train a long time for that." "Maybe we'll put on our first ever Disciples play and cast you in it someday," he said with a wink. "I would kick you out of this movement." He chuckled. "That's the spirit, Esredes. Never change." Esredes smiled faintly back, and then began walking. "Now," he said. "Let's hope the room counts are accurate tonight..."

#screenshots #in action #ffxivwrite2021 #ysayle #writing

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: hi, this is my first multi chaptered fic so constructive criticism is always welcome. quick shout-out to @pansexualharrypotternerd for the invaluable help! Love you! 💖

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The only thing redeemable about a high school with a bunch of brats who had sticks shoved up their asses was recess. Half a day had passed and Aelin was already swarmed with homework, previous assignments still pending and she needed to prepare for the upcoming Maths test by the end of the week. Recess offered a much needed break.

It would go better if Lorcan stopped being such a hard ass though. "Please?" Aelin whined. "I will fail Math if you don't help me."

The bastard snorted. "You will fail Math either way because you refuse to listen to me when I teach." Lorcan was not wrong but Aelin shot him a glare anyway, picking at the miserable stuff they dared call food in this cafeteria. With the amount of fee the school charged, you would think they would serve quality food here but nope. It tasted worse than it looked which was saying something.

The two of them were the only ones at their usual table today. Fenrys had taken a leave because of catching the flu, Connall was sitting with his teammates today and Aedion and Lysandra were a no show, likely making out in some vacant classroom.

Lorcan had finished his lunch already and was waiting for her. Aelin chewed slowly, more like swallowed (the food was disgusting but she was hungry), eyes flitting from one table to another until they landed on a hooded figure sitting alone by the corner, the scowl on his face visible from a distance.

Rowan Whitethorn.

Lorcan followed her gaze to the corner, then said, "Whatever you are thinking, Ace, drop it. He is trouble."

He certainly looked like trouble with wicked looking tattoos covering half his face and his right ear pierced. The hood was pulled over his face, eyes trained on the empty tray of food. She had never seen him have lunch with someone else. Hell, she had never seen him talk with someone else. Most of the school was convinced Rowan communicated in grunts and nods, not words and that he was either a werewolf, a gang leader or included in some very shady business.

Aelin lifted her shoulders in a shrug, then changed the topic. She did not need Lorcan to go all overprotective brother on her. "You are sure you can't help me?"

"And have to spend extra time with you? Gods, no!" He made a dramatic show of throwing his hands up in the air.

Aelin smacked his shoulder, grateful that Fenrys was not here to join in on the teasing today. She pouted, rising from her seat and apparently, done eating. "I hate you, Salvaterre."

He rolled his eyes, walking beside her with his own tray towards the trash bin. "You love me, admit it."

Aelin scoffed, even though she did love him, rude bastard and all. "Not a chance," she said.

She wasn't sure what happened next or how but she slipped on some wrapper, there was a loud scream (likely her own), strong arms stabling her—probably Lorcan—and her tray of half finished food went flying through the air, the contents spilling on someone's clothes and hair.

Aelin froze when she realised who she had spilled her food on. Rowan had a blank look on his face, lips pressed into a thin line. With the notorious reputation he had, Aelin could not have chosen a worse person to pick a fight with. It took her all of one moment to summon that insufferable swagger that drove others mad, chin lifted and shoulders squared back.

She did not need anyone to know how nervous she was. "I am sorry," she said.

"I am sure you are," he drawled, the deep voice heavily accented. The scowl on his face deepened when she looked again, letting her know she had made a remarkable first impression and quite possibly pissed off the one guy she should not have fucked with.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Lorcan step beside her. He said, "She said sorry already, it was an accident."

"And I said I am sure she is," he stressed.

If the situation were different and her heart wasn't pounding so hard inside her chest, Aelin would have taken a moment to appreciate the lovely voice, the rich accents or the muscular build. Being around fitness freaks like Aedion and Lorcan had her used to towering male hunks but god, it suited him. He was a real package.

Too bad manners weren't included in it because he walked away after sending her a scornful glare.

"What an ass," Lorcan grumbled. "Let's leave before you manage to set off another hulking brute." He was still cackling when they parted ways for their next class.

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This was ridiculous. English had always been Aelin's favourite class but now she was trying to find reasons to avoid it because she did not want to run into Rowan. He didn't scare her, of course, but she did not feel like subjecting herself to his insults and temper after the day she had had. She tried to convince herself that they had been in the same class for years now. If he had never bothered anyone before, he wouldn't start now but as luck would have it, she reached the classroom five minutes late to find two unoccupied seats - one beside Rowan and the other beside her ex-boyfriend Chaol who was trying his best to look like he didn't know she was staring at him.

With a sigh, Aelin made her way to the back, sitting down beside Rowan. She turned to him. "I am sorry, you know?"

He had ditched the stained hoodie in favour of a white uniform shirt that outlined his muscles in a flattering way. They were only supposed to wear uniforms on a special occasion, founders day or on inspection days but his shirt was especially tight, sticking to the sculpted chest beneath the fabric.

"If I wanted to hear excuses, I'd have asked." Gods, why were all hot guys assholes?

She frowned. "It was an accident!"

"You stumbled on thin air, managed to right yourself but spilled your food on me and ruined my shirt," he retorted.

Her temper snapped at it's leash. Aelin had to grit her teeth to keep herself from barking out an insult. Why would she ruin his clothes on purpose? Before she could ask as much, Gavriel called the attention of the class towards the front. Her Uncle made a point to look at her in warning as if he had knew she had been fighting someone she shouldn't be fighting minutes ago.

She sneaked a glance at Rowan again, whorls of black ink peeking out from beneath the collar of the white shirt. She would be angry too if someone embarrassed her in front of everyone.

In good spirit, she offered, "Why don't I make it up to you by buying coffee?"

He ignored her.

Aelin didn't know if she was being brave or stupid as she poked him. "I could wash your hoodie or buy you a new one! Please, Rowan?"

He ignored her again, eyes trained on the blackboard. She was about to poke him again when Gavriel called from the front, "Miss Galathynius, will you please pay attention instead of chatting Whitethorn up?"

Some of the students snickered when Aelin rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing with colour. Just like him to draw all attention towards her and embarass her in front of her classmates. In his defense, she did claim her revenge every time by refusing to address him as anything other than 'Uncle Kitty-Cat.' She had a sneaking suspicion he liked it.

Minutes later, Gavriel announced, "You will all be partnering up for the next project. It determines twenty five percent of your grade so work hard."

"Are we allowed to choose partners?" Kaltain asked from the front.

Her Uncle answered, "Partner up with the person sitting beside you."

There were a few audible groans and excited whispers before class was dismissed. She would be partnered up with the guy who was intent on ignoring her. She was about to offer to do the whole project by herself (because that was a much better option than working with Rowan when he hated her guts) when Rowan rose from his seat with lightning fast speed and made his way towards the teacher's desk.

She made it in time to hear his request: "I would like to work alone on the project, sir. I won't want to drag Miss Galathynius' grade down with mine." His tone held enough bite that Aelin knew he knew she was listening in.

Gavriel scoffed. "Non sense! Aelin will be more than happy to assist you, Rowan."

She smiled tightly in confirmation before Gavriel left, the class almost vacant now. Students were filtering out of the door but Rowan stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"I have cheer practice next but we should meet up after that," Aelin said. "We can go to the diner nearby?"

Rowan only grunted in confirmation, sent her one last scathing look and turned on his heel, walking out of the door with his usual annoyed expression etched onto his face. Aelin sighed. If Rowan refused to even utter a word, it was going to be a real treat working together on this project, her only consolation being that she hadn't been paired with Chaol. Though maybe that would have been a better option.

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@thesirenwashere // @judexcardanxgreenbriar //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover

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#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #dancing in the dark #modern au #high school au #throne of glass #aelin fireheart #aelin ashryver #queen aelin #rowan x aelin #rowan whitethorn galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin fanfiction

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jasoncastroverdeblog · 3 years

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CHARACTER TRAITS COMMON TO SUCCESSFUL ENTREPRENEURS

Opportunity Seeker Mark Zuckerberg

Mark Zuckerberg was born on May 14, 1984, in White Plains, New York, and raised in Dobbs Ferry, New Hampshire. At the age of 12, he created a messaging program named Zucknet that he implemented as an inter-office communication system for his father's dental practice. After graduating prep school, Zuckerberg enrolled at Harvard University and quickly became known as the go-to computer programmer on campus. In 2004, Mark Zuckerberg dropped out of college to start a social networking site that was only open to Ivy League students. By the end of 2005, Facebook had opened up to students attending other schools, causing the website to reach 5.5 million users. As of Jan. 30, 2020, the company has a market cap of $932 billion, and monthly active users totaled 2.85 billion.

Risk Taker

Sanders founder of KFC When Sanders was six years old, his father passed away leaving him to care for his siblings. At 16, he faked his age to enlist in the U.S. army. In 1920, he founded a ferry boat company. Later, he tried cashing in his ferry boat business to create a lamp manufacturing company. His recipe was rejected 1,009 times before anyone accepted it. KFC expanded internationally and he sold the company for $15.3 million today. At that time, there were around 6,000 KFC locations in 48 countries.

Persistent.

Elon Musk

Over the past five decades, Musk has managed to become the CEO of Tesla and SpaceX, founder of The Boring Company, and cofounder of OpenAI and Neural ink, all while focused on his long-term goal: escaping Earth and colonizing Mars. In fact, between space rockets, electric cars, solar batteries, and the billions he's made along the way, Musk is basically a real-life Tony Stark — which is why he served as an inspiration for Marvel's 2008 "Iron Man" film. But it hasn't always been smooth sailing for Musk. He went from getting bullied in school to becoming a small-time entrepreneur and eventually the CEO of two major companies that seem like they're straight out of science fiction. Along the way, he almost went broke, incited lawsuits and government scrutiny, and became one of the most controversial figures in the world of business. He is a good example of being a persistent

Committed Henry Sy

Henry Sy was born in Xiamen, China in November 1924. Henry started with a small sari-sari store that helped them in their day-to-day life. However, when the Philippine economy collapsed in World War II, their store burned down forcing his father back to China. Henry Sy stayed in the Philippines and built his own shoe business in Marikina. After a series of failures in his business, Henry Sy persevered to attain his goal. Sy struggled hard living in a foreign country as an immigrant and had to learn the local language. Now with three of the most valuable companies in the Philippines: SM Investments Corp. and SM Prime Holdings Inc., valued at over Php 1 trillion each, and BDO Unibank, valued at around Php 635 million, he has become the richest man in the country for 11 consecutive years since 2005 and ranked 52nd in Forbes World Billionaires List of 2018.

Efficient and Quality Oriented

Larry Page

Larry Page's interest in technology began when his father gave him a computer at the age of six. He achieved his undergraduate claim to fame by building an inkjet printer out of Lego blocks. Page worked for a few years in the technology industry before deciding to pursue a Ph.D. Sergey Brin, originally from Moscow, moved to the U.S. with his family when he was 6 years old. In 1996, they developed the PageRank algorithm, which produced better results than existing search engines. By 1998, Google was getting 10,000 searches a day; they maxed out $15,000 worth of credit cards to purchase a terabyte of disk space. Google went public in 2004 with an IPO that raised $1.67 billion. Sources:

https://www.investopedia.com/articles/personal-finance/081315/mark-zuckerberg-success-story-net-worth-education-top-quotes.asp https://www.snagajob.com/blog/post/the-inspiring-life-story-of-kfcs-colonel-sanders https://www.biography.com/business-figure/elon-musk https://joshcanonoy.medium.com/success-story-henry-sy-sr-78ab59e70da0

https://www.entrepreneur.com/article/197848

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rainebowkitty · 4 years

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Listen to Me and You’ll Have Nothing to Fear

It’s finally here, oh my g o d. Yandere bald Riddle Rosehearts x Reader in honor of cult leader @tsuisute and inspired by the sacrifices works of @muraenxdae and @nonsensical-twistedriddles

Also, trigger warning for blood, leech abuse, and overall harmful behavior near the end of this fiasco work of literature (though it starts off surprisingly normal and just slowly descends into madness)

Riddle Rosehearts was a practical dorm leader, someone who had never been tangled by the distasteful chains of love. He knew he never would be, at least not until it made sense to him. Love would just untidy his schedule and ruin his day. If it wasn’t convenient for him, it didn’t need to exist.

Other than the color red, he had no relation to the disgusting emotion anyway. Not even when you arrived with your pretty eyes and calming smile. You had just been bothersome, always requiring him to take time out of his busy day to help you knot your disastrous tie or to remind you to study. It became apparent that he was going to have to tutor you whenever you failed the first test of the school year. It was clear you weren’t taking his suggestions, so he’d have to make you listen.

The two of you resided in the Heartslabyul common room with books, papers, and clipboards laying across your laps. Magic wasn’t a hard subject, yet you seemed to struggle exceptionally with it. Perhaps it was because you didn’t have an ounce of arcane energy in your bloodstream, but understanding it wasn’t that hard, was it? Maybe Riddle was just too used to the intricacies of a spell, how empowering the burst of light spiraling from one’s hand felt. It wasn’t difficult, yet you made it so with your confused expression and tiny frown.

However, as time passed you seemed to understand. Your study sessions with Riddle started coming to a close, each aced test giving you more reason to escape his lecturing clutches. Riddle gratefully let you go with a stern promise to resume your study sessions with him if he caught another of your grades dropping. You hastily nodded, not planning to let so many of his lessons go to waste. Riddle didn’t have to help you, he could’ve forced an unlucky freshman to do it, but instead he had become your personal tutor. While you were thankful, it would be nice to have more free time once again.

Riddle had thought the same thing. He wouldn’t have to dance between drinking afternoon tea to arriving at your dorm for study sessions anymore. Still, how close the two of you had become was something unexpected. Again, you two had began traversing between his dorm and yours, the common room and the rose maze on days you two agreed to bask in the remaining daylight.

Did he miss you? That was unlikely. He had never particularly missed anyone before, never nurtured someone as he taught them the ways of his world while you shared tidbits of yours. He remembered the way you described something once; a giant machine that can transport you places. You said it was similar to a horse, but shinier. He had been intrigued until you revealed it was a car. It’s not like cars didn’t exist in the twisted wonderland, they were just impractical, especially for college students living in a campus easily navigated by foot.

With annoying descriptions about something as simple as a car, why did he want to make excuses to see you? Why was it your side he’d stick to whenever his short height made it impossible to find Trey and Cater in the cafeteria? But most importantly, why did blood rush to his face at the sight of your smile or the brush of your hand against his as you both reached for a pencil?

Actually, scratch that. Why did he feel the ugly green seeds of jealousy blooming in his chest whenever he witnessed you studying with none other than the Leech twins? It made sense to have a disliking towards Floyd seeing as that weirdo consistently teased Riddle with the degrading nickname of goldfish, but what had Jade ever done to the piping redhead?

Perhaps it was the slippery eel qualities he shared with Floyd mixed with his overly mild personality. His kindness was truly unmatched, especially to his brother who he let get by with anything. The thought made Riddle sick, just as Floyd did now whilst poking you, breaking your focus. You were trying to learn something you didn’t know, and even if you went to the Leech twins over him, Riddle wasn’t going to easily accept Floyd’s attempts to pester you as you studied.

He fumed towards the three of you, his heeled shoes annoyingly unable to make their normal satisfying clomping sounds on the carpeted library floor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed primarily at Floyd. Only when he noticed your clear alarm did he realize he sounded as if he was punishing you as well. He wanted to take back his harsh gaze, but something deep within told him just to press harder. Guaranteed results wouldn’t come from being merciful, even if that path might result in your gratified smile.

“Helping,” Jade bowed his head a little as he responded, as if that made him any more innocent for dragging his disruptive brother along.

“Maybe you are, but Floyd is just being a distraction,” Riddle huffed, foot tapping the carpet with an impatient, unsteady rhythm. “If he won’t leave, I’ll take over this study session myself.”

“Very well,” Jade rose from his seat. “Come on, Floyd. The Heartslabyul dorm leader would rather us be elsewhere.”

“But I wanted to poke the goldfish,” Floyd pouted as Jade dragged him off. At least one of them had a brain enough not to bother a frustrated Riddle Rosehearts.

“What was that about?” Riddle whispered harshly. “If you needed help, you know I’d assist you. Why did you go to them?”

“I’m having trouble grasping the geology of this world,” you let the words helplessly tumble from your lips as your eyes pleaded for forgiveness. “Jade is the founder of the Mountain Loving Club. I thought he’d know better.”

Your tango with words became too much for you, allowing you to slip up. You had said someone was better at something than Riddle. While you weren’t sure the boy was that narcissistic, his face definitely showed his offense at your claim.

“I’ve studied any subject you can imagine for years,” he glared as his face grew red with rage. “Just because I’m not wasting my time in the Mountain Loving Club doesn’t mean I’m not well versed in my geology. How dare you assume otherwise.”

You had heard him yell, maybe even scream at disobeying first years before. Why did a shiver go down your spine whenever he whispered? He wasn’t even in your ear, but perhaps he was in your head. You almost felt helpless at the thought, but it’s not like he could read minds. You were safe, even as his tense form seemed so shaken with rage that the paper fibers of your textbooks thinned and paled under his pressing fingers. The remnants of a thank you danced on your lips as the tutoring session came to a close, but he had already turned on his heel and left by the time the first word left your mouth.

He was furious, that much was certain. How much so would remain a mystery until you uncovered the truth.

Three days had passed since you last saw the boy, but he had certainly seen you. He watched the precise way you sipped your tea, the way he had taught you to do so. He noticed and kept track of every person you had spoken to. Each place you had been, so had he, only little red clumps of hair giving away that he was even present.

He was obsessed with you, but not so much the way you continued on as if he didn’t exist. On one hand he couldn’t understand the ongoing anger towards you, towards Floyd and Jade, towards the books you read and notes you took without him there. It was maddening, unexpected, and most importantly, inconvenient. So he began plotting ways to make it convenient, the red hairs on his head the worthy sacrifices made for a thorough plan of correction.

It wasn’t more than two days later that a note was slipped under your dormitory door. You recognized the neat cursive as Riddle’s. It had only been marked time and time again on your schoolwork as he added notes and criticisms meant to improve you as a student.

The letter looked more rushed than what was to be expected of Riddle. It also seemed to be written in red ink, something you didn’t know the boy to have. He preferred the regular black ink of the magic casting pen he kept secure in his uniform shirt pocket, so why the sudden change? Whatever it was, it only made the frantic looping of his handwriting seem more urgent. Preparing yourself for the worst, you rushed to his dorm room with purpose in your step.

Upon arriving, you knocked knowing he wouldn’t appreciate you barging into his room. Even in crisis, you were smart enough to know Riddle appreciated his privacy.

“Come in,” you heard him call, his tone much calmer from the last time you heard it five days ago.

You opened the door slowly, your eyes drinking in the sight of the room as you searched for his short figure. He was nowhere to be found, nowhere at all even as the door slammed shut behind you with a swell of magic.

You swallowed down your panic, knowing it was just proper etiquette to close the door after a guest’s arrival. You then ventured to the center of the room, eyes scanning your surroundings as you notice an abnormally large red puddle leaking from behind the dorm leader’s bed. You cautiously investigate, uncovering the piled bodies of the Leech twins, blood pooling from their heads like the oceans they used to swim in.

You wanted to scream, feeling the tense clumping of your vocal cords before a hand was clapped to your mouth, preventing you from making a sound at all.

“You’re late,” Riddle’s voice creeped into the air, his breath raising the hairs on your neck as he remained close to you.

“Didn’t you read what time you were supposed to be here in the letter?” His head tilted as he asked the question, his curiosity veiling all the rage in his system. “I wanted you to arrive before Jade, well, you saw what happened to him.”

You indeed saw what happened to him as Riddle’s tight hold on you forced you to face the bodies. Your eyes squeezed shut, but Riddle had moved in front of you now. You were already breaking one of his rules by trying to block him out of your sight.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, his hands still harshly gripping your shoulders.

One eye at a time, you made yourself gaze upon him. Only it didn’t look like him at all. Staring you in the face wasn’t the Riddle Rosehearts you’d come to know, but a stylish young man going bald minus two particular strands of royally red hair; the pieces sitting in the shape of a heart at the center of his forehead, only complete with his signature crown.

“Riddle,” you tried speaking but he put a finger to your lips.

“You clearly don’t know what’s best for you if you enlist these eels as your tutors,” Riddle kicked Floyd’s unresponsive face with his heeled shoe. “So from now on you listen to me and only me. Got it?”

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Riddle had killed two people for you? He had broken the very real laws enforced by the proper authorities just to tell you you were wrong? But most importantly, had the stress of it all really gone to his gorgeous, crimson hair?

“I said,” suddenly he had flipped you around, pushing you into the nearest wall beside the corpses of the Leech twins. “Got it?”

You reluctantly nodded as you tried to swallow your fear. It appeared this was it for you. Your life would consist of his rules and games with hell to pay if you failed to obey.

“But don’t fret,” he caressed your cheek, a sudden gentleness overcoming him. “By my hand, you’ll be perfect in no time. Doesn’t that sound divine?”

He noticed your lips tremble in fear as you hummed in response. “Mhm,” you had hesitantly agreed before his lips met yours. With that one consoling, ensuring kiss went the final sprigs of Riddle’s hair, cast into the drying pool of leech blood along with his remaining sanity.

If you happened to enjoy this (somehow) then feel free to suggest more silly (or serious) twst content like this! If you want more bald yandere stories (who wouldn’t) then check out the people that inspired me and their Malleus, Vil, and Jamil versions of this theme! They’re seriously awesome!

@tsuisute (for Malleus) @muraenxdae (for Vil) and @nonsensical-twistedriddles (for Jamil) <3

Thanks and come again, folks!

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