#she's never been the unappreciated assistant before

[hey-hey-j]

I think Crimp and Bridget should be friends

(★my Ko-fi)

#my art #trolls band together #trolls fanart #trolls crimp #trolls bridget #dreamworks trolls #trolls #no shade to poppy but like. she's *royalty* #she's never been the unappreciated assistant before #bridget and crimp would have a lot to talk about i think

[blackfire-fanfiction]

Bonus  information About part 1 Proposition: 

Why Does Big Mama consider the Handler a investment a good investment?

 they do their job so damn well and they do it so strangely that she has to make a combinations.

Also they routinely make suggestions “here's how things could be better to run In a humane way How that could impact profits beneficially.”  They are a pro (As much as a moral person can be) at speaking Big Mama's language. 

Whem I wrote them I essentially treated it as 

older rise Raph who tied themselves so heavily to the duty of being an ‘older brother’ (A Handle: in their much less fun case) And never gets a break + also more often than not,  unappreciated.

Has enough level of self-awareness that they would not wish this upon anyone. (It's their cross to Bear to handle all these responsibilities and keep things running)

Does not at all know that they are filled with rage. ( usually at jerk charges and flare ups at big mama for running her business like this)

But mostly instead of anger problems it's like a general anxiety problem Such as having a conscience.

 (If It somehow turns out that The champ can't bake really well. (The Champs swears that he's good) The Handler might whip up something as an alternative (It's not lying, Persay as they are helping his charge. Their charge baking is making them bake. Thus, in conclusion, their charge made this and this is them assisting him) ( The logic is insane but it makes sense to them… much like rise Raph insane logic makes sense to him )

The Handler is probably very similar to Big Mama in that they can think about every angle to a situation, and how it'll impact business.

They're just a Handler, so it's not like they can adjust anything related to the Nexus, but their suggestions for handling the fighters are valuable.

They probably ended up working for the Nexus shortly after Lou Jitsu had been taken (or maybe shortly before? idk), and was one of the biggest reasons the Nexus was able to continue after the beloved champion had stopped fighting.

Big Mama's way of running her business solely for profits and not caring about those who she's destroying to stay up on her pillar of wealth 100% angers the Handler. But there's nothing they can do about it, so they do their best to fix things from their position in her web.

#same raph au #same raph au crossover #kidnapped arc #raph's handler #asks #rottmnt oc

[fbrefugeechannel]

my intention is NOT to spam homefeed, let me know, or feel free to block. noone tells me anything and common sense doesn't always bring answers when things don't seem "right". i just want to put my thoughts down and purge. major medical problems, my body is falling apart, displaced, again.. still trying to get back on my feet, and solitude and being lost in thoughts or feelings of being on trial or on defense, to justify one's own existence in present day society keeps me sort of maladjusted to "normal" people. frustration, depression, how i deal with it. dumping my burdens out on something or somebody, without being destructive or hurtful to loved ones while mataining the person that i am and the person i want to be.

sometimes it feels like people want me to lose my sense of perspective. my own standards of living or my ideals because i don't align with most people.

working on ways to tell me that i'm wrong, beliefs, ethics, morals, aesthetics, because somebody wants me to change. it's basically politics.

it sucks when somebody thinks their judgement is better than your own. the infrequent times that i visit friends or peers, some of them inevitably say something condescending about me or the things or living creatures i care about. what do their homes look like? it's not about luxury, status or bling. it's about cleanliness opposed to clutter or being disorganized. they criticize how i spend my time.. well maybe somebody would be there cleaning up and maintaining while the "breadwinner" is at work, as long as they wanted to live under the same roof, unappreciated.

i used to go out in makep everyday. then i was laid-up in the hospital for malnourishment. my organs basically started shutting down. i could not walk for two years without assistance until my balances were in order and until i got my strength back. now i look like i melted.

and now everybody seems cold and is wearing covid masks everywhere. life was fine, then covid, my sister got married. congratulations to them both im happy for her. i have no problem cheering on her pursuit of happiness. she married a cattle rancher with a couple hundred acres. oh. the irony. i was vegan. they are christians. i am not. so everything that could be incompatible, is.

anyway. now when i go out without makeup and looking like a dude. people treat me worse around town? two years in the hospital, almost died, and now people seem more rude than before. like they're still busy wishing me away? how does this add up?

was i somehow under investigation, found out they were/are barking up the wrong tree, and now they're mad, but can't say why because it would mean having to admit or apologize for their dishonesty towards me? would that offend you? people being indignant?

dude. i might as well have just woke up from being in a coma for two years, and suddenly everybody is an uncooperative asshole? what the fuck happened while i was out? who's been trying to make new arrangements with my fate? knowing most "good christians" you should be happy to see the glamour aestheic gone. although inside, i tell myself it's because they don't like it when i look better than them or have nice things and "take care"of them.

when did that become a popular parting phrase amongst "friends" or drinking buddies? when an ex girlfriend told them what to say to me?

to sort of let me know who's an informant or middle-man for somebody? what sort of prescribed response were you hoping for? my prosperity? yeah, right. funny how i'm accused of being a snitch, when i'm the only one in the peer group who isn't being kept in the dark and fed bullshit, and the only person in the peer group wo isn't concealing loyalties behind the scenes. 🤘

and this crap haunting me from my past.. when i was in elementary school. what the fuck about it? if you even can't say it to my face, you don't need a confession or juicy details about me. this isn't a dating app. and you never "confess" and you don't tell me a damn thing about your past, or thoughts or feelings.

why? who is saying what about me? is it in a police report at the department? is the person badmouthing me or AN ACCUSER, slandering me in church, are they talking shit amongst social circles as if he's charlie manson trying to recruit some people to get their hands dirty and keep himself safe from any backlash or return-fire for trying to instigate it? as well as any illegal activity or social justice warrior lynch mob shit, in hopes of some girl putting out for you if you avenge her accusations?

put up or shut up.

if an accuser won't shut his mouth, does he need the law to document it and silence them in court and make them bow to legal, enforceable authority, until they understand?

[riftdancer]

Lucina draws her sword back after scaring off a thief. Tsk, lousy people. "Ma`am, are you unharmed?" turned around to check on the young lady that was jumped by the said thief. [sylvia!]

unprompted asks | always accepting!

The assistance was unnecessary, but never unappreciated. The noble lady sighed and supposed it was only a matter of time before someone attempted to mug her for supposed riches.

"I'm fine," she says, "Thank you and I'm sorry for the trouble."

It has also been sometime since Sylvia had found herself indebted to another. "My name is Sylvia, may I have yours?" she asks, wanting to know the identity of her savior.

#『kupomail #『villainess #sentofight

[chaoticpuff17]

Something Wicked

part 2

masterlist

Here you go, my darlings! Hope you’re all having a lovely spooky season! If any of you have some spooky song recommendations or some song’s you think would fit Jin’s aesthetic let me know! I’m compiling my writing playlist for something wicked!---chaotic puff

Didn’t she realize that it was a privilege to have the attention of Kim Seokjin? He had a billion dollar corporate empire. He could have any woman in the world, but he had chosen her. Yet, she had chosen to be with a lowly man from his own company. What did he have that Jin didn’t? What could he offer her that Jin couldn’t? Nothing. The answer was nothing.

It made his blood boil, the thought of his precious darling in the arms of a salary man, a mere employee. Why choose such a man when he was right in front of her? Had he not lavished her with enough attention? Had he not made himself clear? His poor darling had lowered herself to such a level when he was more than happy to give her anything she desired, and yet she resisted him. She scorned his advances and let this mere peasant bask in her presence.  

“Oppa,” A whiny voice grated against his ears forcing him to pull his attention from her and put it back onto the woman wrapped up in his sheets batting her eyes at him in what she must have thought was a sensual look. “Come back to bed, oppa.” She pouted reaching out for him.

His eyes were cold and lifeless as he assessed her. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice had lost all of its babyish charm to taken on an incredulous tone.

“Get out.” He repeated tone sharp as he assessed her. When she didn’t move, Seokjin sighed reaching over the bed fishing his wallet out of his slacks and pulling out a few bills to throw at her. “Take it and go.”

“I’m not a prostitute!” She squawked glaring at him.

He scoffed running a hand through his hair and smirking cruelly down at her allowing his cold gaze to trail down her body. “You dress like one, and you certainly fuck like one. Now get out.” He snapped wanting the annoying woman out of his room. Women like her weren’t worthy of coming to his home. They were only ever invited to one of his hotels.

He waited for her to leave before he pulled himself out of bed and dressed himself calling his driver to take him home. He wanted the feel of her filthy, unworthy hands off his body and the comfort of his own Egyptian cotton sheets. More than that, he wanted his darling there in his arms and safely away from that man, not a man, a boy. His darling was too good for such a man.

He could remember the first time he had seen her four years ago. She had walked into his office so young and naïve. She was fresh out of college with no work experience and no real options, and yet she thought she could be his assistant. His assistants never lasted long, so why not hire the pretty young thing that had waltzed into his office practically trembling with nerves?

He had never expected her to last as long as she had, but she had surprised him. She was a fast learner and eager to please.

She had dropped to her knees tears heavy on her lashes as Jin scolded her for her mistake. She had messed up the contracts that had needed to go out tomorrow. As a result both she and Jin would have to stay late to fix them.

“I’m so sorry, sajangnim.” She whimpered trying her best to keep her tears from falling. “This is all my fault.”

He was surprised to see her on her knees before him, but not in a bad way. She looked so sweet and helpless before him, so weak.

“I’ll fix it.” She promised lips trembling as she apologized frightened of his wrath. “I’ll stay all nigh if I have to. It was my mistake. It’s my burden to bear.”

He smiled mentally cooing at the image. Such a sweet submissive creature perfect to be molded to his will.

“Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember.”  He told her helping her up gently patting her head as one would a scolded puppy. “Come now, Y/N. We have work to do.”

He’d known in that moment she was perfect for him. No woman was worthy of Kim Seokjin, none that he had found, but perhaps he could make one. From that day on he had started molding her to his will. She knew everything about him, how to take care of him just and did it all with a sweet smile. Years of work had gone into making her perfect for him. She had been molded from a trembling child into the perfect assistant, and then into the perfect woman for him. He had never given so much attention to a woman before. How could she not see that? Could she not see how much time and effort he devoted towards her?

His darling would never be so unappreciative. It must have been that man’s fault, that Kim Min Seok. He was ruining her, distracting her from what really mattered, distracting her from him. But not to worry, all would be well. He would save her from her own naivety. How was his poor stupid darling supposed to know that other men were no good for her? He’d get rid of the other man, and everything would be perfect again.

The poor soul thought he could take Jin’s darling away from him, but Jin had just the thing for him. It was fortuitous that the ingrate worked for him. It made getting rid of him so much simpler. It was a just matter of firing him, though it almost seemed like letting him off too easily. The idiot thought he could propose to Jin’s darling.

The thought darkened Jin’s mood even further. His men had discovered that Min Seok had bought a ring planning to propose to Y/N and take her away to Busan once he got his promotion. He thought he was going to take her far away from him, but Jin was never going to let that happen. Min Seok wouldn’t be getting the promotion, and he certainly wouldn’t be proposing to Y/N.

The worst of it was that they had been carrying on their illicit affair for a year. As soon as Jin had stopped keeping dabs on her, she had gone and sought the attention of another man. In a way Jin blamed himself. If he had continued to keep an eye on her, this never would have happened. The problem would have been resolved before it had ever had the chance to even begin. He should have kept a closer eye on her. He’d be sure to do just that in the future.

“Y/N-ie,” He called out from his office almost gleeful about the news he was about to deliver. She was there in an instant smiling at him like she always did. “I need you to file some termination papers for me.”

“Termination papers?” She asked her smile dropping to be replaced by a look of confused sympathy. “Who am I filing them for?”

“Kim Min Seok.” He watched with glee as the color drained from her face and her eyes widened in mute horror.

“Can I ask the reason for termination?” The way her voice shook slightly didn’t escape him, nor did the way her hands clenched around the tablet she held. “I thought he was being considered for the position in Busan.”

The smile on his face had an almost vicious quality to it as he regarded her. “He’s been embezzling from the company. The police will be coming for him soon.”

Jin was quick to stand and catch her as she stumbled in her heels gently leading her over to the sofa to sit. “Are you alright, darling?” He fussed hovering over her.

“I’m fine, just a little light headed.” She said trying to paste on a reassuring smile though Jin saw right through it.

“Why don’t I get you some water, darling?” He cooed placing a hand on her shoulder, happy to see her so complaint under his touch.

“That’s really not…”

“I’ll get you some water. I can’t have my best girl fainting on me.” He ordered sternly trying to hide his satisfaction.

He poured her a glass of water and brought it back to her settling himself beside her on the sofa. “Should I call for a doctor?” He prodded placing a hand across her forehead to check her temperature feigning ignorance as to her reaction. She pushed his hand away gently shooting him a shaky smile though that didn’t stop him from fussing over her. “You should have told me if you weren’t feeling well, darling.”  

“I’m fine, really, sajangnim.”

She was anything but fine. Min Seok was going to be fired for embezzlement. She had no idea, and she honestly couldn’t believe it. Min Seok was a good man, a sweet man. He would never do something like this. Why would he risk everything when he was about to get such a good job? Why would he risk both of their futures like that?

“Perhaps I should have Suho take you home.” Jin cooed sympathetically, rubbing gentle circles across her back taking the moment to bask in the scent of her perfume. It wasn’t the rose today, he noted with a frown. It had a darker amber tone to it that he didn’t recognize. A gift from her suitor perhaps, a thought that did not please him. The only perfumes she should wear were the ones he gifted her.

“Really, sajangnim. I’m fine.” She assured eyes wide as she turned her gaze to him. “I should get back to work. Thank you for the concern.” She bowed standing up ready to flee, but Jin grabbed her wrist stopping her from leaving.

“You’re still very pale, darling. Sit here for a bit. I’ll have one of the other secretaries file the paperwork.” He cooed pulling her back down onto the couch.

“I’m really fine, sajangnim. I’ll take care of this right away.” She tried to stand, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her seated.

His gaze was firm as he stared her down. “I really think you should rest, darling.” He saw she was about to protest again but cut her off before she could. “If you don’t rest here, I’ll have Suho take you home.” He threatened perfectly serious. He knew it was only the shock, but his darling was too sweet for her own good, and he couldn’t have her running off to see her boy toy before the police dragged him away.

“Alright.” She sighed sipping at her water again though all she wanted to do was march downstairs and ask Min Seok what exactly was going on before the police dragged him away. “Thank you, sajangnim.”

Jin was happy to have her there choosing to remain by her side while she “rested” and keep an eye on her.  He didn’t intend for them ever to see each other again, and her shock gave him the perfect excuse to keep her close and out of the way as the problem was dealt with.

Jin kept a sharp eye on her as he waited for a phone call from security telling him that the bastard had been dragged away. But the phone call he received was not what he was expecting.

“What?” He shouted anger rolling off him in waves and startling the still shocked woman sitting on his couch. Her eyes shot over to his wide and worried as a dark cloud settled over him.

“Sajangnim?” She asked rising from the sofa ready to do damage control for whatever had happened.

“Find him.” He hissed before slamming his phone down.

“Is everything alright, sajangnim?” She asked again stepping over to the desk. “Is there anything I can do?”

He took a deep breath trying to stamp down his annoyance so as not to frighten her. “No, darling. I was just informed that the little rat got away.”

It was as if a bolt of lightning had hit her. “Min Seok wasn’t arrested?”

“No.” He growled glaring down at his phone as though it had offended him. “Someone warned him. He got away before the police could arrive.”

“Oh.” She breathed out in a mixture of relief and shock much to Jin’s displeasure. His carefully laid plan was a mess, and she had the audacity to be relieved. How could she still be thinking of another man? “Is there anything you’d like me to do?” She asked snapping out of her reverie. “Should I coordinate with the police and security teams?” She rushed over to the sofa to pick up her tablet her mind whirling with possibilities.

Min Seok hadn’t been arrested? Was it alright to feel relieved? Should she want him to go to prison? Love was a crazy thing. Even if he had done what Seokjin said he had, and she still didn’t really believe that he would ever do such a thing, she didn’t want to see him in prison. He had always been such a good man, always so sweet to her.

“No, darling.” He sighed running a hand through his perfectly styled hair mussing it up, something he normally wouldn’t do. “You’re still pale. I think it would be best for you to go home.”

She shook her head fervently too wired to think about going home and stewing in her thoughts. “I think I would be of more use here, sajangnim.”

“You would be of no use to me if you fainted, darling.” He scolded standing up and taking the tablet from her hands. “You should rest.”

“But…”

“It’s not up for debate, Y/N.” He placed a hand on her back and practically pushed her out the door of his office. “Grab your bag. I’ll take you home myself.”

She wanted to protest, but there was really no arguing with Kim Seokjin. So she did as he said, and collected her things putting her work phone and tablet into her tote bag and closing out of her computer all under the watchful gaze of her boss.

He kept a hand on her back all the way down to the lobby despite the fact that she was no longer shaky on her feet. She hadn’t been since that first stumble, but that didn’t stop Jin from keeping her close and keeping his hand where it did not belong. She had tried to move away, but every time, Jin would replace his hand on her back again. She eventually gave up trying and just allowed him to keep it there.

The ride to her home was silent and awkward. Jin was seething that Min Seok had evaded him, and Y/N was caught up in thoughts of everything that had happened that day. Yesterday they had been having lunch together, and today he was on the run from the police. It just didn’t make sense. The Min Seok she knew would never do something like this. The more she thought about it the more it didn’t make sense.

She was only pulled out of these thoughts when they arrived at her home to be greeted by the sound of barking.

She sat up immediately on alert. “That’s Jinnie.”

Jin looked at her confused. What did she mean? He was sitting next to her, and he certainly didn’t make such an obscene sound. “Jinnie?”

“He’s a stray I take care of. Well, he’s really more my dog now than a stray. He’s not a fan of people, but he usually doesn’t bark. He should be inside actually.” Her brow furrowed further as she caught sight of the shaggy hair of the dog she’d spent so long trying to coax into her home. It had taken her ages to get the dog to trust her. She never left him outside when she was at work out of fear something would happen to him.

“You named your dog Jinnie?” He asked more offended than anything else.

She hummed in agreement before practically bolting out of the car with Jin following behind calling for her to come back.

She approached the dog cooing gently trying to get him to calm down. “Hello, handsome boy. How’s the most beautiful boy in the whole world?” The dog kept growling at her door, but one ear was cocked back in her direction and his tail was wagging slightly at the sound of her voice.

She was able to get close enough to grab his collar, but the human Jin had approached at this point much to the displeasure of the dog. He took one look at Seokjin and started growling moving to stand in front of Y/N protectively.

“I’m sorry. He doesn’t like strangers… or people really. He’s a little finicky.” She smiled nervously keeping a firm hand on his collar to keep him from lunging at her boss. “And he was already riled up. I think there’s someone in the house.”

“I’m calling the police.” Jin announced already pulling out his phone. “We’ll discuss your dog’s name later.”

She nodded moving to punch in the code to her house letting Jinnie run in ahead of her. Jinnie was by no means a small dog, and he was more than likely to chase out whoever had entered her home than she was. She went in after him much to her boss’ displeasure as he called for her to come back.

What they found inside, was not what she expected.

“Min Seok?”  

part 3

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts jin #kim seokjin #yandere seokjin #ceo seokjin #bts seokjin #seokjin x reader #ceo #ceo au #jin #jin x reader #ceo jin #dark romance #something wicked #yandere #yandere jin

[deathduty]

Sew What || Deirdre & Irene

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Sew La Ti Do PARTIES: @threadofheart & @deathduty (special mentions to Angela Lansbury) SUMMARY: Deirdre strips. Irene does her job and nothing more. They both do what they know best.

Deirdre never considered herself to be a sentimental person. Yet, with her dress torn up the side, she found herself more willing to find the nearest tailor than to get a new one. She’d had the thing since moving to White Crest, and was certain at that moment that no other dress could make her look as good. More than that, though, she had things to do. Places to be. As much as she liked being nude, a torn up dress simply wasn’t acceptable. If she could just get the thing stitched up, however crude, she’d be on her way. “Hello?” The banshee called out, poking her head around the shop, trying to find someone to assist her. “I need–“ and at that moment, as someone emerged, Deirdre waved them down. “Do you work here? I need some help,” Deirdre pointed to the tear in her dress. “Just something to make it presentable enough. Can you do that?” 

Irene sat at her computer, finishing up some paperwork for a few of her orders, when she heard the front door of her shop open. Quickly getting up, she walked out to greet whoever it was and spotted a new face. “Hello, yes, how can I help you?” she responded as she made her way to the front counter. It would be one thing to assume that this person was looking to get something fixed, but Irene had encountered a fair number of strange asks (like “Where’s the closest Pizza Hut?” and Irene had to bite her tongue to not inform them that she was not a map). At the question, Irene leaned forward and noticed the tear on the dress. Her brow furrowed as she studied it before she stood back up. “I can definitely get that properly sewn back together for you. Uh when would you need this by and, perchance, are you… um are you dropping off the dress right now?”

“Right now.” Deirdre said, twisting around to reach the zipper. “And I’ll wait; I can wait. I just need this done immediately.” Getting the dress half off, dangling from her bare shoulders, Deirdre considered that maybe stripping inside a store was not acceptable conduct in human society. It was fortunate then, that she didn’t care about human society. “Here,” she handed the dress off, standing about in her underwear. “Do you mind if I watch you work? I’d be bored otherwise.” Deirdre’s smile was wide, her best attempt at being friendly. The last tailor she had gone to, she murdered. Of course, because he was going to die anyway, but murdered all the same. This tailor was, however, much prettier than the last. And she wasn’t a murderer anymore. For now, anyway. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” She beamed, “I’ll pay double. Triple, even. And I am very pleasant to look at.” 

“Wait!” Irene immediately held her hands up before the customer fully stripped right in her shop. She blushed slightly when half of it was already off as the seamstress walked to her desk and grabbed her long coat. “I-I don’t have any spare clothing in the shop right now other than this.” Her arm stretched out, offering it over as she averted her own gaze while her other hand reached for the dress. The moment her fingers found purchase with it, Irene noted that the material was quite nice and thankfully was something she had worked with before. “Oh, um, of course that’s no problem.” Normally, she would have politely informed her customers that she would need at least a day to complete something like this but this didn’t seem too difficult. And the prospect of being paid extra for this wasn’t unalluring… “Feel free to take a seat,” she finally decided with a small smile. Setting the dress down on her counter, Irene quickly began looking for the tear. “As much as that may be true, I’m afraid I can’t look back at you while I fix up your dress,” she indicated with a light tone as she began to pull out some tools from her cabinets. And she had been so caught up in this sudden exchange that only when Irene began to get to work did she realize that she was picking up some strange emotions from the woman. Not strange in the sense that it wasn’t reflective of the scenario but… dulled? Her brow knitted and she tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed was to mess up the dress in front of an audience.

“Oh no, I like being naked.” Deirdre tried to explain, but with a sigh, she took the coat offered and put it on. Humans could be such prudes. This human was fixing her dress though, and so she figured she might as well cover up. Though, at mention of taking a seat, despite knowing exactly what the tailor meant, she hoisted herself on the counter and took her seat there. “A tree branch got me, you know,” she said, offering an explanation for the tear. She smiled wide. A tree branch did not get her. It was, rather, the hand of a dying man, who’d managed to claw at her dress before she could leave. “I’m Deirdre,” she said, insisting on being a nuisance. “Why tailoring? It certainly can’t pay well, and it seems like such an unappreciated art…” 

Irene managed a stiff smile in response to the woman’s comment about being naked, but the seamstress really did not want to explain having a naked person in her shop should anyone pass by her windows. A sigh of relief escaped her when the woman took the coat, though tension twisted her stomach once more when she noticed the guest hoist herself up onto her worktable. “Please be careful of the pins and other uh sharp objects on the counter,” she offered tersely as her hands continued to address the garment. “A tree branch… sounds dangerous. If you need any first aid, I have a kit in the back room I can grab.” Irene wasn’t certain she believed that especially as she picked up a dull feeling of smugness that seemed to emanate from the woman. Or perhaps she was really proud to be struck by a tree; Irene was not one to judge. “Lovely to meet you, Deirdre. I’m Irene,” her response flowed automatically from her lips. It was certainly taking a bit of effort for the seamstress to hold her tongue. “It’s actually a family business so I inherited the skills when I was old enough,” she briefly explained.

Deirdre watched the seamstress work, doubtlessly skilled in her work. Her great-grandmother had taught her to sew, still enraptured by the idea that a proper lady must know how to embroider, but she’d only ever enjoyed the feeling of sticking the needle through. “Oh no, I’m okay, you should've seen the tree though, Irene,” she smiled at her own joke, leaning into the woman’s work. It looked boring to her, but there was something about the ability to mend that always caught her attention; weapons never could learn to heal. “Like a duty?” She leaned back, “like some obligation to run this shop? Do you enjoy your work?” Deirdre watched the woman some more, graceful fingers finding what they wanted with ease. “I guess I’m in something of a family business myself…” she trailed off, looking out the shop window at the people passing by, living their own obligations. “But of all the things…” She turned back to Irene, “you’re not one of those people that wish to be a fashion designer, are you?” Not that there was anything wrong with that. 

Having an audience while she worked normally wouldn’t distract her, but Irene found herself a little on edge with this woman, probably because she had initially wanted to stand around the shop naked. “Poor tree couldn’t put up much of a fight? What did it do to deserve such ire from you?” she replied with a small chuckle as she tried to imagine such a scene. Her mental image came up with something rather absurd and cartoonish, causing her to let out another quiet laugh. Irene paused, both to check on the progress of her sewing and also to consider the questions. “It was an obligation and now it’s what I know best. I enjoy it as much as one can enjoy their work I suppose. There are good days and bad ones.” Her fingers deftly finished up what she was able to hand-sew before she got up to move to her sewing machine. “Fashion designer? It’s something that’s crossed my mind a few times but it’s not a particular passion of mine. I do have a lot of respect for designers though. The pressure to constantly create something new or avant-garde that hasn’t already been created, I can’t begin to imagine it.”

“Oh, you know how it goes, it looked at me the wrong way…” Deirdre trailed off, grinning toothy and lopsided. She had started the process of trying to think of something else to say, something to make the woman uncomfortable, when she continued. Deirdre’s grin faltered, and from her position nosing into Irene’s work, she leaned back with a frown. She was not so deluded on ideas of passion that she didn’t understand practicality, but the way the woman described it sounded…sad. Or, at best, Deirdre would unknowingly insult her. “What you know best?” She repeated, hoping Irene would correct her. “What you know best and what you enjoy are two different things.” Deirdre stared at her, completely having intended to ruin her day and yet being struck with confusion instead. “Irene,” she began, “is there some other thing you imagined you’d be doing?” She sighed, she could understand duty and she could understand obligation. She could even understand knowing something too well to not make anything of it, but like this? Deirdre stared around the shop, nose wrinkled; was it really worth it? “It’s just an odd way to word your sentence—‘what I know best’ what I know best is murd—“ Deirdre froze. “Uh,” she turned to Irene, “Mur—Murder, She Wrote! The show! Love it. It’s what I know best, but, it’s not…uh, it’s not what I imagined I’d be watching. It doesn’t satisfy my life’s hunger.” 

Irene expertly adjusted her machine, her movements second nature after years of working in this profession. As she ran the dress through the machine, she chuckled again. “I have noticed that some trees do make some devious faces.” The playful banter was easy enough to maintain as the seamstress worked, a trait she picked up early on when she had to mend her sisters’ clothes while they chattered away beside her. But then the sudden shift in tone surprised her, almost causing the woman to completely stop in her work. She swallowed hard, her lips pursing into a small smile despite her facing the machine and not her customer. “In the end, it’s all semantics,” she replied quietly before clearing her voice. There were many things she had tickled in pursuing: places she’d considered visiting or even living in, career paths she might have enjoyed, goals she’d like to achieve. “What I enjoy most is making sure my family is doing well and is safe and happy, and this happens to be the way I am able to achieve that.” The fabric slid through her fingers and past the thrumming needle of the machine. Her brow furrowed once more at the way this conversation unfolded from this curious woman. “I suppose that’s a thing about life, though, isn’t it? If Murder She Wrote doesn’t satisfy you, there are so many things out there that might do the trick.” With a satisfied sigh and a more genuine smile now, Irene finished up her repairs, snipped the loose thread from the dress, and held it up to examine. “This should be all good to go and ready for another battle with any tree that gives you the wrong impression.”

Why did it bother her? Long after Irene held the dress out, signaling the end of their little tête-à-tête, Deirdre stood and stared at her. She was dissatisfied; with Irene’s answer, her amiability and her lack of disdain at Deirdre’s general demeanor. It was spiteful. How dare the woman feign happiness in her face? It was tragic. How dare she answer honestly? And then it was pointless; why did it bother her at all? Irene was being practical, smart, safe. What could she possibly find a flaw in? Perhaps it was just that, the perceived perfectionism of the whole thing. Deirdre’s expression soured quickly. “Is that so?” Deirdre got her little inside glance at the woman, watching her words bounce right off. She had no hook, no control; friendly people disgusted her. A saccharine grin greeted Irene as Deirdre yanked the dress from her grip. “I suppose your family are all grateful. Where are they? Out back or…?” Perhaps it was the whimper of feeling blooming in her stomach; sadness, or something like it. “Aren’t you the hypocrite? Deluding yourself into thinking this satisfies you. At least Murder, She Wrote has Angela Lansbury.” From her boot, she drew out wrinkled hundred dollar bills, offering no explanation for either action. One hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred dollars, slapped down in front of Irene. “I’m taking your coat.” She announced with a huff, finding it to be the apology she deserved after Irene ruined her evening with her politeness. “And you!” she jabbed a finger at the tailor, throwing her dress over her shoulder. She stepped to leave, eager to free herself from Irene’s bullying. “If I peel back those layers of lies and professional, am I going to find a woman who fights or flees?” 

Despite the muted emotions Irene picked up from Deirdre, she managed to pick up something akin to frustration. From the very beginning, this whole exchange presented to be a challenge. Why was Deidre frustrated when she had bulldozed Irene from the moment she arrived? Her gaze flickered momentarily at the questioning, each interrogatory a sharp, yet familiar, stab. Everything Deidre was saying was not incorrect. In fact, Irene was certain her sisters would likely agree. But, unlike Deidre, Irene made peace with her own reality, a reality she had resigned herself to for quite some time. “My family--my sisters are where they wish to be.” Was that so bad? That she prioritized their happiness over hers? It was her duty, always has been her duty, to take care of the family. As the money slammed onto the table, far more than was needed to pay, Irene made no move to collect it. “I suppose you and I will find out if that happens.” Each day in White Crest forced Irene to face that question: was she here fighting for something or was she actually fleeing? She lifted her head, swallowing hard and finding it harder to maintain a professional front. It was too early in the day for her regularly scheduled existential crisis. “Well, thanks for your patronage; I hope the dress is to your liking,” were the last words, auto-piloted by habit, she managed to say as she finally reached to collect the money dispensed upon her work surface.

Deirdre reveled in the sort of annoyances she could spur in others; she desired to control their reactions to her. If she forced hate, she would beat them all to the punch. But there was a special sort of person she could never crack: those that desired to be polite, kind, friendly. Those who refused to stoop to her level. Those, much like Irene. Her grievance all along might just have been envy. If only she had half a mind to be as optimistic. “I hope for your sake,” Deirdre said as she lingered at the door, “you find out sooner rather than later, the kind of person you are.” Without so much as a thank you, she was gone, and the store fell back into the silence that didn’t know her. One day, Irene would be dead, and her legacy was her own concern. It didn’t bother Deirdre one bit. Not at all.

#wickedswriting #c: irene #sew what #chatzy #threadofheart #i love irene so much #im so excited to see more of her and all of her facets #also sef is great

[sondepoch]

Rebellion

All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

The current ruling class is brutal. Draconian. Tyrannical. Every demon who has sat the throne for the past ninety thousand years has brought nothing but hardship to the Devildom—something Diavolo and his father intend to remedy by seizing power as leaders of the Resistance. When Diavolo happens to come across the princess of the Devildom, he’s overjoyed. He sees you as an opportunity, a sign from a higher power that his cause is just; and he plans to use you as a pawn in his Rebellion. But life rarely goes as planned, especially in Hell. And when Diavolo realizes that he’s falling in love with you, things suddenly feel a lot more complicated than they used to be.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

MASTERLIST

You don't know that your life is going to end.

But from the moment you wake up, you know that something is wrong.

Call it a hunch, call it a guess. But as your two maids pull you out of bed to bathe and dress you, you're positive that something is off. That something is strange. That today is different, and not in a good way.

"Do you hear that sound?" You ask the maid tying your hair, closing your eyes as she works. There's a low hum that envelopes your hearing, like a swarm of bees that won't stop buzzing right outside your room.

Your maid pauses, halting her shuffling to focus on the silence, searching for any sounds that block it out.

The brief quietness that wraps around your room is a final moment of peace.

Then your door has been kicked open, revealing your knight standing in full armor, his helm donned and his sword unsheathed, and you bid farewell to tranquility—not knowing that it will be the last moments of serenity you will ever have.

"Sire!" You exclaim, turning around in shock. You open your mouth to reprimand him, to remind him that even if he is your knight of honor, he cannot barge into your chambers at random like this.

Before you can say a word, though, he's begun speaking. And once the words begin to start pouring out of his mouth, it's like they won't stop.

"Escape—we have to escape! Rebels have seized the west and central wings—we must leave! Now! They've scattered our forces, but a few of us remain in this section of the palace! I've ordered all the men within my unit to set up a defense by all the secret exits, but we must leave now, otherwise—"

Your mind goes blank. His words carry such weight that you can hardly process them.

Rebels? Your eyes widen. And they're in the palace?

"Sire, what about my—"

"Your parents have barricaded in the central wing. Their status remains unconfirmed."

Beneath his helm, your knight's lips are set in a thin line, the demon already making swift strides to wrap his fingers around your arm and yank you out of your seat.

"What are you two waiting for?" He practically shouts at your maids when the two of you are nearly out of your room. "Hurry!"

The urgency in his voice stirs you to action, and within seconds, the four of you have begun sprinting down the empty hall, the only sounds around you being that incessant hum from somewhere outside and the clattering of boots and heels as you collectively begin to escape.

"Sire—" You blurt, using one hand to bunch your dress up. "How—how did this happen? Or—or when? The rebels—it should have been impossible for them to sneak inside. Why weren't the knights guarding the palace?"

"The knights were guarding the palace," The demon responds grimly, jerking your elbow closer to him as he makes a turn, glancing back to confirm that your maids are still hot on your heels. "The rebels managed to enter the palace from inside. They must have had assistance from someone within the palace."

"Who would…"

Who would betray your parents? They've done more than enough to ensure that every civilian, palace worker, and knight in the nine circles of hell is terrified to the core of them and their power. You're not surprised that a rebel faction rose up—but the fact that they were able to get help from within the palace is confusing in more ways than one.

"I don't know, princess." Your knight glances at your with sympathetic eyes, pity laced into the irises you've grown so familiar with. "I am sorry."

"Do not be," You respond curtly, bunching the fabric of your dress tighter in your fist as you run. "There is nothing you could have done."

"Perhaps," The knight muses. "But there are things I can still do now—and it is my mission to see you to safety, princess."

The demon grins at you, flashing you the same broad, charming grin that you've grown used to seeing in these past few months. And for a moment, everything seems like it will be alright. Yes, the palace is currently being infiltrated by rebels and yes, you have no clue whether the rest of your family is safe or not. But as you remember this knight's pledge of honor to you, you know that as long as he is by your side, you're safe.

The thought would make you smile, if not for the fact that seconds later, the four of you turn the corner and run straight into rebels.

Your knight reacts before you do, fingers tensing around your arm with bruising force as he yanks you backward, placing your body behind him. He stands in front of you like a shield, his longsword drawn in his hand within seconds.

Your maids aren't so lucky.

They stop themselves from their sprint only when it's too late, their bodies staggering forward clumsily as they spot the rebels a moment after you.

A moment too long.

You reach a hand out to grab for them, but the knight holds you back, and their names leave your lips in a strangled gasp.

The rebels kill them so quickly, your maids don't even have time to scream before their bodies are falling to the floor, limp and bloodied.

"What—wait—" Your eyes widen with horror, and the knight tries to pull you behind him once more in an attempt to shield you from the sight; but you can't take your eyes off the women who have been with you from childhood. "You monsters!" You seethe, hot tears forming in your eyes as you glare at one of the rebel demons. "I would have—I would have given myself up in exchange for their lives—but—but—"

"We do not need you to give yourself up to us," A voice rings out, interrupting you smoothly.

Your eyes widen.

You know that voice. You've heard that voice. You've spoken with that voice.

"Try to escape as much as you wish, but your life will be in our hands before the day's end." Footsteps click against the stone floors, and a figure emerges in front of the band of rebels. A figure you recognize. "After all," The demon laughs, his tone just as cruel as you remember it. "The last time we met, you told me you wished that vengeance would be delivered to my enemy."

Green eyes meet yours, staring coldly down at you.

"And you, my princess, are the enemy of the people."

The teal-haired demon walks closer, a hand raised to signify that the other rebels ought to not attack. The yet is implied.

"You—you—" You shudder as he approaches, a rage engulfing your senses. "You bastard," You seethe, ignoring the fact that your language is wholly inappropriate for a lady of your standing. "You lied to me! You told me you were a—a—a butler! How does it feel, Sir? To know that you had to lie your way to where you're standing right now?"

The demon chuckles, but the sound is devoid of mirth. No, the laughter that rings forth is nothing but cruel, abrasive to the ear. "I did not lie to you, princess." The demon grins. "I am a butler, after all. I merely...left some details out."

The butler takes two more steps forward, but just as he's about to draw even nearer, your knight raises his longsword, pointing it straight at the demon's chest.

"Not a step closer," He warns, the edge in his voice more threatening than the glint of steel between his fingers.

"Of course," The butler says courteously, nodding his head.

He drops the hand that had been raised, the hand which had been signaling for the other rebels to remain on standby.

They attack the second his hand falls.

Your knight is prepared for them when they come, battling off the six swords with his own as you and the butler merely watch.

"I can fight," You try to explain when the knight pushes you back, never loosening his grip on your arm as he forces you behind him while single-handedly clashing his steel against the rebels'.

"You have no weapon," The knight hisses in response, smoothly disarming one knight. He pierces the demon's heart with his sword, the sound of his flesh tearing open making you flinch. The man cries in response, giving a shuddering gasp which chills you to the core, but your knight has no time to waste with him while five others are still active on the assault, and within moments, his longsword is withdrawn from the demon's body and is back to clinging against his opponents'.

You grit your teeth, hating how the only thing you can do is keep your footsteps in line with the knight's so that you don't trip him, knowing that you'll do nothing but worry him if you try to fight. But still, you keep a fist raised, entirely prepared to jump into the battle if you see your knight being overpowered.

"Impressive," The butler calls out when your knight slices the head off one demon and knocks another unconscious, turning the match into a three-on-one. "Have you ever thought about joining forces with the Resistance, young knight? Your strength may have gone unappreciated under the past tyrant rulers, but the new king will reward you well for your loyalty."

"I am loyal to my princess," Your knight spits in response, punctuating the sentence by killing another rebel and making a swipe for the butler. The green-eyed demon merely steps out of its way. "Your rebel faction means nothing to me."

The knight darts back, and you scamper out of his way so that he doesn't bump into you when he evades a hit from a heavy battle-ax, but the momentum of the movement was too much for the demon who attacked, and in the brief seconds where he is struggling to lift the weapon back off the ground, your knight has already darted in and delivered the fatal wound.

When the battle turns into a one-on-one, there's no question of the winner anymore.

You feel your heart begin to steady when the knight slays the last of the attacking rebels, the adrenaline of fearing for your life wearing off the moment you're no longer in immediate danger.

Yet the butler remains.

Your knight raises his longsword, circling around the demon cautiously, holding you behind his back the whole time as if he's waiting for the man to attack.

But the butler does nothing, maintaining his eerily calm smile as you both cross him in the hall.

Your knight takes a step back, still holding his longsword up. Then another. And another. He takes one more, and then his grip around your arm is even stronger, and the two of you are sprinting down the hall once more, leaving the butler behind as you run.

"That vile man was standing in front of one of the only secret exits in the east wing," Your knight grunts in explanation, gritting his teeth. "We'll have to go around the palace if we want to—"

"Wait!" You interrupt, something more important crossing your mind. You tug the demon backward. "My maids! Their bodies—we have to take them with us so we can give them a proper—"

"No one will be getting any burials today, princess." Your knight's expression darkens as he turns the corner. "Your maids aren't the only ones who ran into those rebels."

For a moment, the two of you pause in your sprint to study the hall in front of you. It's nearly a replica of the scene in your dream: a perfect picture of death. Bodies line the floor, their blood layering out a carpet of red over the stone. Arms are bent at awkward angles, legs are missing, and the entrails of a certain demon have spilled out next to him. Every demon who has died here has died so brutally that there will be no peace for them in the afterlife, their bodies mutilated beyond the point of return.

But for a second, it feels like every pair of dead, open eyes is staring straight at you.

You don't have any time to contemplate the notion, because before you can blink, your knight is tugging you through the sea of bodies without a care in the world.

You try not to cringe as you hear the squelching sound that the corpses make when the two of you trample over them. It takes all your efforts to keep your eyes up and not look down, not stare at the thing that your heel is sinking into which makes such a pitiful sound.

"Princess…" You hear someone breathe from behind you, inches from death but still seeking you out, but your knight has pulled you forward before you can even look back, telling you to keep your eyes off the ground.

You feel sick.

The feeling never leaves you, not when you and the knight start up a sprint once more and not when the ground is finally its usual grey color, with only the occasional palace worker brutalized every couple hundred feet. The queasiness stays with you all the way until you're nearly out of the east wing, after your knight has fought off another handful of rebels and when the two of you are close to another secret exit.

But you make the mistake of glancing inside a familiar room.

And then it's another feeling that's overwhelming your senses, and the nausea at seeing so many mutilated bodies fades when another sight enters your vision.

"Wait," You mumble, instantly slowing down.

"Princess?" The knight in front of you calls, tugging your arm. "We have to go, we don't have time to—"

"No!" You blurt, tugging the knight backward, going back to the room you just saw. It had to be your imagination, right? Could it be true?

Your knight protests the whole time as you practically drag him back to the throne room, squinting to see whether it was just a trick of the light or whether you actually saw what you think you did.

And sure enough, you were right the first time.

Red hair.

Your eyes soften, a familiar warmth settling inside your heart.

Amber eyes.

A careless smile breaks out on your face: the smile of a fool in love.

"Diavolo!" You practically sing as you step forward into the throne room, the knight behind you flinching when he sees that you've willingly entered into the same room as someone who certainly isn't a palace worker.

The redhead makes no motion to respond to you, his expression unreadable as you draw close.

"You're here," You say with so much love that it hurts, every inch of your body overwhelmed with the fact that your lover somehow managed to make it here to protect you.

It doesn't strike you as odd that Diavolo is sitting on your throne.

"We're saved," You whisper to the knight next to you. You can feel him instinctively relax when he sees the utterly relieved expression on your face, but the arm that grips you remains tense. "This is the man I told you about. The man I want to marry."

You turn away from your knight, addressing your lover.

A beaming smile lights up your face.

"You're here to save us, aren't you?" You ask, ready to cry tears of joy. You were so scared, so terrified that you were actually going to die. But Diavolo pulled through. He came here for you. To help you. To protect you.

To save you.

Something flashes in Diavolo's eyes. An unfamiliar emotion. It looks like guilt, but surely you misread it? He should be proud. He made it here on time. You're going to be okay, now.

And it's all thanks to Diavolo.

"Princess…" Your knight mumbles into your ear after Diavolo has been silent for a moment too long. "This is the man you have been leaving the palace to see?"

You nod, smiling sweetly.

Your knight stares down at you, eyes softening. A strange emotion swirls in his eyes as he sees the utterly trusting expression you regard your lover with, but you don't bother commenting on it as you continue to attempt escaping his tight grip around your arm so you can go forward and embrace Diavolo.

When the demon next speaks, you're confused.

"Princess, get behind me."

Your knight raises his sword to Diavolo, his eyes narrowed in pure hatred as he looks upon the man who sits on your throne.

"What? Sire, what are you doing? Diavolo isn't the enemy, he's—"

"Get behind me," Your knight repeats with such venom in his voice that you turn to Diavolo, expecting the man to say something—but your lover doesn't look at you. He keeps his gaze focused solely on the knight, lifting his own sword when he sees the demon draw close.

"W-wait," You blurt the second you see your knight move forward, beginning to circle Diavolo. "S-Sire, what are you doing? D-Diavolo, don't fight him—I know I never told you about who I really am, but—but—but this knight is on our side, and—"

"Princess," Your knight cuts you off, his expression fixed on Diavolo.

You don't respond to his word, too preoccupied with the sight of the two demons you trust most being poised to fight, both stanced for a duel which looks like it will end in death.

"This man..." Your knight glares, closing one eye as he raises his longsword.

"...Has lied to you."

Steel crosses with steel.

Your eyebrows furrow the moment the demons move, the moment you see how precise their swings are—and you dart forward, trying to step between their weapons until the knight pushes you away, practically shoving you behind him.

"Sire—Sire, stop! I am commanding you to stop! This is a misunderstanding, this is—"

"No, princess," Your knight scowls, dodging swiftly before thrusting his sword at Diavolo's stomach, though the redhead evades easily. "You have misunderstood."

"What are you…"

You flinch when the sound of metal clanging fills your ears, stepping back.

"This man has lied to you, princess." Your knight begins advancing, and the fury in his words is emphasized by every movement of the blade between his hands. "Who do you think he is? A farmer? A commoner? A merchant?" Your knight glares. "He is among the rebels. No, he must be their leader."

"What…?" You turn your eyes upon Diavolo, waiting for him to deny it. Waiting for him to step back and furrow his eyebrows cutely like he does whenever he doesn't know what you're talking about. Waiting for him to say something to prove your knight wrong, and prove that this is all just a big misunderstanding.

But he says nothing, only continuing to retreat as your knight's attacks grow more frenzied.

"How did it feel?" Your knight hisses, no longer addressing you but now solely focused on Diavolo. "Leading the princess on, tricking her into loving you, toying with her heart so that you could sit on her throne?"

Your knight swings his longsword with such strength that if Diavolo hadn't ducked, his torso would have been cut clean off.

"Diavolo," You whisper, hesitantly turning to him. He ignores you, but you see the way the muscles twitch in his neck when you speak. "Diavolo, please. Tell me...tell me it isn't true."

But for the first time, the demon you've come to love ignores you.

"Close the door, Barbatos," He commands. You nearly flinch at the inflection of his voice, because never before have you ever seen him speak with such authority—but then another thought breaks into your mind, and you shudder because he isn't just asking to have the door closed. He's asking to make it so that no one can disturb you.

Diavolo wants to kill your knight without any interruptions.

"Wait!" You shout, spinning around, hoping that the rebel behind you will be someone you can plead with. But when you glance back, the eyes that greet you are cold. Callous. Cruel.

Green.

You shiver as the butler from before smiles eerily at you, closing the door with a bang which seems to echo through the room, momentarily overpowering even the sounds of swordfighting from behind you.

How did he get here so fast?

Another chill crawls down your spine as his empty, olive eyes peel back at your soul, and you turn around just to avoid the sight of him.

Of course, the two men fighting behind you are hardly easier to watch.

Your knight is completely unhinged, now. He throws insults left and right at Diavolo, using his sword to rain down attacks that come just as hard as his words, but your lover says nothing, solely preoccupied with pushing back.

"Vile." He seethes. "Wicked—you are pathetic. Your rebellion is unjust. The princess is a better ruler than you can ever hope to be." Your knight spits at Diavolo's feet. "You have no honor. A decent man would have at least charged the gates headfirst, rather than sneaking in from the inside like a coward—"

Your eyes widen in horror.

"Wait," You mumble, falling to your knees. "I—no—it can't—"

"Princess?" Your knight asks, pausing in his insults for the first time when he sees the way you practically crumple to the floor. His gaze shifts back and forth between you and Diavolo, desperately avoiding his opponent's attacks but unwilling to leave you be. "What is—" He grunts, ducking. "What is wrong?"

You take a shaky breath to steady yourself, tears filling your eyes.

But the guilt is overwhelming.

"I gave Diavolo entry to the Temple of the Grim Reaper, Sire." The knight's eyes widen at your words. "I let the rebels into the palace."

Your shoulders slump in shame as you realize the weight of your blunder. The fact that you single-handedly doomed every single person in this palace. That all those mutilated corpses outside are your doing, because if you had never given Diavolo free reign of the holy temple, he never found his way into the palace through the secret passage, and this rebel faction would have had no leverage.

It's your fault.

Your knight gazes at you in sympathy for a moment, his eyes taking on a softer shade as he doubtlessly tries to come up with something to say that will comfort you.

And then the weight of your burden abruptly increases, because that single second of hesitation is all Diavolo needs to deliver a deadly blow, and your knight drops to the ground.

"No!" You scream, scrambling forward. You don't care how pathetic you look, you don't care how unladylike you're being. You have enough death on your hands—you can't take any more. "No," You mumble, cradling your knight's head in your lap as Diavolo gazes down at you with unreadable eyes.

"I can…" Your knight trails off, glancing down at where Diavolo has sliced into his skin.

A single glance is all it takes to know that the wound is fatal.

"I can...fight…" He grunts, using the last of his strength to push you away, away from him and away from Diavolo, stabbing his sword into the ground to use it to crawl to his feet.

Diavolo makes no motion to stop him.

You glance around the room, desperately searching for a weapon—but your throne room has been stripped of its furnishings. There lies not even a rock you can throw to intervene with the fight, and you know better than to go against an opponent who has a sword without one of your own.

You cringe as the sound of metal meeting flesh fills your ears, already knowing that Diavolo isn't the one who was just injured.

"Cease this," You breathe shakily. "Diavolo, I will give myself to you, but please just spare—"

"I thought I told you we didn't need you to give yourself up?" A voice asks, sharp and irritated. The butler—Barbatos, as Diavolo called him—approaches you from behind, taking advantage of the fact that you're practically paralyzed in fear to stand right next to you. "Watch, princess. Diavolo is not the person who will kill this knight. It will be you."

You regard the demon's words with confusion. Confusion and horror, another shudder running up your spine when you feel how close Barbatos is to you; but then the weight of his words hits you, and you realize their meaning.

"I will not..." Your knight spits blood. It hardly does anything, given that he is now covered in red, but he does it all the same. "...stand down." He glances back at you, and his gaze is nearly as terrifying as Barbatos's, utterly horrifying to look at because of how his face is littered with cuts and he's drenched in blood—but you refuse to let yourself turn away. "I swore to you that as long as my blood runs warm," He trembles, taking a staggering step as he raises his sword. "Then...you shall be protected."

Diavolo strikes, clanging the sword out of his hand. It falls to the floor, too far for the knight to pick it back up.

"So, I must...I have to...survive...if not for my own sake...then for yours, princess…"

Your knight raises a fist, a final act of defiance that he knows is futile, but it's the only option he has left. You cringe internally, waiting for Diavolo to strike him down, to kill the final shield that guards your life—but the redhead is unmoving as your knight's gloved fist comes crashing down against his cheek, the punch falling upon his face without an ounce of resistance.

Isn't it sick that even now, you feel a twinge of sympathy for Diavolo?

You watch as your knight remains standing for a beat longer, raising a second fist to strike him again.

But one free punch is all Diavolo was willing to give him, and when your lover's sword cuts open your knight's neck, the demon doesn't even scream before he crumbles to the floor, dead as the bodies outside.

You don't look at Diavolo when he enters the room.

Your gaze is fixated on the floor, on a speck of dirt that you want to flick away but can't because of the way your wrists have been handcuffed to the ground.

"Leave us."

You raise your eyes, sneaking a peek at the two demons who stand behind Diavolo. One of them is Barbatos, but that's hardly surprising, given that out of all the rebels you'd crossed when you were dragged to this room in chains, Barbatos is the only one who never left Diavolo's side.

You squint in the darkness, lowering your head to get a better sight of the other demon, noting that something about him seems awfully familiar. Raising your head, you try to catch a glimpse of the demon's eyes and—

Oh.

It's the Victor.

Fighting for Diavolo's Rebellion, doubtlessly brought here by the redhead's victory last night.

The very thought fills you with anger.

"I trained you," You croak, the chains rattling from behind you when you and Diavolo are alone. "I trained you, and I fed you, and I healed you, and now you're turning that against me?"

Bitterness drips from your voice like blood off the sword hanging on Diavolo's side.

"I was good to you. I taught you, and I protected you, and I loved you—"

Your words are growing louder now, hysteria sinking into your voice as you fight back the tears.

"I loved you, and I kissed you, and I slept with you—" Your words break off, the tears now freely pouring down your face. You heave in a breath, but the cold air stings your lungs. "How could you, Diavolo? I thought—"

You choke back a sob.

"I thought you loved me."

You close your eyes, dropping your head to the ground so that Diavolo can't see the tears as they stream down your face.

The last thing you expect is for him to drop to his knees and wrap you in a hug.

"Don't touch me," You hiss, but you can't bring yourself to pull away from his arms.

"I'm sorry," He breathes into your ear, and it feels less like he's hugging you and more like he's clinging to you, desperate to hold on to your figure while he still can. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry doesn't forgive killing my people," You retort, memories of every person who has died today flashing through your mind. "You and your rebels slaughtered my men. My women. My palace workers. My knights."

"Everyone was given the opportunity to come to our cause," Diavolo responds. "The ones who had been brainwashed by your parents stayed, but over ninety percent of the palace forces have joined the Resistance, and—"

"Brainwashed?" The word falls from your lips like it's poison, and you glare at Diavolo. "My parents never brainwashed—"

"Can you truly say that?" Diavolo asks, his voice sharp. The amber eyes you've grown to love are impossibly clear as they stare you down, and the raw confidence of his voice makes you hesitate. 

Can you truly say that your family hasn't brainwashed their most loyal supporters? It certainly wouldn't be unusual, given all their other transgressions against the people. But still…

"I wouldn't have brainwashed anyone," You whisper.

"It doesn't matter what you would have done," Diavolo responds, reaching a hand to card through your hair. The gesture is so familiar and loving that you can't help but relax, despite the situation. Diavolo's next words are a stark reminder of the truth. "What matters is your parents. What they have already done. Their crimes against the people, and what the people are now going to do in retaliation."

You lower your head.

"You can't deny that your parents have been awful to the masses. It's not an opinion. Their tyranny is a fact. A rebellion was inevitable—the only people who have neglected to join the Resistance did so out of fear, and even they have turned to our side now that the fated day has come."

"But I was going to free everyone," You whisper. "I was going to change everything when my parents handed over the throne. Everything, Diavolo. I was going to give the people what they wanted."

The demon remains silent.

"If you—" You swallow, a surge of hope washing through your senses. "If you want to be king, Diavolo, I can make it happen. I know you're noble—your rebellion proves that. But—but if you truly loved me, then…"

You let your voice fade to a whisper, not bothering to finish a sentence that Diavolo already knows the answer to.

"I already told you that I want nothing more than to marry you," Diavolo whispers. "It would make me happier than anything in the world. But your life...cannot be spared."

"And why not?" You retort, passion burning in your eyes as you look up. The chains clatter against your wrist as you struggle forward, but you force yourself to twist your body into a position that enables you to look your lover in the eye. "I will be a good ruler. I know that. You know that."

"You will be a good ruler," Diavolo agrees. "But the people will forever live in fear under you."

You open your mouth to argue, but the redhead is speaking before you can.

"You are the daughter of the emperor and empress who killed millions. It wasn't just your parents who sucked the Devildom dry—it's been every single ruler in your family. Not only do the people not trust you, they can't trust you. You represent everyone that they have suffered abuse under, everything that—"

"But I'm not!" You argue, jerking your body forward. "I'm good! I was—I was going to take the throne, and I was going to change things! I was—I was—" Another wave of tears springs to your eyes, but this time you don't bother holding them back. "I was going to marry you, Diavolo. I was going to marry a commoner and break every precedent my ancestors have set! I was going to make the Devildom happy, and—and—"

You choke off to get ahold of yourself, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

"I wanted to marry you. I want to marry you." You jerk your wrist from its chains, trying to reach up to caress Diavolo's face, but the shackles hold you back. "We could still get married," You whisper. "Just like you wanted to, yesterday—we could get married, and we could change the Devildom for eternity."

You lean your head forward, trying desperately to get him to see how genuine you are.

But the look in Diavolo's eyes is tinged with pity.

His mind is already made up.

"All you had to do was wait," You whisper. "Just a few more months, until the first snow came, and then you would have seen me rise to the throne. Everything would have changed. People would have been happy."

Diavolo remains quiet for a moment longer, but when he processes your words, a strange light settles in his eyes.

"The first...snow?" He mumbles, confused.

"Yes," You mumble, eyes downcast. "If you could have waited just a few more months, I was going to inherit the throne."

Diavolo studies you, amber eyes blurred in confusion. The look turns to skepticism, then confusion once more, until the oranges light up with understanding—before his expression darkens.

"Your parents were going to give you the throne."

You nod.

"On the first snow of this year."

Another nod.

Diavolo stares at you blankly, and then his expression twists into a grimace as he pulls away from you, abruptly leaning back.

"They knew," He mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. "They knew that Rebellion was coming."

"What?" You try to weasel your way forward and see the look on Diavolo's face, but the darkness of the room makes it impossible. "Why would they stay in the palace if they knew—"

"They didn't."

Diavolo glares at the floor, his hand tensing into a fist.

"When we infiltrated the central wing, your parents were already dead." Diavolo drops his head. "It was a double suicide. Poison. They knew we were coming."

"What?" You ask. "No. No way. They wouldn't—they wouldn't kill themselves. Or—or if they did, they—they would have told me, so that—"

"So that what?" Diavolo snaps. "There's nowhere in the Devildom that is safe for any of you. No matter where you go, the masses will follow. You'll be lucky if you can get a quick death, but the public has been oppressed for too long to give any of you an easy out. It would be hell for any of you if you tried to escape. Death was the only way."

"You don't mean…"

Diavolo nods his head, the pitying look in his eyes returning.

"Your parents never planned for you to become Empress." The demon stares at his hands. "They probably just...wanted you to be a bit happier in your final months in the Devildom."

You jerk back abruptly, practically kicking Diavolo away until your back is flush against the wall you're chained to, trying to distance yourself from the demon, yourself from his words, yourself from the truth that is spilling out of his mouth.

"You're wrong," You whisper, closing your eyes. "My parents love me. They wouldn't lie to me. They—I was going to be Empress. They were going to make me Empress."

"We are demons of hell," Diavolo mumbles. "Demons of flame, demons of fire. Summer is our season. We celebrate the heat, not the cold." His eyes raise. "Tell me, have you ever heard of royalty being sworn in during the winter?"

"No," You say. "But I was going to be the first—"

"No," Diavolo cuts you off. "You were never going to be Empress."

You lean back, numb as Diavolo continues to stare at the ground, neither of you willing to move. The moment is delicate. So infinitely precious, as if a single word will shatter the silence. The tears that have been streaming down your cheeks finally stop, their tracks feeling cold as they dry on your face.

Neither of you seems to breathe.

"I came…" Diavolo coughs, clearing his voice when he realizes how shaky his words sound. "I came to fetch you." He refuses to meet your eyes. "The Resistance has full control of the palace, and all the remaining workers and knights have turned over to our side."

A weak laugh escapes from your lips.

The rebels won control of the palace the moment your parents committed suicide. With no hailing Emperor or Empress to bow to, the illusion of fear that had chained all the royal subjects to the palace dissipated. It's hardly any wonder that this rebellion has finished as quickly as it began.

"You're going to kill me," You mumble, almost feeling delirious. "No, no wait—I bet you're going to get rid of my soul as well, aren't you?"

The way Diavolo doesn't respond is an answer in itself.

You try not to think about the excruciating pain that accompanies the death of one's soul, forcing yourself away from a visualization of the agony you're about to go through.

"Your death will mark the beginning of a new era," Diavolo whispers. "The people will be happy. They will be free. Magic will be practiced on the streets, and the Devildom will finally ring with the sound of laughter once more."

"Yeah," You respond, already beginning to imagine it. "But did it ever occur to you that I wanted to see that future?"

Diavolo doesn't have anything to say to that. He remains silent for a long time, probably sorting out his guilt upon everything he's done to you and everything he's about to do to you, but you don't bother comforting him when you see how his eyes shine with regret.

In the end, he never responds to you.

The demon leans forward, reaching over your shoulder in a way that almost makes you think he's going to kiss you, but then you hear the sound of a lock, and the iron pipe that had bound your chains to the wall is dislodged, and you're somewhat free.

You jerk your wrists forward, momentarily considering an attack. But you know you're overpowered, with your ankles shackled to each other and your wrists bound behind your back.

You regret having ever trained Diavolo.

You want to regret having ever loved the man.

"Let's go," He mumbles, standing to his feet while he waits for you to do the same. He doesn't offer a hand to help you up, and you're grateful. You're not sure that you'd be able to take his help right now, not when he's about to kill you.

Neither of you looks at each other.

The walk through the palace is quick. Quicker than you'd like. You know these halls well, but it feels like Diavolo has truly studied them, because the path he leads you through is rigid.

You almost wish you could have had more time to appreciate the walk.

"I do love you," Diavolo mumbles when the two of you are in the hall that leads straight into the main entrance. You peek over his shoulder and see an array of unfamiliar faces, but you already know who they are.

The Resistance.

"If you had said yes to me yesterday, I really would have run away with you." Diavolo steps forward, brushing away the tearstains from your cheeks.

You hate how soothing you find the gesture.

"But you would have regretted it," You mumble in response, too familiar with Diavolo's code of honor to delude yourself into thinking anything else.

"Yes," He whispers. "I would have."

The two of you remain standing like that for a long time, Diavolo's hand lingering on your cheek while he stares down at you. But you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. You stare at his chest, remembering the strong muscles there that you always thought would protect you from harm. The same muscles that are now pushing you into death's arms.

You think Diavolo is about to hug you one final time when he turns away, a hush settling over the entrance hall the moment the two of you trail inside.

Everyone looks at you.

You don't return any of their stares, though. The only eyes you are willing to meet are Diavolo's, and he never turns to face you again, avoiding your gaze entirely as he brings you to the palace door.

"It is time." He declares, his voice filled with an authority you're not used to hearing from him. "Begin."

Immediately, the gates creak open.

Your eyes widen as they do so, the low hum that you'd grown used to from this morning growing louder and nearly exploding when the doors open.

Your lips part as you see the obscene amount of barely restrained people, all shouting and jeering and screaming in a noise so deafening you're amazed that the stone castle walls were able to suppress them at all.

For a second, happiness returns to your heart when you see how they instinctively cheer when they see the palace door open—and you think that maybe Diavolo's words were a lie. That maybe, all the masses aren't against you. That maybe, you're not alone in this world, and all these people are here to protest Rebellion.

But then you hear some of the words that they shout and jeer.

And you realize the truth: it's Diavolo they are cheering for. It's cries of Rebellion that ring from their lips. It's hurrahs of the usurper king they scream, and it's the Resistance that they sing praises for.

Only a handful of people resort to throwing insults instead of shouting praise. But the ones who do are not opposing Diavolo.

No, every insult is thrown your way. It's you they loathe.

You, and no other.

The castle is lit aflame, the building burning before the fires conjured up by Diavolo's father.

It's purely symbolic. The burning of the palace is nothing more than another message to the masses: look, we have erased every memory of the tyrant rulers from our kingdom. But still, Diavolo can't help but think that it is one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen. The fire is so huge that it lights up the whole city, illuminating the Devildom which is so often shrouded in darkness.

Diavolo never knew stone could burn. Of course, his father's magic truly seems to know no bounds, so the demon was hardly surprised when all the Resistance members filed outside the palace before his father set it to flames, lifting his fist triumphantly while the masses roared in approval.

The prince glances at you from the corner of his eye, noting how you tremble when you see your home up in flames.

He wants to comfort you.

He wants to hold you.

He wants to love you.

Of course, the demon does nothing of the sort, having been reminded too many times by Barbatos and his father of his role here.

Bring her to the pyre, set it aflame, walk away.

And nothing else. Barbatos had been particularly adamant about that last part.

"Come," He whispers to you. There's no way that you were able to hear him—not with all the commoners pressed so close to the palace, screaming so loudly—but you move anyway, your chains jingling gently under the deafening jeers as Diavolo leads you to the pyre.

It has to be me, Diavolo remembers his father telling him as he gently lowers you to your knees, right before he begins to chain your shackles to the bolts of iron and metal that stick out of the ground. It's symbolic: the prince of the people setting fire to the princess of evil, the old being replaced by the new.

That doesn't stop Diavolo from hating every second.

The demon almost wishes that you would resist, that you would fight back and spit in his face, but you're nothing but compliant, your face already turned into an expression of mute acceptance. Worse yet is the fact that Diavolo remembers that your right wrist is stronger than your left, bolting it down with a touch of magic that you refuse to comment on, never meeting his eyes.

"You're going to die now," Diavolo mumbles, angling his head away from the public so that they can't see. He doesn't know why he says the words. He isn't even sure if you can hear him. But he refuses to move without telling you, as if it's the only mercy he can give. "I'm going to…"

"I know."

Diavolo will never understand how, but your voice hangs above the screams of the masses as they jeer at you, shouting insults. Your words are impossibly clear, maybe even clearer than the creative insults the crowd throws your way. He doesn't know if it's a blessing or a burden, because it forces him to listen to your next words.

Your final words.

"Take care of the Devildom for me, will you, Diavolo?"

You raise your eyes to look up at him, turning away from the mob watching and ignoring them altogether in favor of casting him one last look—and Diavolo hates that even now, you still have the interest of the people at heart. You may not forgive him for his methods, but you love the citizens of your nation.

Diavolo's nation.

"I will," Diavolo whispers in response. He's about to begin rambling, about to swear off another promise that will make you understand the truth of his words, the sincerity with which he speaks, but seconds later, his father is handing him a torch.

Your eyes flash with fear, the final sight Diavolo will ever see from you before you drop your gaze to your knees where they rest atop the pyre.

I'm sorry, he says, murmuring the words in his mind because he knows he doesn't deserve to apologize. He doesn't deserve to guilt you into accepting his apology. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness, and he doesn't deserve this kingdom which he has stolen from you.

But when the people see the stick in Diavolo's hand, the flame at the end burning with the telltale blackness of hellfire, they roar in support.

And Diavolo remembers why he is doing this.

For the people.

The demon steels himself, rising to his feet. He is not doing this for himself. He is not doing this for his father. He is not doing this for you. He is doing this for the people, and for the people, he will put on a show. For the people, he will give them the final taste of vengeance that they were deprived of the moment your parents committed suicide, give them what little sick satisfaction he can.

When he drops the stick of hellfire onto the pyre, he does it for the people.

But when Diavolo steps back, it's for his own sake.

Your screams begin instantly. The hellfire spreads faster than normal fire, faster than magic fire, faster than anything in the world as it rushes to every inch of the square pyre his father set up, and your body is burning instantly.

Diavolo tries to go further back, tries to put as much distance between you and that awful sound coming out of your mouth, but his father grabs his arm before he can withdraw any more.

"Watch," The demon hisses, fingernails digging into his skin. "You claimed to have loved her, so you will watch as you pay the price for our kingdom. It is the least we can do."

A shudder runs up Diavolo's spine when he sees the way your body writhes desperately atop to the flames, your skin slowly beginning to melt when faced with the scorching heat of hellfire.

Abruptly, Diavolo wishes that they could have used regular flames. Or simple magic. Because neither of those would hurt as much, neither of those would bring such horrifying sounds out of your mouth. But Diavolo knows that was never an option. Hellfire is the only way to truly end the life of anyone with royal blood flowing in their veins, the only way to not only burn their body but to set fire to their soul, scorching it so brilliantly that even the cycle of reincarnation is broken when the flames die out.

There will be nothing for you when this is over. The only escape is if the God in the Celestial Realm above takes pity on you, and Diavolo already knows that the ruler of heaven would rather see every demon in the Devildom burn in hellfire before he would ever take a demon into his land.

But that doesn't make the reality of the situation any less cruel.

Diavolo flinches when he realizes that your restraints are burning. That the chains which he bound to you are melting into your skin, an added burn that just exaggerates the pain.

The crowds scream with approval.

Their voices whoop with joy, all of them seeing you as an emblem of pure evil. When they watch you howl under the heat of the flames, it's your parents they imagine burning. Your parents, and your parents' parents, and every godforsaken ancestor in your family that has brought such misery to the Devildom—misery that you are paying back.

"Long live the king!" The crowd begins to shout, and Diavolo can't help but think that it's sick. Sick that they're paying tribute to his father, not even giving you the respect you deserve as you die for them.

A round of cheers raise up the moment your body has been reduced to nothing more than a pile of helplessly connected bones, but even then, you are still moving. There is still that awful screaming coming out of your mouth, a sound that sounds like it's Diavolo's name you are desperately trying to form the syllables to.

Please let her die soon, Diavolo prays. Please end this suffering.

He does not know who he is praying to, but his wishes are answered because in moments, even your bones have melted into the ground, prompting another wave of hurrahs to rise up from the crowd.

But your soul remains.

The ball of spirit fights viciously against the flame, your soul young and unready to give in to the merciless destruction of hellfire.

But Diavolo can see it flickering.

The commoners' chants begin rising, now starting to clash with each other as everyone is collectively shouting for some variation of a wish for your death, every single person urging your spirit onward in its agony, only Diavolo silently begging for your soul to miraculously remain whole, though he knows it's futile.

Diavolo can no longer hear your cries of pain.

The ball of light from within the black flames is flickering, fading.

"All hail the king!" The commoners shout, pressing forward as much as they can with Resistance members holding them back. "All hail the king, all hail the prince!"

Diavolo tunes them out, though. He's solely preoccupied with your soul, urging you onward in your desperate struggle against a force so much stronger than your own fragile spirit.

"All hail the king!"

Your soul disappears for a moment, but a beat later, it's back, still fighting.

"All hail the prince!"

A burst of light strengthens your spirit momentarily, but seconds later, you're back to flickering.

"All hail the Resistance!"

You're doing your best to hold your ground, Diavolo knows. Black flames overwhelm your spirit but you're fighting back, refusing to let go.

"All hail Rebellion!"

Please hold on, Diavolo wants to shout. Please hold on, and defeat the flames, and survive, and then maybe, just maybe, I can find your soul in your next life, and we—

Your soul flickers.

Once.

Twice.

And then never again.

A wave of cheers rise up from the public the moment they see that the flames of hellfire are pure black, not a single remnant of you to indicate that there was ever anything burning within, and Diavolo feels the breath catch in his throat, the air unwilling to go down as he waits for your soul to return. For your spirit to flicker once more, no matter how weak, to give him a final glimpse of hope.

But the flames remain black.

The masses go wild when they realize that you're gone. That not only is your life washed from this land but that your soul has been removed in the only way they know how, burned to ashes by hellfire. Their chants, cheers of hailing Diavolo and his father and Rebellion and the Resistance join into one, a seemingly never-ending cry of "All hail! All hail! All hail!"

The prince feels his father tense at the sight, instantly gripping Diavolo's hand and raising it high above his head for all to see the pose of victory between the father and son, the king and prince, the leader and defender.

"All hail! All hail!" They continue to shout, praising everything in those two lonely words of their chant: Diavolo, his father, the Resistance, Rebellion, and all of them for bearing the rule of tyrants for so many millennia.

Diavolo can hardly think over their screams because in his mind, the sound of your wails of agony continues to play out in his mind, and the look on his face is numb as he and his father step forward, and the crowd's chants grow impossibly louder.

The look on his father's face is filled with pride as their newly acquired kingdom screams for them, roaring in approval.

They continue to roar, their shouts getting louder and louder until each demon's voice has joined into a single chant that echoes through the land.

"All hail! All hail!

The sheer joy on their faces as they realize that they are finally free shakes Diavolo to the core, because he knows that it is an expression you always longed to see on the faces of your people. Pure happiness, relief, and elation at the realization that the oppression is over. That Rebellion has delivered its judgment, and they have emerged victorious.

"All hail! All hail!" They chant in unison, their voices and hearts beating as one, the whole nation at last brought together.

Diavolo wishes you could see it.

The crowd seems to sing with happiness as they continue to whoop and cheer, every word that spills from their mouth coated with joy so distinct that the demons seem to shine as they raise their fists in response to Diavolo's own.

It is a sight you would be proud of.

As the Devildom salutes its new leaders, unanimously approving of Diavolo and his father, the realm seems to shake as it breaks free from the reign of terror that had shackled it before, Diavolo swears that the sky brightens ever so slightly.

It is a sight you would have wanted to see, he knows.

And yet, it is a sight only possible because you are not here to see it.

MASTERLIST

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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

#Word count: 9.2k #TW: SUICIDE #TW: DOUBLE SUICIDE #TW: GORE #TW: FIRE #TW: BURNING ALIVE #TW: SEMI-GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE #female reader #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo x reader #slight au #before diavolo is prince au #resistance #rebellion #kingdom #princess reader #demon reader #fluff and angst #pining #exploring feelings #mutual pining #slight slow burn #love #loss #injury #betrayal #death #forbidden love #secret love

[mrsmaddiebobaddie]

MCYT High School Teacher AU

I don’t know if this has already been done but with student teaching on the brain this was invading my subconscious.

Phil: Principal

The most chill admin you’d ever find (He kind of has to be with the staff at the school)

Will let most things slide if you ask nicely

Has a quiet space in his office for students to take a moment to calm down after acting out. He’ll offer them candy and talk through the situation with them. 

Started out as a counselor at the school, so he still holds a similar mentality when it come to talking with students and staff. 

Always takes the side of his staff. The district is usually in the wrong anyway.

He knows the teachers are the experts, screw whatever requirements the state has, he lets them run their classrooms whichever way is best for the students’ learning

Technoblade:  Literature & Composition

One of the most engaging teachers at the school

Most students love him because he’s real and he’ll tell it like it is. 

Has a coffee machine in his room. It’s rare that he’s not holding a mug in his hand while he teaches

Has high expectations for his students

Rarely gets angry. Even when he’s upset he still comes across as calm.

Usually stays at the school late making sure to give the best possible feedback on papers and reports. He genuinely wants each kid to learn something from his class.

Tommy: Speech and Debate

It’s only his second year of teaching

The students would run the classroom if not for Tommy basically being a student himself

There’s a strong chance his class will be off topic at any given point. It’s always an adventure walking past his door, you never know what you’ll hear

Somehow still gets high scores on average from his students

Keeps students after class when he notices them struggling with school or life in general to talk with them. The conversations are always beneficial.

Will 100% fall asleep during professional development meetings.

Karl: Biology

Tries to act hip, fails most of the time.

Always has the most energy in his lessons, finds unique ways to teach the concepts other than slides and worksheets.

Usually the first one in the building each morning

Will give students different options for final projects so they can chose the best method of showing their evidence of learning. 

Gets lower scores than he should on observations because he doesn’t do well under the pressure. One year Phil didn’t announce when he’d be coming in and watched from the door to give a more accurate review. 

Wears a sweatshirt to class more often than he should

Quackity: Spanish 

Hands on learning whenever possible

Uses the home ec. room to make authentic Mexican dishes with his students when they cover the food and restaurant unit

Will just forget that the kids don’t speak Spanish fluently and ramble on until someone interrupts him.

Slow grader, you get your scores when you get them.

Known to be a bit chaotic with his teaching style, it works for some kids but he does need to reteach certain sections every now and then

One time a kid feel asleep in his class so he had all the other students leave and they had class outside to freak the kid out (They were right outside the classroom window, he could still see the sleeper, he told Phil)

Skeppy: Algebra

Like’s his job, pretty much your average teacher

Can’t stand freshmen, but tolerates them since that’s half the students he has. He prefers teaching advanced algebra to upper classmen

His lessons are always formatted the same, starting with a lesson on how to do that days math, with the remainder of the period being free work time

Holds math challenges with his class and gives out prizes. It’s usually candy, though one time he gave out cash. He made his kids promise not to say a word about it. 

Very good at teaching the same math concepts in different ways to help struggling learners

Always one minute away from being late for first period, but makes it just in time every morning.

Dream: Health/Football and Assistant Basketball Coach

Took the teaching job mainly to coach sports

Still cares about making connections with his students, he uses his class to teach life skills and promote positive social and mental health.

If any of his players are in his class he will pick on them. He has no mercy.

Dreads sex education because no one can be mature about it. He gets revenge by making the students film a “how to say no to sex” video with someone in the class.

His wheeze laugh is iconic. You can hear it from down the hall.

If you meet with him and are honest when you’re struggling, he’ll work with you to pass his class. He isn’t going to ruin your GPA over a project on the negative effects of smoking.

Wilbur: History & Geography/Theater 

The teacher who sits on his desk when he lectures

Is very sarcastic with his students, but knows who can take the teasing and makes sure not to make anyone feel uncomfortable.

Prefers class discussion over solo work time, he likes hearing student’s perspectives and ideas.

Turtlenecks

One of the teachers most likely to be the crush of teenage girls. 

Not afraid to mark you down for sloppy work. You use a black ink pen and draw precise lines when turning in maps and graphs or you redo it.

Speaks in musical references 

George: Physics

The chillest teacher by far

Due dates? Don’t worry, he’ll accept an assignment literally months after it was supposed to be turned in

Makes difficult topics seems simple when he describes them

He doesn’t really care if you have your phone out in class as long as you’re paying attention and learning the material

The students straight up call him George, he doesn’t seem to care

Placing near the top for the most crushed on teacher

King of multiple choice questions

Eret: Economics & Government

Makes any student in his class feel welcome

One of few teachers who can lecture the entire period without students falling asleep. He always has interesting stories

Let’s kids chose where they sit

Freshmen are always caught off guard by his voice when they hear him for the first time

Spends too much of his own money on supplies for his students and classroom (Honestly most teachers have to spend their own money on necessary supplies, he just goes about and beyond.)

There’s always a group of students who eat lunch in his classroom 

The Union Rep at their school, will fight tooth and nail for the staff members

Tubbo: Band Director

Super cheerful whenever he’s teaching

He rarely has any free time before or after school because he has so many one-on-one lessons and meetings with students

Likes to have practice outside when the weather is nice

Does his best to make his students feel comfortable and relaxed whenever he does performance based assessments. 

He’s also a new teacher, but you honestly wouldn’t be able to tell

He will be in tik toks if you ask him to, and he’s familiar with all the pop culture trends

Let’s the students chose a song to play at the last band concert. Some years have been less chaotic than others, the worst (or best, depending on who you ask) being when the students voted to play Deja Vu from Initial D.

Fundy: Computer Science/Coding 

Begins each class with a cheesy computer joke. Every class.

Everyone knows you can’t get anything past him technology wise. He can see that headphone in your ear from across the room.

Isn’t afraid to assign extra work when students are disrupting class

Once took up an entire class period showing his students how he coded different difficulties in Minecraft. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he plays the game in his spare time. 

About half the students in his class aren’t really interested in computers, they just want to have him as a teacher since everyone says he’s cool.

Known to hack school computers to bypass restrictions

Sucker for pizza parties. Has at least one per semester  

Sapnap: PE/Basketball Coach

Hella competitive 

Abuses his power of having a whistle. Someone should really take it away from him

Gyms shorts every day. Even in the winter. Sometimes he wears sweats, but never jeans.

Doesn’t let anyone sit out of activities

Tries to set up fun tournaments for each activity they do, makes sure to balance the teams so no one has too much of an upper hand.

He’s usually the teacher who mans detention, he tries to make it as positive as it can be though.

Keeps extra sets of gym clothes to give to students who forgot or can’t afford to buy them

Schlatt: Calculus and Stats/Business  

You either love him or are terrified of him

One of the only teachers who can have an “aggressive” teaching style and still connect with students

You will learn something from his class, he makes sure of it. 

Doesn’t accept late work unless you have a really good reason why you couldn’t turn it in

Wears a tie every day

If another teacher needs a last minute sub during his prep period he’ll cover them. Doesn’t matter what subject, he can wing it

He was the reason the school started offering business studies as an elective due to some vague threats towards the district

Niki: Art/German

Teaching voice is so soft

You can’t tell whether or not she’s giving you constructive criticism because everything she says sounds so positive 

Let’s her students lead learning for the most part, she will cover topics that most interest them while still trying to hit the district required standards (luckily teaching electives gives her a bit more freedom with her curriculum)

Her classroom always smells lovely

Will bring in homemade goodies each Friday for the staff room

Holds art galleries at the end of each semester to show off the arts since they often go unappreciated. It has turned out to be a super popular event for students and staff.

Bad: Special Education

This man has endless patience. It’s crazy

Even after the longest days when none of the students are cooperating, he still has a smile on his face

If he hears cursing in the halls he will call you out in front of everyone. Teachers included. 

Makes sure to keep a list of all his students favorites so he can surprise them with gifts on their birthdays or around holidays

He works closely with the other teachers to make sure his kids can be as involved in general education as possible.

Always wears something fun, be it a tie, socks, shirt, or even a full outfit. His students love seeing what new wacky garment he’ll be wearing that day. 

More Head Cannons

If someone brings food for the staff room Tommy WILL take it. Sometimes he’ll come back for seconds, there will be none left by the end of the day. He’s not as bad as Skeppy though, who will literally pack it up to take home for later.

For the past few months the staff members have been receiving anonymous email chains with photoshopped pictures of each other. Everyone was sure Fundy was behind it, Eret thought he saw him teaching his students how to use the program by editing their favorite teachers into stupid situations (they’ve all been school appropriate of course). Fundy did in fact start it, but now so many other teachers have joined in that it can’t be traced back to one person anymore.

All the teachers love going to sporting events. They’ll join in with the student section to cheer on the teams. If they know there’s a kid who doesn’t have family that will come to watch them they’ll make shirts with that players number to show support for them.

Wilbur, Niki, and Tubbo work together on musicals. Niki does the sets and costuming, Wilbur directs, and Tubbo leads the pit. There are plenty of long nights during tech week that devolve into chaos (especially when Niki isn’t there)

Spirit week is very intense, to say the least. The teachers are assigned a grade to be advisors to, and they get into it. For the duration of the week they practically become rivals with whoever isn’t in their assigned grade. They’ll pull pranks on each other constantly, especially when the students can see. It’s all playful of course, but it gets the kids more excited about spirit week when they can support their teachers and watch the amicable rivalries carry out.

Technoblade once joked that he knew every detail about every classic novel. His students took this as a challenge, and tried to find the most obscure and specific trivia questions they could ask him. He has yet to be stumped.

Dream and Sapnap had a running streak of about four weeks where they made everything into a competition. Who could enter their grades into the computer fastest? How many cups of coffee did they drink that day? Who got to school first that morning? There was a tally board in the staff room and the teachers had a betting pool going. Phil finally ended it when they accidently broke the school’s copier trying to see who could scan the most documents in five minutes. Dream was ahead by three points, Sapnap never lived it down.

In service days are incredibly boring, so the staff tries to make those days a bit more entertaining. They order in pizza or sandwiches for lunch. Since there aren’t any kids in the school they’ll do everything they’re no supposed to, like racing office chairs down the hallways and blasting non-school-appropriate music in their classrooms.

Wilbur accidentally started a black market of sorts when he took all the new whiteboard pens from the supply closest. He used this to his advantage, getting people to do him favors in return for the good supplies. When Dream found out he not-so-jokingly threatened to slowly steal everything from Wilbur’s classroom until he released the pens. The next day the closet was replenished once more

Quackity and Tommy are co-emcees for the school assemblies. They hold class competitions between the grades, including spirit chants and ridiculous games. Think minute to win it style, but way crazier. Everyone gets super into it, the upperclassmen usually win. The two have good chemistry and a fun energy.

George has a unit where students make bottle rockets and launch them outside on the soccer field. And every year Karl brings his class out to watch claiming that “it’s science, I teach science, I’ll have them write a paragraph about what they learned”. Really he just wants to watch rockets go brrr

For Schlatt’s birthday one year, Wilbur and Techno printed off shirts with his face on it for all the staff to wear. Schlatt was super confused when he came into work and all his colleagues were walking around with his face plastered across their chest. He got back at Wilbur for it by putting salt in his coffee for a week straight, but Techno never got his comeuppance. It’s debatable whether Schlatt just didn’t know he was in on it, or if he knew better than to mess with Techno.

Lesson planning and curriculum building is quite the process. Some departments can stay on task better than others. Schlatt and Skeppy get in, plan out the term, and get out. The math department has everything on lock. Social studies are also pretty good at getting pre-planning done. They tend to spend most of their time having discussions that aren’t necessarily related to the tasks at hand though. The English department is a mess. It’s really Tommy who’s a mess, he just projects that onto everyone else. Karl and George work well together to map out science curriculum. Even though teachers who teach electives aren’t required to collaborate with each other, they still get together and bounce ideas off each other and get feedback.

I have plenty more if people want a second part. I also only listed the MCYTs that I’ve watched enough to know their personalities at least a little bit, but if you wanted to see another person I may expand the staff list!

#minecraft youtubers #dream team #sleepy bois inc #dream smp #high school teacher au #teacher au

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 4.4}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.9k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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"Could you come over here please?" Snape's voice drew her attention away from the fireplace, and Robin found herself surprised that he actually even knew that the word 'please' could be used without sarcasm. If he used it in all seriousness now, the images in Robin's head must've left a deeper impression on him than she had expected.

With a touch of guilt on her mind, she got up and walked over to the table where he was working on whatever potion it was that was quietly bubbling in the small cauldron in front of him. If being here in his laboratory in her pajamas wasn't odd enough, standing next to him now in the same state while he was working definitely was.

"What do you need me to do?" She asked as neutrally as she could, as her eyes followed every single movement of his hands on their own accord in admiring fascination. Whatever he was brewing here, it surely wasn't something she knew, nor something that was easy enough to be taught in class.

He stopped in his work mere seconds later and turned to Robin with an odd expression on his face, one she couldn't remember ever seeing before. "What you see here is a potion I invented after the incident with the boggart last term, to trace the spells that have affected a living being in the past seventy two hours."

His words made Robin's stomach drop immediately as she caught on to what he was implying. But she didn't want to believe it just yet. "Why are you making this?" Her voice was far too quiet to even feign neutrality, but it would've been useless anyway in the light of the honest discomfort in her eyes.

"To hopefully confirm my suspicion. I believe you have been hexed for some time now."

Robin only nodded for a moment, wrapping her head around the possibility of that. It was likely, yes, but who would've hexed her? And whatever for? Well, they would hopefully find out soon enough, if she finally stopped being a dunderhead and got into a serious mode of working with Snape again. "What can I do to help?"

"That is the downside." He mused and turned to look at the cauldron instead of Robin. "The potion requires your blood in order to determine the foreign magic used on you."

"Alright, how much do you need?"

His eyes snapped back to Robin at the easy factuality of her voice, and the neutrality in his own was replaced by surprised incredulity. "A… few drops should suffice."

"May I?" Robin asked without further ado as she pointed to the knife on the cutting board in front of her, and upon his barely noticeable nod, she didn't hesitate to use it to make a small and precise cut on her left forearm, to which she then pressed her right hand to stop it from bleeding already. It didn't hurt, and she didn't mind. "Should I add it directly or do you need to do something else first?"

"Go ahead…" His voice was still everything but normal, everything but neutral, and his unusual quietness about her ways of assisting him made Robin wonder if she had made a mistake. But he had given her the go after all, and so she moved to take his place in front of the cauldron, then held her forearm over the steaming brew and lifted her right hand just enough to let a few drops fall into the bubbling liquid. It turned red first, then entirely black.

"Anything else?" Robin asked as she made room for him again, holding her arm far away enough from her t-shirt to not risk smudging any blood on it. The cut really wasn't deep and hardly painful compared to everything she'd been through in the past few hours, but she didn't want new blood onto her clothes again any time soon. The thought of that alone made the hairs in her neck stand up, but she figured that it would probably stop bleeding in a minute anyway.

"It was the last step." Snape replied quietly, but kept his eyes and frown on her instead of the product of his efforts. Robin raised an eyebrow in question in return, and that finally made him go on, even if not in the way she expected. "You really are a curious creature."

Now Robin's other eyebrow lifted as well, and she didn't know if she should feel flattered or offended. The crimson heat rising to her face didn't differentiate between that though. "Uhm, I… sorry?"

With a sigh he lifted her arm up by her wrist, in a surprising gentleness that contrasted his irritated demeanor, then pried her hand away from the cut to take a look at it. But Robin didn't even feel the cut anymore, for any and every discomfort was washed away by the pleasantly blazing sensation of his hand wrapped around her arm. Oh come on, Robin! Really?! She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at herself, at the same time as she suppressed the unappreciated tingles. There was no time for this right now, and there never would be time for it! Hopefully that would finally get through that thick skull of hers.

Before she knew, her arm was dropped to her side again, the cut gone and the very much different prickle of magic fading from her skin. "Thank you." She said, even though she didn't know for sure what had happened or what he had done. Once again she had been too caught up in her own head to be bothered with reality.

"I was under the impression that after what happened…" He paused, thought, and turned towards the potion on the table once more before he spoke on. "I did not expect you to be so… factual about the issue. In the light of recent events."

Oh… he was referring to the fact that she had woken up entirely covered in blood a mere few hours ago. Oh well, that surely would be terribly troublesome to anyone who actually acknowledged that it had happened as a part of their reality. In Robin's mind, the events were mere scenes of a movie she had seen a long time ago. Obviously her subconsciousness hadn't found any other way to cope with these memories, for that's what the pictures were becoming now, and Robin was fine with it as long as she could finally function again. Functioning, working, facts… that's what always served to make her mind shut up. But she understood that it must be confusing for Snape, who only saw the results of her weird coping mechanisms now, not the way of coping itself.

"I think I'm better already." She summed up her previous thought process. "Not nearly alright, but mostly fit for function. And right now I need to function to finally get through this mess. So, your theory… would you tell me more? How did you get the idea that I was hexed?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at Robin for a moment, but seeing as she looked back at him with calm seriousness, he sat down on the stool behind him with a sigh and motioned for Robin to sit down as well. "I have had the suspicion that something might be wrong with you ever since last Monday, when Pomona informed me of the incident in your herbology class. Then on Wednesday it was confirmed when you did not feel like working in the evening."

"How did that of all things confirm that something was wrong with me?"

"I have seen you working with a broken ankle after getting beaten up by the Whomping Willow. If anything stops you from following your passion for learning, it must be more serious than that." He stated, then continued with the previous explanation. "Of course I did not know the true extent or gravity of the issue before you let me see for myself, but if I had been aware of your nightmares at least, I might have been able to draw the necessity conclusion a lot sooner. Say, why did you choose not to tell me?"

"I wanted to!" Robin replied instinctively, but then decided to give a more rational than emotional answer. "I… wanted to tell you, on Wednesday night. But you were so busy with more important things and I didn't think it was important enough to bother you with. I mean, nightmares are just such a childish thing to get so entirely upset about… it's just not something you talk about with your professor if you ever want to be taken seriously again."

"Am I not taking you seriously?"

"Actually, you are the only one who does. And I didn't want to endanger that by complaining about something like this. I just didn't want to reduce myself to a pathetic little girl who is scared of something as childish as bad dreams."

"First point, if you call those nightmares childish then I truly do not wish to know what your childhood looked like. Second point, I would never think less of you for confiding in me about any issue at all. But I do realize that I tend to call people 'pathetic' rather casually, so I see your point in thinking I might do the same to you. I would never. Not… seriously, at least. You know that. Third and most important point, your nightmares weren't, in fact, nightmares at all."

"Wait, what?!" Could he repeat that just a little less casually?? And… not confuse her poor heart by actually being nice to her now?

"What you saw was beyond terrifying, but those images weren't nightmares. They weren't even dreams. Or have you at any point in your previous life experienced the very same vivid dream for a week in a row and found yourself able to remember every detail once you woke up?"

"No, of course not… it really is a bit weird, admittedly. I have actually briefly considered the possibility that they weren't my own dreams, but never that they weren't dreams at all. What were they though? And who would be cruel and creative enough to torture me like that?"

"That is precisely what we are going to find out now." With that he snatched a piece of parchment out from where it was stuck between two books on the other table, then placed it next to the cauldron in front of them. "The way this potion works is simple: you let droplets of it fall onto a clear surface, and it will spell out the magic last used on the subject whose blood was added."

While he did just that, Robin got to witness what he had explained and how it actually made sense when put into action. The black droplets seemed to soak into the parchment for a moment, then they formed the words that had been spoken, and thus the spell that had been used. A remarkable piece of magic, and Robin couldn't help the curiosity that overcame her like it would under normal circumstances.

"How did you come up with this?!" She wondered in astonishment as she let her fingers trace over the slowly forming words. They didn't smudge like ink would… curious. "It's brilliant, I mean… I wish I had the energy left to really think it through, but it's already quite ingenious in its existence alone."

"Perhaps…" He mused, careful in his voice of words. "I will explain it to you at a different point in time. If you would like."

"I would like that a lot, actually." Robin replied with a small smile, the first one in a long time. Maybe sorting through this mess together did help her in dealing with it after all.

"As for the current issue…" He went on then, directed at the piece of parchment, and Robin followed his eyes down to the now clearly legible writing on it. "It appears that my suspicions were correct."

"Okay, but what exactly does that mean? Did… did someone really hex me?" The insecure frown was back on Robin's face as she looked at the paper in an attempt to make sense of the spells. Some of them looked familiar… others completely foreign. But there were a lot more of them than Robin had expected.

"Someone tried to hex you, yes." He started, and his voice took a grave turn as he did. "This spell here…" Only once Robin had read the words he was pointing at, he continued. "It is a terribly ragged alternation of a simple charm. Instead of giving the victim harmless visions born of their own mind, the spell was reworded to give the victim realistic visions that were predetermined by the person casting it. This very likely is what was used on you every night during the past week to instil the very same pictures into your mind. Those dreams were knowingly forced upon you, that much is clear now."

"Who would go through that trouble to do something like that?! And… why not simply use legilimency to place pictures into my mind, it would be an easier choice for that, wouldn't it?" Robin frowned. "Why make things difficult and use a self-made spell?"

"I can only assume that the person behind this spell either wasn't aware of the advantages of legilimency, or was indeed aware of the fact that they would not be good enough at it to get through your defense. It is no secret among the staff that you are a decent occlumens, and I believe it should be equally known among your peers."

"So someone altered an entirely different spell just to hex me? To give me nightmares?"

"That seems to have been their intention, yes. But going by your experiences and my own, I am led to believe that while it was intended to be a hex, it turned out a curse instead. That would explain why it affected you so strongly."

"So I was cursed?!"

"Yes."

"Oh bloody hell…" Robin sighed to herself, and honestly she didn't know if she wanted to be relieved or even more terrified. On one hand it was good news that she was someone else's victim, not her own. But on the other hand it also made her someone else's victim! She frowned at another thought. "Uh, professor...? How exactly did the person who cursed me know what kind of visions they needed to show me to mess with my head that much?"

"It could be a mere coincidence."

"No, it couldn't. You saw what my worst fear was last year, and you saw the visions given to me now. Do you seriously believe that something that similar in both its manifestation and result could be a coincidence?"

"No." Snape replied with a defensive scowl. "And before you try to accuse me of telling someone the truth behind the incident with the boggart, let me assure you that I have better things to do than gossip about your fears and memories."

"I… didn't even consider accusing you of anything, actually." Robin said in a calm but quiet voice, as she realized that he really was the only person who knew about her fear in the first place. Still, absolutely nothing within her believed that he would've done that, not to her and not to anyone else. "I know you wouldn't tell anyone about what you see in my mind."

"And what makes you so ridiculously certain about that?" This, clearly, was a test. Robin could tell by his tone, by the frown on his face, even by the fact that he was asking in the first place and not straight out scolding her for making assumptions about him. But it was a test she felt ready to take, even if it was totally the wrong time for something like this.

"Actually, there's two very good answers to that and one you wouldn't want to hear: First, you yourself seem uncomfortable enough knowing about it in the first place, thus I doubt that you would have any gain out of letting other people know that you know. Second and more importantly, you are the smartest person I know, and therefore I honestly doubt that you would consider betraying the trust of someone who is keeping secrets of yours in return. It simply would be unwise, even if that person would never betray you in return."

"What's the third answer?" He asked without any reaction to what Robin had just so very frankly stated.

"That I trust you. Obviously. But seeing as that is my own sentiment rather than a tangible reason, I was under the impression that it would hardly matter to you."

"It shouldn't." He mused, more to himself than to Robin, and turned his focus back to the parchment so exclusively that Robin felt like she had passed the test against his own expectation. For that, she felt a little pleased with herself at last, considering that it was a huge success for a night that had already messed her up so very much. One small win that weighed up quite a few losses in return.

"Before we go any deeper into the question of how your fears became known to the person responsible for the visions, we might as well try to find that person and ask them." Snape commented a moment later, all back to the seriousness of before.

"I agree." Robin replied in an equal 'back-to-business' mode of behavior. "What do the spells say about what happened tonight? There must be one spell at least that's responsible for making me someone else's puppet. I don't really know about the blood or the other me, that might not be anything directly affecting me, but-..."

"Say that again." He ordered with one quick look at Robin, then a frown back at the parchment.

"Uh…" Robin was thrown off her track of thought by the interruption, but stared at the parchment nonetheless as if it would give her the right words to reply now. "I… said that I don't know if the blood or the bodies were really there or if it was magic, but I definitely know that one spell must've been used on me, at least, to make me a puppet of the other me."

"It seems like you just answered your own question." He pointed at another three words written close to the bottom of the list. "Do you know that spell?"

"It looks vaguely familiar, but I'm not entirely certain which bell it rings with me."

"It does exactly what you said: it turns inanimate objects into puppets at the will and command of who spoke the spell. Again, it was reworked to affect a living being just the same, but I believe that this goal was achieved with more luck than reason."

"So someone created a makeshift imperius curse. For me." Robin stated in a mixture of distancing incredulity and simple refusal to acknowledge the insanity of this. "And then they used it to scare me? I can't believe how stupid that sounds while yet being absolutely terrifying."

"This has to be the most pathetically successful orchestration of cruelty I have ever seen."

"That… is a very good description." Robin sighed, but she still didn't really see the point in all of this. Who would do something like that? And why? At least knowing the 'how' behind what had happened made her feel much less afraid of it. "Do you have any idea how the second 'me' could be explained? Or the bodies?"

"I do have theories, but no proof to either of them." He replied and folded the piece of parchment into smaller and smaller squares under Robin's careful observation.

"Still, enlighten me. Please…" She requested as she wondered what he was up to yet again when he placed the piece of parchment in one of his pockets.

"Polyjuice potion, any and every possible delusion spell, constructed illusions, projected illusions, mere physical acts of trickery, more altered charms, acts of-…"

"Alright alright, I… I get it." She sighed, and he stopped in his counting down of possibilities. "A different approach, maybe: do you have an idea who could have constructed these spells, or why?"

"Well, who would take such joy in your suffering that they wouldn't refrain from cursing you?" Snape asked in return as he rose from his stool.

"Maybe you better ask me who wouldn't like to see me suffering…" Robin scoffed and leaned the weight of her upper body onto her forearms on the table, for sitting upright and straight became too exhausting at last. "That would definitely be easier to answer."

"Maybe you could narrow it down to the individuals who possess the ability to rework more or less innocent spells into serious, even if adulterated, pieces of dark magic."

Somehow his words rang a bell in Robin's mind, and her eyes widened in shock and dread at her own thought. No… that was ridiculous. Seriously, that was just insane. But wasn't this entire situation insane enough already to make basically anything possible? Maybe. "I… have a name in mind, but it would be very inappropriate to say what I think in this case."

"I believe we moved past appropriate when you attacked me with a saucepan, so you may just as well tell me who you are thinking of."

"Professor Morgan." Robin blurted out before her lips could stay sealed, before her mind could find a better way to approach this delicate topic.

"That happens to have been my first thought as well." He replied as if this serious accusation was absolutely nothing to him. "However no matter how incompetent and imbecile I find that man, in the light of longer consideration I doubt that he is the core of the occurrences."

"But you think he's got something to do with it at least?" Robin inquired. Gosh, she wouldn't even be surprised if Morgan had any part in this. Somehow her problems usually came down to him anyway, or to the other Slytherins.

"I do believe he does, knowingly or not." Snape mused as he rounded the table and made for the door. "No matter what I believe, I shall pay him a visit right in this instant."

"Wait!" Robin blurted out yet again before her rational mind had a say. Maybe the tiredness was catching up with her at last, no matter if she could force her body to stay awake or not. But a tired mind meant a slow filter between thought and speech, and Robin struggled for a decent way to cover up the fact that she didn't want him to leave her alone. Not even in the safety of the lab. Seems like not all fear had left her mind after all. "Uh, it's… it's roughly four o'clock in the morning! I couldn't imagine Morgan to be awake."

"He most likely isn't, but that doesn't mean I cannot wake him up." It sounded way too simple put like that, unfortunately. "I want this issue to be solved as soon as possible and Morgan is a good point to start."

"Isn't it a bit… weird to come to him with some spells in the middle of the night to find out if they originated from him?"

"Is it? I am merely consulting the school's defense against the dark arts professor in the urgent matter of protecting the students from the dark magic that is inherent in these spells we discovered. This is important school business, and that makes it perfectly reasonable to find him at this time." He explained, and Robin found herself surprised that he bothered to explain his reasons to her at all when he had so often before made a point in not having to explain himself to her, or anyone else for that matter.

"Perfectly reasonable indeed." Robin sighed more defeatedly than intended, but quickly got a gasp of herself again. She didn't want to be alone right now, while they still hadn't answered all of the important questions. While she didn't know who had cursed her just to see her suffering. But she also knew that her only chance at finding out was for Snape to go question Morgan now. "Uh, what would you like me to do in the meanwhile? I… can leave, if you want, or-..."

"You should stay here for now, until the issue is solved. I will lock the door with an additional charm that should prevent anyone but you and me from entering the laboratory. Try to rest." Now, that was more a suggestion than an order for once, and Robin nodded compliantly. Before Snape finally closed the door behind himself however, he turned to Robin once more. "There are ingredients in this room that in sum cost more than the entire castle. You can believe me when I say you are perfectly safe in here with them. But I should not be gone for long either way." With that the door was closed, the room silent and Robin on her own.

… … …

After a moment of listening to the silence, Robin moved from the table back towards the fireplace. It wasn't all too cold in the small room, usually, but the warmth of the fire still made her feel more comfortable, especially now that she was far from appropriately clad and far from having sufficient energy to keep herself warm.

At least she already felt a whole lot better on the inside than she had a good while ago. Still scared, yes, and anxious as well, but not terrified out of her mind. Not like crying, not like running. That was a step into the right direction, and one she believed she had only been able to make after the threat had become tangible to her. It was far easier to deal with a person who possesses evil but mediocre magic skills than with a mysterious, allconsuming dark force that was ineffable in its extent and threat.

"Oh, Miss Mitchell!" A small, squeaky voice made Robin yelp nonetheless as it suddenly came out of nowhere, right next to her.

"Buttercup! Bloody hell, you scared me…" Robin said as she took deep breaths to calm her heart back down. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I apologise, Miss, I am terribly sorry!" The house elf looked to her feet in shame and Robin immediately felt bad for being so harsh to her in her surprise.

"It's alright, don't feel bad about it please. I'm just… jumpy tonight." Robin sighed and tried to somewhat smile at the elf. None of this was her fault after all. "Why are you here?"

"To bring you whatever you would like, Miss." Buttercup answered brightly. "From the kitchens or any other place."

Robin closed her eyes for a brief second and took one more deep breath, then had to smile for real. "Did Professor Snape send you here?"

"Yes, but he told me not to tell you that, only to bring you whatever you request. So what would you like, Miss?" Buttercup smiled happily, and Robin had to smirk at the clueless innocence of the young servant as well as Snape's attempt to conceal his any and every act of kindness. He might have gotten better at accepting Robin's kind gestures, but he definitely wasn't anywhere near accepting his own. Oh well, an issue for another point in time.

"I would like you to bring me three things from my room, if that's possible?" Robin inquired, and Buttercup nodded immediately.

"Yes, yes! Anything from anywhere, Miss!"

"Good… could you please get me my wand from my nightstand, the old leather backpack from next to my bed, and the black lace-up boots with the yellow stitching from under my bed?" Robin said a little slower than normal, not in a condescending way, but to make sure the elf could memorize it without a haste. No need to rush the poor girl.

"Certainly, Miss. I will be back in a moment." And with that she was gone, leaving Robin alone in the room again. This certainly was a spontaneous development of things, Buttercup showing up here, but not at all unappreciated… Robin couldn't wait to get her hands on her most precious belongings. Everything material that she needed and valued was in that backpack, except for her wand and her favorite pair of shoes. And if Buttercup found those as well, Robin could very well live without ever setting foot into her room again. She would have to live in her pajamas, but she would live indeed.

"Please don't startle again, Miss…" Came the small voice, a mere whisper, from Robin's left after a few minutes, and Robin felt touched that the elf actually made an effort not to scare her again.

"All good, I'm fine." She replied and immediately went to help the completely over-packed Buttercup put her belongings down.

"I brought everything you requested, Miss!" The elf said, still sounding overjoyed to be helping Robin out. "Your instructions were very helpful, thank you for your efforts."

"That wasn't an effort at all! It is the least I can do to make it easier for you." Robin tried to explain to her, but already knew that the elf wouldn't listen to that. "I'm very thankful for your effort to bring me my belongings."

"It was my privilege to help you. Would you like anything else?"

"Say, how did my room look?" Robin asked, coming to think back to the puddles of blood she had seen. "Anything… unusual?"

"Your room looked perfectly ordinary, Miss. Very clean for one of the students' rooms."

"And what about my roommates?"

"All four of them are sleeping, and one was snoring. And there was a cat on your bed." Buttercup stated positively, seemingly delighted about being able to give such a detailed report.

"How curious…" Robin mused to herself, but before she could dwell on it, Buttercup interrupted her thoughts.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss?"

"I would like for you to accept another piece of the muggle candy I have given to you before. You liked it, didn't you?"

"Yes, Miss, I did like it. But you are too kind to me, I cannot accept any more-..."

"You would make me very happy if you could accept it." Robin argued innocently, even though she knew she was tricking the poor girl. But it was for her own good. "It would make me happy if I could make you happy with that candy."

"If it makes you happy, Miss… It makes me happy." She gave in with a sheepish smile, and Robin grabbed her wand and her backpack and summoned a Twirl with a simple accio out of the bag's depths to give it to the house elf.

"Here you go… I hope you enjoy it as much as I do."

"Thank you, Miss. You really are beyond kind. Us house elves don't receive gifts often, it really is special to be given something."

"Well, you could always take this candy back to the kitchens and multiply it. Then everyone of you can have a piece, as a gift." Robin suggested in a careful friendliness, and in the hopes that Buttercup would actually enjoy doing that. It really was difficult sometimes to get an honest opinion out of a house elf. Almost as hard as getting an honest opinion out of Snape, only in the exact opposite way.

"Would you like for me to do that?"

"Yes." Robin replied after a moment of thinking. "Tell them Robin and Professor Snape say thank you for the occasional chocolate cake, and the occasional help."

The elf giggled at Robin's comment and clutched the candy to her chest like it was the most precious item she had ever held. "Certainly, Miss. Would you like me to bring you anything else?"

"No. Thank you, Buttercup."

"You are most welcome, Miss."

"Actually, I would like for you to stop calling me 'Miss'... Just Robin is fine."

"Certainly, Miss Robin." Buttercup smiled brightly at Robin, who couldn't help smiling in return at the incorrigible ways of the house elves. Well, if it made her happy…

"Goodnight. Enjoy the candy." Robin said after a moment of silence, and the young elf gave her a small wave before disappearing again, leaving Robin alone with her newly regained belongings.

Sighing in relief, Robin took quick inventory of her backpack, then inspected her wand for any blemishes that weren't supposed to be there and finally put on the socks she'd stuffed into her boots the previous evening and then the shoes themselves. Funny how she had never before truly appreciated the luxury of having shoes… or clothing in general.

Then she tried to find the black jumper she was sure to have put into her backpack, but as neither the accio nor a physical search brought any results, Robin gave up on it and simply scooted herself a bit closer to the fire again. Hadn't she even put a darn rain coat in there too, at some point? Then she remembered… she'd taken both the jacket and the jumper out last Saturday when she'd gotten caught in the rain during a walk, and then left both pieces hanging over her chair to dry. In the frenzy of the whole nightmare thing, she had never had the mind to put them back into her bag though. Great… She would seriously need to upgrade her inventory once all of this was over. With all the space she had, she'd definitely pack at least two entire changes of clothes, some shoes and a blanket. But planning to do that in the future didn't help her now.

Yawning, Robin spun and twisted her wand between her fingers and simply gazed into the flames without any lasting string of thought. It must be nearing five o'clock… and she was dead tired. Maybe she should just close her eyes for a moment, only until Snape would return. If she couldn't think straight when he got back, she would be of absolutely no use to solving the issue at hand and that was the last thing she wanted. A few minutes of rest surely couldn't hurt anyone, right? She had her wand with her now, along with everything of value when it came to protecting herself. She was prepared now. And this probably was one of the safest places in the entire castle indeed, so nobody could get to her here… not even the nightmares that weren't nightmares. Nobody knew where she was, nobody could curse her. She was going to be alright. He had promised it.

With a silent sigh, Robin moved over to the nearest wall to lean against the side of the shelf, but it was too far away from the fire, too cold for her to be comfortable, and thus she admitted her defeated to circumstance and simply curled into a ball directly in front of the flames while using her backpack as a pillow. After everything that had happened tonight, this didn't even seem inappropriate anymore, and honestly, she also couldn't care less. She would pass out soon anyway, so she might as well lay down first. Indeed, before she could think of any reason not to, she had already succumbed to exhaustion.

______________________________

Tags:

@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555 @purpledragonturtles

General Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream

#snape #severus snape #pro snape #snape x oc #severus snape x oc #snape fanfiction #snape imagine #severus snape imagine #professor snape #severus x oc #snape x ofc #young severus #young snape #snape headcanon #harry potter imagine #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts #hogwarts au #slytherin #slytherin au #Voluptas Noctis Aeternae #professor x student #professor #hogwarts story #I feel like these tags are absolutely useless #but I'm tagging anyway

[diaxfeliz]

JUST A LITTLE WARMER • Hux

» Star Wars / Armitage Hux … Y/N had always been watching Hux ever since the Starkiller Base was blown up. They knew about Hux’s ambitions, but now that everything that he built fell, Y/N thought it was about time Hux needed someone.

INSPIRED BY: Ghost by Jacob Lee

A/N: baby I luv youuuu

Status : Acquaintances Relationship : Professional, Platonic

WORD COUNT: 1464

A guardian angel coming into the material plane as the protected falls apart.

You chased after Hux when he discreetly ran off from the bridge. You weren’t entirely sure, but you had a feeling he finally cracked. You weaved through the same people he did to get to his quarter. He burst inside but left the door open, giving you the chance to watch him carefully.

He stood in the middle of the room with his back to you. His fists were clenched as he held them at his sides. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but eventually his shaking got worse the longer you watched. Without warning, Hux just snapped and began to throw a tantrum to your surprise though you had expected him to break by now.

He yelled in agony as tears flowed down his cheeks. “I’m not weak!” A glass figurine shattered. “I’m not useless!” Books flew off the shelf. “I’ll show them. I’ll show them! I’ll… I’ll—!”

The anger he felt eventually overwhelmed him that words could no longer express it. You rushed in to catch him before he fell and held him close to your chest. You shushed him to calm the agonizing general despite him trying to pry himself out of your arms.

“Get off!” he cried, sounding less like an order and more of a plead.

“Now’s not the time to be acting like this, Armitage.” you cooed, only holding onto him tighter. “You need a system of support now more than ever. You can’t hold yourself up alone anymore.”

Hux calmed down significantly as you gently rocked him. Gasps still wracked his chest as he tried to breathe in vain. He had grasped your uniform, leaving creases and tear stains on it. His shaking eased, relieving you with concern. You had expected this breakdown for so long that you were basically prepared for it. As his crutch, you knew you weren’t allowed to not be there.

“They were right… They were all right about me. I’m weak, pathetic and I can’t do anything right.” He whimpered. “My father, Brooks, Snoke, Ren, Pryde… they were all right…”

Hux eventually passed out from exhaustion from his outburst and left him sleeping soundly in your arms. You moved him carefully as to not wake your sleeping ginger and set him on his bed. He was light, luckily enough, and you laid his blankets over him. His hair was a mess, his eyes were puffy, and tears stained his cheeks. You sighed sadly for your general.

You wanted to offer your company to him ever since the Starkiller blew up. The reputation he had worked hard to gain was brought down in one fell swoop and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him since you had been there for every milestone he had reached. Even you couldn’t believed he lost almost everything that easily.

You took out a handkerchief from your coat pocket and gently wiped his remaining tears away. He looked so peaceful in his sleep that you couldn’t help but smile. Hux had never known you personally, but you sure did with him. You squeezed the general’s had for reassurance in his sleep, but when you tried leaving, his grip on your own hand tightened as if he was telling you to stay.

You chuckled at his neediness and gently untangled his fingers around your wrist. You left a kiss on his forehead before leaving and returning with a cup of hot tea. You knew he would need something warm when he woke up.

As the hours passed, you didn’t leave his side and were idle at the side of his bed while reading over reports. He shifted under your hold of his hand, and you thought it was just him having a dream, but when his hand slipped from under you, you looked up from your reports and saw him slowly waking. You smiled happily and stood to brush the hairs in his face away.

“You’re awake.” you softly said and saw the surprise in his face when his eyes landed on you. You chuckled. “Surprised to see it’s me, Armitage?”

“Why are you doing this?” he croaked, his voice hoarse from crying.

“Does it really matter why I’m doing this?” you asked as you helped him sit up. You tried handing him the cup of tea that you brought, but he ignored you and stood up, walking past you. “I had to calm you down before you could’ve hurt yourself, and it wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do, Armitage.”

He scoffed, unappreciative of your help. “Just because your due for a promotion, Lieutenant L/N, doesn’t mean the slightest bit that you can call me that—”

You blew a raspberry. “Why do you still insist on being called by your father’s name?” Hux flinched. “I’d been waiting for you to drop his name, it’s about time you lived as you.”

“You know…” he mumbled and looked away.

You shook your head at his stubbornness and took his blanket. “You know, mother was a good friend of yours.”

“You know that my mother isn’t—”

“She isn’t your father’s wife, I know.” You draped the blanket over his shoulders and kissed his cheek. He flinched at your lips on his cheek, but he didn’t stop you. “My mother was a good friend of yours, and I made a promise to the both of them that I’d be your support system. Do you want to guess who helped Phasma get rid of Brendol and Cardinal behind the scenes, or do I have to spell it out for you?”

Hux went through his memories in his head until he ended up on when Phasma came to report back. She had mentioned an unknown third party assisting her. Only then did it click to Hux.

“You’re who Phasma was talking about…” he said in surprise, turning to you.

You smiled, fascinated at his eureka moment. You chuckled as you cupped his face and brought it closer to yours. He didn’t resist to his own surprise. He couldn’t say that you couldn’t understand what he felt, but knowing that you had known Brendol made him slightly more comfortable.

“I may have been paying close attention to you ever since the detonation of the Starkiller,” you began. “but I’ve been paying attention ever since my mother and I were permitted into the First Order.”

“How long have you been here?” he asked barely over a whisper.

“Ever since my mother was appointed captain.” you whispered back.

“Captain… L/N…?”

You nodded and adjusted his messy collar. “My mother and I did our best to watch over you without letting Brendol and Brooks know. I was there to help deal with Brendol and Cardinal, and I made sure there were no traces of you being the one who killed Brooks.”

Hux began to consider what you said and tried connecting them with what happened back then. Your involvement was the final piece in the puzzle he had been thinking about for so long. He knew it was all too good to be true when no one had suspected anything other than Cardinal. It was you operating from behind the scenes.

You chuckled at the look on his face when he’d process information. He looked as if he was not there but up in his head, sorting through files.

“Your mother always said that you were destined for greater things than to live under Brendol’s boot,” You nuzzled his nose. “and I’d never doubted you for a second, Armitage, because I believe in you as much as your mother did, and that says a lot.”

He looked you in the eyes again full of sorrow. He didn’t need words anymore because he knew you knew everything that he meant. Besides, it was too painful to express it in the first place.

“Stop reflecting the past in your eyes, Armitage. I wasn’t there.” You chuckled and wiped away the tears with your handkerchief. “Come back where I can watch your back, where I can fulfill my promise, where I can be here for you—”

You were cut off by Hux wrapping his arms around you, accidentally toppling the both of you onto the bed. You chuckled as Hux buried his face into your shoulder. He felt the vibrations of your chest and felt it’s comfort of being in someone’s arms. For once, he felt warm aboard the cold as ice Dreadnaught that even though he felt was foreign, enjoyed the physical contact he’d been missing for most of his life.

“Aren’t you a little cold, Armitage?” you said while gently running your fingers through his hair from the back of his head.

“Always,” he said. “but it’s just a little warmer in your arms.”

#queue #general hux #armitage hux #hux x reader #armitage hux x reader #star wars #oof

[justcallmenikki7]

The Wonders of Love

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary: You collab with Kim Seokjin, your celebrity crush. But what you did not know that you are also his celebrity crush too.

Warnings: Fluff, just fluff. Jin being appreciated.

Notes: It turned out how I didn’t want too. What I had in mind was going to be like several pages long, but I wanted this to be short and sweet instead of angsty like my other planned was going to be.

Request: 

Hi! Could you please write a Jin imagine where the reader is a Western popular singer and she wants to collab with him and he’s so happy and blushy since no one has ever been interested in collaborating with him? Plus the song turns out to be a major bop? Cause let’s face it, Jin is incredibly unappreciated 🤧

W.C: 1.3k

“Thank you, New York City!” You screamed into the microphone happily, heart pounding from adrenaline and happiness from hearing your fans cheer for you.

Almost after every performance, you could not believe you are living this – your dream. All of your life you have been wanting to be a superstar and keep the promise that you made to your mom before she passed away from cancer. Walking off stage, you were greeted with your crew members who were greeting you with hugs and congratulations. The one person that you made your way too was your dad who was holding a smile that you always made you tear up.

“Good job, baby. Mom would be so proud,” he pulled you into a hug.

“Thanks, dad. I wish she was here to see it,” you spoke into his chest, squeezing him tightly to you.

“She is here, but spiritually.” Your dad said, kissing the crown of your head, keeping you in his arms.

“Sorry to ruin the father and daughter moment, but Y/N, I gotta steal you for a second.” Your manager said, catching your attention.

“Go, I’ll see you when you get home next week.” Your dad pushed you towards your manager, only stealing a hug from you before you left.

“See yeah, dad! Tell Uncle Dale that I said hi and that I got his present ordered!”

“Will do, Love you!”

“Love you too, dad!”

Walking with your manager back to your dressing room, you were greeted with your assistant manager and stylist. They both held ecstatic smiles on their faces, scaring you a little bit.

“Why are you guys smiling like that?” You asked nervously.

“BIGHIT AGREED TO YOU COLLABING WITH KIM SEOKJIN FOR YOUR UPCOMING ALBUM!” Your stylist, also best friend, yelled while jumping up and down.

“WHAT?!” You yelled back excitedly, smile growing on your face.

“YES!” She squealed, running up to you to give you a hug.

For the rest of the night, all of you celebrated your achievement on being able to have the Kim Seokjin feature in a song with you.

It was two weeks later when you were sitting in your studio, leg bouncing nervously as you waited impatiently for Kim Seokjin to walk in. Today was the day where you have your first studio session with the famous singer. The sound of the door opening had your heart rate speed up, palms sweating, and the feeling of nervousness kicked in.

“Mrs. Y/N?” Seokjin stuttered out nervously, hoping that he used the correct pronoun.

“Yes!” You nodded, voice coming out higher and louder than you wanted it too.

A beautiful smile broke out on his face from your excitement. “Yeah! I’m Mr. Worldwide Handsome, ya know?” He greeted you, coming up to you to give you a handshake, but not before he bowed at you in politeness.

Not being able to hold in your laugh, you let out a loud cackle at his opening, not being able to process that you finally got to witness his ‘Worldwide Handsome’ in person. Seeing that you have calmed down, it helped Seokjin calm down, too. Taking a seat beside you, Seokjin picked up your notebook that had doodles, scribbles, and lyrics written down on it, and tried to see what made sense to him.

Blushing, you took the notebook from his hands, setting it down on the table. “So, I have some ideas that I written down,” you began to mumble nervously, not noticing the fond look that Seokjin was giving you.

You were the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. He has listened to your music and has followed you through your journey of your career, knowing that you are dedicating every single performance, song, and achievements to your mother. He admires you for the hard work that you have put into your career, never once giving up when things become tough for you.

When he felt a poke on his shoulder, he jumped what felt like fifty feet in his chair from surprise. Looking up at you, he saw you staring at him with an amused grin on his face, causing him to blush from embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry,” he stuttered out his apology.

Laughing, “It’s okay.” You grinned back, giving him a thumbs up.

Giving you a thumbs up back, the both of you had a grin on each other’s faces, getting distracted by each other’s gaze for a few moments. Snapping out of your guys gaze, the both of you cleared your throats, turning to look at your computer screen.

The both of you could not hide the smile the both of you were holding.

****

“And we’re done!” You cheered excitedly, taking off of your headphones, setting them on the mic in the booth.

You could hear Jin cheering from the booth beside you, clapping his hands excitedly, following your lead as you walked out of the booth. Jin ran up to you and gave you a hug, being in the heat of the moment from happiness. He twirled you around in the air, laughing with you from excitement and proudness.

After two long months of working on this song, the both of you are finally finished. From surviving on coffee and sleepless nights and some writers block, the two of you can proudly say that you finished the song. Or, in Jin’s terms, “through blood, sweat, and tears”

When Jin sat you down, the two of you got loss (again) in each other’s gaze. Both of you are smiling like idiots, not noticing how close the two of you are to one another. Throughout the two months of working with one another, you could not deny the attraction that you felt towards the vocal singer. You believe that he feels something too by how touchy and flirty he is with you. And whenever you guys are not working on the song, you both are going out and doing stuff with each other.

“Will you two just go out already?” You heard your manager ask you two, a smirk playing on her face.

You and Jin stepped away from each other, faces red.

“So, we are about to leak the lyric video!” Your manager clapped excitedly.

“I should treat the news!” You squealed excitedly.

“And I’ll do same!” Jin nodded, pulling out his phone.

“Come on! Let’s go and watch the video before we publish it!” Your manager smiled at you, a smile that was secretive.

Following her lead, you allowed her to drag you towards the computer, giving Jin an apologetic look.

Sitting down in one of the chairs, Jin chose the one next to you, but for some reason kept a distance. You frowned to yourself, confused on why he is acting so shy now. Shaking your head, you watched your manager make a few clicks and the video popped up. You could not deny that the song is a bop. Your head nodded along to both yours and Jin’s parts, giving him an excited smile each time his part came on. But what confused you though was the extra few seconds at the end.

“Would you be my girlfriend, Y/N? ~Jin,”

Your eyes widened at the question, turning your chair to face a blushing, and nervous mess Jin. Not being able to form any words, you jumped from your chair and into Jin’s lap and kissed him. Jin was taken aback by your actions for a few seconds, but quickly kissed you back once he realized that this was not a dream.

You were kissing Kim Seokjin and he is kissing you back!

Pulling away, you leaned your forehead against his, taking a deep breath.

“Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Worldwide Handsome just got his Worldwide Beautiful,” he smirked when you slapped his chest.

#bts reaction #bts imagine #bts kim seokjin #jin x you #jin x reader #kim seokjin imagine #kim seokjin reaction #seokjin imagine #jin imagine #bts jin #bts x reader #bts x you #jin fluff #kim seokjin angst #kim seokjin smut #kim seokjin fluff #suga #agust d #yoongi #j-hope #hoseok #rm #namjoon #park jimin #jimin #taehyung #v #jeon jungkook #jungguk #jeon jungguk

[the-bard-writes]

The Young Owl, Episode 2, Part 6

“I have to say,” the girl’s father started, seating himself at a chair by the fireplace. “I never thought I’d have a bird in my home.”

“We’re not a welcome sight for most,” Owl acknowledged, seating herself across from him. “And we’re aware of it.”

“Still,” the man sighed. “If you can help Feli…”

“I will have to ask you some questions about her,” Owl started. “Pertaining to her recent history and health.”

“Anything in reason,” the man nodded. Owl stared at him for a brief moment, taking him in. He was middle-aged, with flakes of white just beginning to speckle his black beard. He was comfortably dressed, and his wealth as a tradesman was obvious. She wondered what it was he considered to be ‘in reason.’

“Has she ever been given to fainting before?”

“Never.”

“Has her diet changed recently?”

“I can’t imagine how it would’ve,” the man shrugged.

“Has she spent any time away from home recently?”

“A few nights here and there with friends of hers,” the man answered. “Farmer girls, who have been in need of help with chores and the like.”

“Why?”

“Because their mothers are old and they lack siblings to help,” he said. “We had a plague pass through when I was a boy, and it took most of a generation. We’re only just moving past it.”

“Who are these friends? Where do they live?”

The man listed names, gave directions.

“Did your daughter come home late at all recently?” She inquired. “Later than expected?”

“Once, yes,” the man nodded. “She said she had slid down a hill when she wasn’t paying attention. She can be clu

“How late was she in returning?”

“She is usually home in time for breakfast, just as the sun is rising,” the man said. “That day, she was home as we were finishing our meals.”

“Hm…” the Owl hummed. Perhaps that hill she fell down was home to some forest parasites… but that did not explain how the infestation was spreading.

“The other boy who has fainted,” she asked, “are they friends?”

“Falk?” He asked. “Aye, Falk and Feli are friends. Falk’s family are patrons of ours. Merchant folk; they buy my goods and sell them off to traders.”

“So the two of them spend a lot of time together?” She asked.

The man regarded her carefully. “As two of the same age, with close families, often do,” he declared.

“Would they share a bed?” the Owl asked plainly.

“You’ll not insinuate against my daughter like that, bird,” he growled. “She’s upright, she is, and so is Falk. They’d not bed unless they were promised, and they aren’t.”

“Plenty of people share beds even if not in, er, that way,” the Owl pointed out.

“Kin do,” the man stated, “and travelers on a road. Not my Feli, not with Falk.”

The Owl simply nodded quietly. Perhaps a Crow could navigate this better, but she was running out of patience as it was.

“I’ll confer with my… companion,” Owl said. She had to search for a word for Sparrow. She certainly wasn’t a colleague, assistant felt too condescending, and partner was too intimate. “She’ll hopefully have some information by now that will shed light on Falk’s own condition.”

The man nodded. “Take care of those children, bird, and you’ll have a sack of coin for it.”

She nodded once and stood, ready to leave. Quietly, she wondered to herself why he said that. He had already agreed to pay for her services. With a resigned sigh, she left the house realizing that the man was reminding her of her reward in exchange for remaining focused—he was under the impression that she needed coins jingled in front of her to keep her work ethic up.

Is it so difficult to believe I care about my work? She wondered. She thought of her argument with Sparrow about the matter earlier. Then she remembered, once more, the vial at her hip.

Why must everything become so complicated now, of all times… she wondered as she made her way.

The Owl found her way to Falk’s home, and was relieved to see Sparrow waiting outside. She had no desire to deal with Falk’s family, even to retrieve Sparrow.

“Have you learned anything?” the Owl asked.

“Not much,” Sparrow shrugged, not looking at the Owl.

“Well,” Owl prompted, “what have you learned?”

Sparrow shrugged. “Nothing important.”

“Sparrow,” the Owl said dryly. “Not an hour ago you were chastising me for being reluctant to breach my vows and render aid without fair compensation. Now you’re skirting around my question and impeding my work.”

“I’m not skirting around your damn question, I’m answering it,” Sparrow spat. “They couldn’t tell me anything useful.”

“You’re not a Sodalist, how would you know what is useful?” Owl questioned. “Listen—did they mention the boy spending time away from home lately?”

“No,” Sparrow said.

“What about spending time with the girl, Feli?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

Owl stared at Sparrow.

“Did you even speak with them?” Owl asked.

Sparrow didn’t answer.

“Sparrow…” Owl scratched her mask.

“They said they knew I was with you,” Sparrow said. “And that they knew you’d taken Falk’s blood and weren’t going to let you take any more of it.”

The Owl pinched down on the bridge of her mask’s beak, steadying her breath. Much as she wished to deny it at times, she was young—her experience was limited, and this kind of obstinacy hadn’t become routine for her. She wished she was in some antediluvian depths plundering old lore. Or that she was exploring a forsaken city of a lost people. Or even just in a dusty library with unknowable wisdom reposing, untapped and unappreciated.

Instead she was stuck with Crow’s work.

“Have you heard any news of other cases?” Owl asked.

“None,” Sparrow said. “Just these two. For now.”

“Unless the infestation spreads,” Owl sighed. “Which it may yet.”

“Still new clue what kind of nasties are digging into their ears,” Sparrow pointed out. “Or if they’re killers.”

“So we have no diagnosis, no prognosis, and no prescription,” Owl paced. “I hate Crow’s work.”

“Where do we go from here?” Sparrow asked, her tone somber. Owl looked at her. Her face was shaded with defeat. Owl stared at her, trying to think of how to restore some of her light.

“We can inquire with other villagers,” Owl shrugged. “They’ll have less detailed information, but we may be able to piece something together as to how these two were infected. That will help us arrive at a better conception of what they’re infected with.”

“Even if we can find a place they were probably bugged up,” Sparrow said, “we can go there and see if we can’t find some nasties in the wild that I can identify.”

“There is one possible location,” Owl said. “Feli’s father said she apparently slipped down a hill recently on her way back from a friend’s house.”

“Can’t imagine a slip would be enough time for the critters I’m thinking of to sneak into an ear,” Sparrow said.

“Unless it wasn’t just a slip,” Owl said.

“What do you mean?”

“I have a feeling these two have not been entirely forthright with their parents,” Owl conveyed. “I think they’ve been spending time together, in private.”

“Woodland dalliances, huh?” Sparrow smirked. Owl was relieved to see her smile again. “So you think these two are spending their hours on the woodland floor whispering sweet nothings while little buggers make a home of their ears.”

“It’s possible,” Owl nodded. “And our best line of investigation for now. If we can confirm Falk was also by a hill—the same hill Feli slipped down—then we can identify that hill and investigate it.”

“Sounds sound to me,” Sparrow nodded. “Shall we split up and ask around?”

“No,” Owl shook her head. “People already know we’re a… that you are working with me. There’s no benefit to splitting up, and besides, I want to make sure I can keep an ear out for any useful information that you wouldn’t pick up on.”

“Because I’m slow?” Sparrow quipped.

“Certainly not,” Owl answered. “You’re just a Lodger.”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Sparrow demanded.

Sparrow could not see the playful smile on the Owl’s face behind her mask, but she could hear the slight giggle.

“The other guilds have plenty to say about us,” the Owl said as she turned to go, “but never seem to realize we have things to say about them.”

“Bird gossip,” Sparrow guffawed as she followed. “Never thought I’d hear of such a thing.”

#writeblr #fantasy #plaguecore #plague doctors #original fiction

[ask-spiderglass]

🕸SPIDER-SONA AU: VILLIANS PART 2/???🕸

Wow more Villains? Yes ma’am! This time we’ll focus on the members of the Sinister Six!

Lizard/Martha Connors: Amari’s AP biology teacher, middle aged Florida Woman, and the widowed mother of her teenage son Billy. In 2005, her late husband, Dr. Curt Connors, had been found suspiciously dead off the side of the Everglades Parkway. Leaving behind his life’s research and work on cryptid magic for a Miami based PLEA, Martha would come across classified documents that he had stolen from his workplace detailing a method of accessing cryptid magic. Believing that her beloved husband was murdered by PLEA officers, she decides to avenge his death by using cryptid magic. However, due to her inexperience with magic and the vengeance in her heart, she was turned into vicious humanoid albino alligator. Going into a rampage at sundown, she would kill a couple PLEA officers, regular law enforcement, and anyone else who got in her way. Upon sunrise the following day, she reverted back into a human woman, though the things she did as a monster haunted her. While she wasn’t deemed a suspect, Martha ultimately decides to leave Florida with Billy, moving to New York to become a mild mannered but strict AP teacher in 2010. While she hasn’t since looked at that document for a decade, the gratifying rage of the Lizard beckons her every night, begging to be released once more...

Sandman aka “Sandy”: The Guardian of Coney Island and the unwanted son of a sand elemental and a boogeyman. Born on the beaches of Coney Island in 1880, Sandman grew up loving his home and due his parents being absent from his life, he ended up seeing the humans who visited Coney Island as his own family. For most of his life, he dedicated his life to making Coney Island a safe place for everyone from the shadows, especially the children, protecting the area and it’s patrons from the unseen and malicious. However as the years go by, Sandman began to feel unappreciated and overlooked by the people who protects. While he doesn’t harbor ill will towards all the humans, he feels incredibly upset with how he’s been treated by the people in power who carelessly polluting his environment. While he hasn’t really tapped into his boogeyman abilities in nearly a century, there are times he feels that it is necessary...

Mysterio/Quinlan Beck: The Lich of Broadway. Once a struggling Hollywood starlet and stage magician’s assistant in the 1920s, Quinlan was often overshadowed by her magician boss on the stage. Always feeling resentment towards him for being cruel towards her, she would end up stumbling upon a secret occult society in the underbelly of the glitzy city. Once she managed to convince a member to let her join, she climbed up the social ladder within the society in order to learn more about their teachings on magic. Upon learning a method of achieving immortality, she would make a plan to “deal with” her boss. On one fateful performance, her and boss were performing the Bullet Catch Trick, with Quinlan holding the gun. Unbeknownst to the magician, Quinlan would end up switching the wax bullet out for a real bullet at the last moment before showtime. She would end up shooting him in the lung, killing him in front of a horrified audience. Using her acting chops to manipulate others into thinking that this was nothing more than a tragic accident, she would manage to convince others that she was devastated by his “untimely” death. Once the press died down, she would fake her death, transform herself into a Lich, and start a new “life” on the east side of the country, taking interest in Broadway as the Lich known as Mysterio....

Kraven the Hunter/Sergi Kravinoff: The Patriarch of the Kravinoff Family, an Ex-PLEA Officer, and current Mercenary. Sergi was the son of Russian Aristocrats who fled from St. Petersburg to London during the Bolshevik Revolution. Born in 1957 and raised within an old family of monster hunters with deeply embedded traditions, Kraven grew up taking great pride in his family’s trade, hoping to one day recapture the wealth and glory his family once had. While he was the favored son of his harshly critical father, Kraven never felt like he quite measured up to his dad’s achievements, and he would overcompensate for this by masking it with vicious machismo. Once turning 18, he would begin traveling abroad to seek out opportunities to get more experience with monster hunting, growing more infamous as a hunter as decades passed. Eventually, he would be contacted by an American based PLEA to serve as an enforcement agent. But, due to multiple workplace disagreements and Kraven’s open disapproval of their “modern methods” he would be dishonorably discharged from his position. Even at the age of 63, Kraven still seeks out glory and riches, coming to reside in NYC for merc reasons and to continue his hunt even in the concrete jungle of the city...

Chameleon/Dmitri Smerdyakov: The Illegitimate Member of the Kravinoff Family, Half-Brother to Kraven, and Double Agent. Dmitri was the illegitimate son of Kraven’s father and a Nopperabō woman, born in London in 1962. Often ignored by his father who preferred “his own son” over him, Dmitri spent most of his time as a child honing his shapeshifting skills he got from from his mother’s side. His older brother Sergi used to bully him, mostly consisting of Sergi mocking him for “acting too much like a girl” and for being “too weak to be a real Kravinoff”. Once Sergi began to travel abroad, the two would go their separate ways and lose contact with each other for years. In the meantime, Dmitry decided to use his talent to become a spy, with his career bringing him to various places worldwide. Eventually he would become a double agent spying on a PLEA known as the Avengers and meet with his brother again, becoming a new resident of the supernaturally criminal underworld of NYC...

Dr. Octopus/Dr. Odyssia Octavius: The Lead Cephalopod Biologist of the New York Aquarium, Visiting Marine Science Scholar of Empire State University, and Vessel of an Ancient God. Odyssia Octavius was born in 1989 as an only child raised in a dysfunctional and emotionally abusive household. As a lonely autistic girl, she often found retreat from daily life in academics and her lifelong main special interest in cephalopods. From the day she first visited an aquarium during a field trip in elementary school, she had her sights firmly set on becoming a marine biologist, seeing the beauty and wonder in discovering new species. Eventually she would reach grad school where she would be involved with a fellow grad student, Mary Alice Anders, whom she would begin dating. However, her parents disapproved of the relationship and forced Odyssia to break up her. Odyssia sadly complies, but would eventually cut herself off from her parents after receiving her doctorate. After getting her job as a cephalopod biologist, she would have a fateful encounter during a research expedition where she and her team would discover a strange cephalopod-like entity in the Atlantic Ocean. While her scientists were deeply disturbed by the creature they saw, Odyssia would become enthralled and fascinated with it, managing to capture it and having it housed in the aquarium research center away from public viewing. While studying it, it began to speak to her. Despite the physical and mental toll it took on her to merely behold it, she was fiercely determined to learn more about it, seeing it was awe inspiring rather than horrifying. The eldritch entity, appeased with her dedication, offers her its power and knowledge in exchange for her service. She, in the name of science, accepts...

#lizard #sandman #mysterio #kraven the hunter #chameleon #odyssia octavius #art #spider man au

[ranma-rewatch]

Episode 3-A Sudden Storm of Love

Hello hello hello, and welcome back to The Great Ranma Rewatch, where I plunge back into the depths of Ranma 1/2, burdened by ten more years of life since I last beheld it’s splendor. This week I’m up to the third episode, “A Sudden Storm of Love”. As with the episodes before it, I feel like I remember it pretty well, but then again there were some surprises I didn’t remember with the last one, so I’m excited to see what jumps out to me this time. I’ll catch up with you all after I’ve rewatched the episode. 

Well, this episode starts right where the last one left off: with Ranma and Kuno having jumped out the third story window, only to realize there was a pool below them. All the other students watch as Kuno floats to the top, but with no sign of Ranma. Under the water, our titular hero’s curse has activated, and he’s doing his best to swim to the edge and leave before anyone notices him. Sadly for him, Kuno sinks down to try and capture Ranma, only to get a handful of breast in the process.

Ranma does manage to escape, with the students only noticing from afar that he might look a little smaller, but only that. Kuno, meanwhile, considers what just happened and reaches the conclusion that Ranma must have switched places with that mystery girl he groped.

Akane finds Ranma hiding in a tree, and they have some fun banter before she reveals to have brought him some hot water to change back with. Before that can happen, Kuno shows up looking for Ranma. Trying to buy Ranma some time, she throws him the hot water kettle and challenges Kuno to a duel. They fight, while Ranma struggles to actually lift the heavy container high enough to splash himself with the water. Before he can, Akane sends Kuno flying into the tree, knocking the kettle over.

Still unaware just who the red-haired girl in front of him is, Kuno asks Ranma if he’s seen, well, Ranma, insulting Ranma’s manliness for running away from the fight. Unable to take that, Ranma challenges Kuno to a fight, which Kuno immediately thinks should have the stake of Ranma getting a date with him should Ranma win. Ranma rebuffs that as any kind of reward, beats him, then walks off with Akane.

Back at the Tendo home, Ranma’s dad chastises Ranma for being unappreciative of everything Akane did to help him, with Ranma’s immediate response being to mumble about how he never asked for it. After turning his dad into his panda form, Ranma does end up thinking about how things turned out, everything Akane did for him, and goes to her room, seemingly to apologize.

He catches her at a bad time. Nabiki is in the room with her, needling Akane about why she doesn’t seem enthused about the engagement. This spurs Akane to make it clear she doesn’t enjoy being associated with Ranma at all, something he overhears, making him turn and walk away.

The next day, school starts with a big fight against Akane once more, and again she handily beats them all up. The weird thing is the complete lack of Kuno. He’s obsessing over the ‘pig-tailed girl’, only for Nabiki to tell Kuno that she knows who the focus of his obsession is. After school, Ranma and Akane are sparring when Nabiki delivers a letter from Kuno, asking the girl he met in the tree with the kettle to meet him on school grounds at sunset. Ranma thinks it’s a duel, but when he arrives, he’s given a bouquet of flowers from Kuno, who professes his love.

Compared to this episode, I don’t know if I’d say this one really sets up as much. What it does give us is a continuation on the last one’s plot, the beginning of Ranma and Kuno’s unique dynamic, some Ranma/Akane teasing, and a few hints about Nabiki’s character. Of those disparate aspects, I think what stood out to me most was the bit with Ranma actually feeling guilty for how he’d been thinking of Akane, only to overhear the worst thing through the door.

That’s a pretty cliche kind of plot point, but I appreciate that it isn’t a misunderstanding. She wasn’t talking about someone else, she wasn’t leading up to talking good about him, she was genuinely venting about her frustrations with Ranma, with no clue he was listening to her. That makes the reaction from Ranma feel a lot more genuine, there’s no trickery going on.

There is some trickery in regards to what else this episode starts. More than anywhere else so far, this episode is the beginning of the confusion caused by Ranma’s cursed form. Right now, both the school as a whole and Kuno specifically don’t know about Ranma’s curse, and the latter thinks Ranma and his cursed form are two different people. This kind of thing becomes more common as the story goes forward from here, and if I’m being entirely honest, I don’t enjoy it too much. It kind of ties into my long-lasting dissatisfaction with secret identity plots in superhero stories, and I actually feel like the story would be more interesting if, say, Kuno had to reconcile the love he has for cursed Ranma with the antipathy he has for uncursed Ranma.

Speaking of Kuno, I can’t hold myself back anymore, I have to talk about this man. This myth. This legend. This time around I’m going to actually name his voice actors in English and Japanese together, because so far I’d say they’re pretty similar. In English, he’s voiced by Ted Cole, and in Japanese by (the apparently legendary) Hirotaka Suzuoki. Both actors, I feel, really nail the character.

Most of the time, Kuno sounds like the kind of person he’s trying to pass himself off as: a noble, cultured warrior. He sounds dignified, erudite, and even a little restrained. But when things start going wrong, or when he lets his emotions go too far, he sounds like the complete and utter goof of a person he really is. There is a slight difference in the voices, but that comes from trying to evoke the same effect in different languages. They each get the effect they want, but come at it from different cultural angles. I actually might say I like his Japanese voice actor more, but I love Ted Cole’s performance as well.

What about Kuno on the whole? Well, I’ve already kind of gushed about him, so it’s clear that I just adore his stupid face. There is just something incredibly endearing to me about characters who do their best to appear confident, only for it to become clear they’re comic relief. The fact that Kuno is genuinely a skilled fighter also helps, and the idea of someone capable of the things he can do, while using a wooden sword, is just wonderful. It’s goofy, but has a touch of genuine menace to it, and I love Lethal Joke Characters.

There’s also the fact that, technically speaking, Kuno is the first rival character in the series, which is kind of surprising to think about. After all, Ranma’s true rival has yet to appear, despite being in the opening, and I think a lot of people would argue several of Akane’s rivals are more focal to Ranma 1/2 than Kuno is. Still, he’s the first person Ranma fights, and starts a rivalry with, who is anywhere close to his level in combat.

Not that the comparison will hold for very long. Something kind of unique about Kuno is that, well, he won’t be in Ranma’s league for long. I don’t remember quite when it happens, but there is a distinct point where Kuno becomes a complete joke, someone only capable of threats due to outside assistance. The thing is, I kind of don’t mind that? Mostly because, while I’m not sure if this is ever stated outright in the show itself, it’s easily explained that the cause of that growing gap is that, unlike most the main cast, Kuno doesn’t strive to improve himself. After all, he’s an egotistical person who refuses to accept that his failures are caused by his own deficiencies, so he sees no reason to improve.

Speaking of improving...I would not say this episode was an improvement over the last one. So, with that in mind, where does it end up on the rankings? I actually have a bit of a hard time picking between this episode and the first one, but I think I will give it to the latter, if simply because that one has a more cohesive tone to it, while this episode is more scattershot. That makes the current standing:

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

Next time we’ll see just how Ranma reacts to the declaration of love in Episode 4: Ranma and... Ranma? If It's Not One Thing, It's Another. Until then!

#episode 3 #A Sudden Storm of Love #ranma 1/2 #ranma saotome #akane tendo #tatewaki kuno #anime analysis #anime rewatch

[secretgiftsforshaman]

I was an emotional vampire when I was a child. The memories and pieces of evidence have been slowly rising to the surface, and I think I’ve finally pieced them together. While I still have my moments, I’m (usually) much less of a vampire now than I once was. I haven’t examined how, exactly, I managed to become less vampiric over time without consciously seeking to do so. Maybe I just got used to feeling unfulfilled and unloved and accepted that that’s how it would be. Maybe I just kept putting it off until some future day when hopefully it’d be better somehow. I need to reflect on this more, but right now I just need to get this out.

My grandmother often smothered my mom with affection when she was little – it was one of grandma’s ways of trying to fill her own unmet emotional needs, by treating mom like she was her own personal little cuddly teddy-bear play dolly, and expecting the same sickly-sweet treatment back from my mom, even as a toddler, even when she was her own kind of ravenous black hole and only doled out that “affection” because she expected something in return. I think that mom then reacted to that treatment by swinging to the other extreme when I came along, being overly distant, withholding, and resentful of my emotional needs (they reminded her too much of her own – as her firstborn I was her first experience of another person being 1000% dependent on her, and I think it triggered all kinds of shit from her relationship with her own mother, both where I was her and she was grandma, and where she was herself and I was grandma) and she didn’t want to smother me with affection the way she had been. However or whyever it came about, she definitely went too far in that opposite direction. I have no memories of feeling cherished by my mother, or of cuddling together without her acting resentfully and sending me back to my own bed as soon as possible, or of her ever expressing belief or confidence in me and my abilities (part the root of why I struggle to perform any new or intimidating task, I think). As I’ve said before and will keep saying aloud until I have finished integrating, processing, and healing it: I was emotionally neglected, abandoned, and abused, and sometimes I still am. While I’ve lived in material privilege and had all of my basic physical/survival needs met with some material luxuries to boot, I never felt like I had enough of the love, acceptance, and touch that I needed from the very earliest age. This emotional connection is a vital nutrient for the soul, the psyche, and the body – and an emotionally starving child in need of attention, affection, and approval will latch onto anything and anyone that feels like it/they can give them a scrap or two with which to survive. I’ve felt like a gaping, needy, black hole of pain and rejection eating myself from the inside out my entire life and never really been able to explain why until now.

There are all manner of embarrassing memories I’ve been dredging up of how I acted as a kid, and I don’t have enough conscious detail to explain them like stories, but I can feel the energetic reality of all those episodes. They contain the same patterns and themes, they stretch back as far as I remember, and they occur at every age of childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood without intermission. Time and again I latched onto people, be they other kids, warm or parental adults, classmates, crushes, even random strangers: just anybody who was energetically compatible with or susceptible to my ravenous, desperate needs that I might be able to tag along after, attempt to adopt or ingratiate myself to, or mooch off of. If it worked, it worked poorly, and it didn’t work for very long, and as a result very few of my peers wanted to be friends with me for most of my life. I’ve explained away this ‘social awkwardness’ pattern as just part of my Asperger’s for years, but I’ve been coming to realize that while part of it may have been autism-typical misunderstandings of other people’s social cues, the other part of me was manipulative and leech-like and would overstep other people’s boundaries because I didn’t know how to connect to people and receive the attention I needed otherwise (because my own social boundaries weren’t respected – I rarely had boundary honoring behavior modeled for me at home).

This helps account for why I’ve felt so rejected from all quarters. Of course nobody wants to ask the emotional vampire to play with them, or invite them over to hang out, or flirt with them. Of course I fell hard for the narrative that the right romantic knight-in-shining-armor would feed that gaping hungry maw of lovelessness inside of me and got hyperfixated on finding a boy, and later a man, to help me fill in that hole. And of course I am now afraid of expressing my attraction to anyone, especially romantically or sexually: I am both afraid of mockery and rejection, but I also struggle with distinguishing intense attraction from my inner soul-sucking emotional leech.

This is a big part of why I am terrified of expressing my needs and desires: I have hurt people and rightfully driven them away from me with my behavior and treatment of them in the past, and the conflict between wanting that connection with someone, particularly a potential partner, and latching onto them in a way that hurts/upsets/repulses them is what has been agonizing me about reaching out and starting to flirt and date again. The newer loneliness of grief and widowhood feels all too similar to that old gaping hole of emotional neglect, and I fear that I can’t accept ANY connection, affection, touch, or love to fill my need without hurting the person giving them to me. Even in our relationship, while I have gradually become more secure and trusting, I think that this is the root fear that has made me worry at times that I have asked too much from you or taken too much from you.

Maybe I stopped being a vampire because it didn’t get me what I needed so I just stopped doing it, but (as I’m typing this and reflecting on it and realizing) I think I mostly just drew the conclusion that there was something inherently unworthy of love and acceptance within me, and became ashamed of the misguided ways that I had tried to seek out love and acceptance. I started to accept that I’d be better off not trying because if so many people had rejected me then it must be because they could all see my obvious unworthiness, so it would be foolish and pathetic for me to seek something that would never be mine – that was so laughably beyond my reach – like love or intimacy. Let alone acting like someone could actively desire or want me – that would be so beyond the pale as to draw ridicule. At one point or another I’ve managed to convince myself that asking someone for anything (friendship, attention, reassurance, compliments, a glass of water, I mean ANYTHING) is actually me just trying to manipulate or leech off of that person, whether it’s through vampirism or a bald-faced request. So the only solution to this mess is to fulfill as much of my needs and desires as I can for myself, and reject the rest because turning to another person for assistance will only harm them, drive them away, or both.

I know that my younger, starving child self was only acting out of instinct to survive the neglect and abuse that she suffered – that she didn’t know any better and she never fed on anybody in malice or out of any intent to do harm. But I’m afraid of my own inner child, of my own ongoing neediness and hunger for connection. I’m terrified that I’ll hurt someone by taking too much from them, that I’ll ask for more than they want to give, that nobody will be able to meet me emotionally. Or WANT to meet me emotionally. I’m trying to hold out hope that my future mate, wherever he his, will want to love me – will not see love as the scarce, precious commodity that my inner traumatized child experienced it as, but that he (and I) can and will both treat love like the bottomless fountain that it is. That it will bring him joy and pleasure to pour buckets of love back into me, that he’ll bail me in when I’m feeling hollow and dry, and I will relish the privilege of doing the same for him. My closest friends and I have begun to do something like this with each other, and it is such a healing thing.

I am trying to keep faith in my worthiness. I am trying to forgive myself for acting as best as I could in terrible situations where I felt next to powerless. I hope that I can disentangle my inner bloodsucker from my honest needs, learn to express my desire and attraction to others in harmless and healthy ways, no matter how intense they feel, and that I can reprogram all that shit in my head about needing to emotionally starve myself because to slake that thirst would hurt someone.

It’s 1:30 AM and I desperately need sleep. And maybe some garlic, holy water, or a crucifix.

Thank you for loving and accepting and holding space for me and all of my mess. I sincerely hope that you never feel unappreciated – you do so much for me just by existing as a good, honorable man. Your presence is a healing balm in and of itself. And you are this way because of your integrity and character. Connecting to your energy is calming and soothing even when you aren’t able listen or respond. Never forget how good and powerful you are. I believe in you and everything that you embody and do.

All my love,

My Vulnerable Parts

[jeanvaljean24601]

P-Valley Season 1 Review: Belly and Legacy

After being jailed for fighting with Patrice, The Pynk's O.G. found herself potentially stuck in a cell with her mother for the weekend on P-Valley Season 1 Episode 5. Her jailer was Jesse, a man with whom she had gotten into a disagreement at the club. So he wasn't inclined to help her out. Poor Mercedes. Unlike many of her peers, she had set up a path to respectability and was carefully following it. She should be admired for that.

She wanted to be the coach of her own dance squad, to bring accolades to Chucalissa. Based on what's been shown of the town, the question of why comes to mind. The upshot of that plan was that Mercedes's biological daughter, Terrica, was on her squad. Also, once Mercedes was running her own business, she would stand a better chance legally of regaining some form of custody of Terrica.

However, that plan went awry when Terrica started flaunted her body on social media on  P-Valley Season 1 Episode 3 and her stepmother pulled her off Mercedes's team as a result, viewing Mercedes as a bad influence. So now Mercedes can't even see Terrica anymore.

Even worse, Mercedes forgot all about their checkered family history (much of which came to light) and trusted Patrice with her money.For a bright woman, that was sure a dumb choice. Patrice managed to rip off both Mercedes and the church which she felt had wronged her.

Patrice felt unappreciated by the men in her church. So she took Mercedes's money and used it to buy the building Mercedes wanted in which to establish her church.

The money they can't afford to drop at The Pynk would instead be spent at the casino. The town treasury would probably get a cut and Mayor Ruffin undoubtedly would be getting a kickback. But the residents, unless they end up working there, would be no better off.

Instead of her triumphant departure from The Pynk, Mercedes, in her new performance outfit, got perp-walked and treated like a piece of meat by the men (and some women) jailed there.

Jesse, the jailer, felt bad enough for her that he offered her his jacket so she could cover herself. Mercedes did the right thing turning down Clifford's offer of bail because she knew he had much bigger financial problems on his hands.

Give Gidget credit. Despite being miffed with Mercedes, she still attempted to put together the bail money. If only Mercedes hadn't dug herself such a deep hole legally.

Why did Autumn bail out Mercedes, despite their rivalry? She was probably just being opportunistic. She couldn't use her fake identity any more to transfer funds electronically, so she needed someone desperate to become her new partner in crime.

But maybe she sensed a kindred soul, someone else who had lost a daughter. Why else would she share her history which she has kept secret since arriving in town? In any event, it could prove a mutually beneficial arrangement. Autumn needs money to keep running and Mercedes just needs to replenish her stacks.

But Autumn's abusive boyfriend Montavius, from whom she's running, has arrived in Chucalissa. And he somehow seemed to be able to track her transfers as well. So Mercedes may be in trouble as well. Also in trouble was Uncle Clifford. If she's been falling deeper and deeper in the hole financially for months, even years, how is she supposed to come up with $55,000 in two weeks?

Why was she was at all surprised? It was clear that Mayor Ruffin had it for her. Trading The Pynk for the casino, which is his legacy project is a win-win situation for Ruffin. Ruffin is a truly despicable character who is looking out only for himself and uses people when it benefits him. Once he referred to Andre as his godson, it became apparent why Andre has had anything to do with him.

Chucalissa is proving to be a place where strange partnerships blossom. Unusual, beneficial relationships formed on P-Valley Season 1 Episode 6, all of which promise intrigue over the season's last two episodes. My favorite, even though it hasn't fully formed yet, was the last one, developing between the strangest bedfellows -- strip-club owner Uncle Clifford and holy-roller Patrice.

It was based on that oldie but goodie bit of wisdom by Sun Tzu: "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."The enemy, in this case, would be the proposed casino, which Andre and the mayor are seeking to build in Chucalissa.

In Clifford's case, he was trying to preserve his family's legacy. What a great addition his grandmother Ernestine was this late in the season! It's a good thing Starz has already renewed the series for a second season.Blind Ernestine, who lost her sight to "the sugar," helped to fill in The Pynk's storied if sordid history. So Ernestine was involved with The Pynk, which was first a brothel, saved by God if you believe her, then a juke joint.

Then Clifford took over the club and its debts, changing it into a shake joint while adding to the debt. Is it any wonder that the respectable people in town resent The Pynk (except when they are there)? Let's count Patrice among those people. However, she is going to hate the concept of a casino even more. After all, people losing their money at a casino couldn't contribute to her new church.

At least those who go to The Pynk on Saturday night will donate to the church out of guilt on Sunday morning, paying for their sins.So the club is the lesser of two evils. I'd wondered why Clifford had seemed catty to the mayor's comely assistant Eloise.

So it turned out that Eloise was a Pynk alumna who had done Maite's job before her. No wonder Clifford was unhappy about being blindsided with the foreclosure notice. Both the sheriff she pays off and former employee Eloise failed to give her any advanced warning. But Clifford knew how to lay on the guilt after "running into" Eloise at her weekly nail treatment. That proved to be the move she needed to make.

That was because Eloise resented the mayor and his cronies even more than Clifford did. And she knew that Clifford needed to bring the secret project into the daylight for the public to consider. Who better to recruit for this effort than the self-righteous, and what better representative of that group than Patrice, who had been waiting to be bailed out of jail for nine days?

Clifford hadn't made his proposal by episode's end, but the writing was on the wall, to put things in Biblical terms.How can an alliance between those two be anything but uneasy? And what will Mercedes think about Clifford teaming up with the woman who ruined her life?

Mercedes was too busy learning the ins and outs of identity theft to give much thought to Patrice. She was trying to get back on her feet financially after Patrice ripped off her life savings. Watching Mercedes and Autumn do their Thelma-and-Louise routine, in a variety of different outfits, you had to wonder why the two never hit it off previously. android tv box

It was probably because Mercedes had it in for high-yella newcomer Autumn, who wasn't giving proper deference to O.G. Mercedes.But Mercedes needed to replenish her stacks, and Autumn required Mercedes's local connections so that they could come up with sufficient IDs for Autumn's electronic-transfer scheme.