#i’ve read quite a few of these for my class on humanity and death this semester hehe

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 19

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

Dr. Miller didn’t open up anymore about his past. It almost felt like he regretted telling me about the incident with his sister by the time we reached his home. We ate together at the kitchen island, but we mostly just sat in silence. The oversized space with a giant elephant in the room made things feel quite the opposite than they had in recent days.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I finally asked when Dr. Miller stared blankly toward the refrigerator.

“Not particularly.” He didn’t look over.

I hesitated before talking again. “If you regret telling me, it’s okay.”

“I don’t.” Dr. Miller finally glanced at me. “I don’t.. It’s just.. I just threw a lot on your plate by telling you that.”

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. I think you just got a lot off yours - and that’s a good thing.”

He lazily forked the food on his plate again and ate a bite before sliding off the barstool. Dr. Miller rounded the island and opened a small cabinet above the fridge to retrieve a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a small helping, wasting no time in swigging it down and gritting his teeth from the burn of the warm whiskey.

When he turned to put the glass in the sink, I tiptoed my way toward him and put my arms around him from behind. My eyes closed as I rested my head against his back and I felt his body relax. Dr. Miller let out a deep sigh.

“You’re the good guy,” I reminded him, hoping my words were even a little bit impactful. “Carol is lucky to have you.”

He turned and unlatched from his body and stepped back to look up at him. With ease and unpredictability, Dr. Miller scooped me up off the ground and sat me on the kitchen counter. We were face-to-face now and he stared at me from just a few inches away.

“It doesn’t bother you that I’ve killed someone?” He asked.

I stared back into those eyes. They had transformed from puppy dog to wolf in an instant. It was an odd comparison, I knew that, but it’s all I could think of. When Dr. Miller placed both of his hands on the marble countertop either side of me, I let out a deep exhale that I didn’t realize I had been holding in. 

“No.” I shook my head.

“Why?” The one-word question came out just slightly edgy. His eyes squinted and he subconsciously moved an inch closer as he spoke.

“It’s heavy,” I admitted, “Very heavy.” My eyes never left his and I placed a hand on his cheek, contrasting the intensity that radiated from him. It seemed to disarm him just a little. “But, no, it doesn’t bother me. The only thing that bothers me is that you have to live with it. You have to live with a man assaulting your sister, you have to live with defending her and it resulting in some man’s death.” I corrected myself, “Excuse me, some asshole’s death.”

Dr. Miller’s eyes moved back and forth. The book reading. The human lie detector.

“How could I judge you for something like that?” I asked, shaking my head.

When his eyes softened just a bit I was thankful. Dr. Miller looked down and back up. He then leaned in and kissed me. I rested my hands on his face and felt his move to my waist.

He parted from me and then pecked my lips once more. “Thank you.”

I snaked my arms around him and slowly pulled him against me for a hug. We stayed like that for a long moment before he picked me up with ease. Prior to Dr. Miller I had never had a man pick me up. Each time he did that my stomach danced with butterflies.

I sighed and then managed a little smile. “Take me upstairs.” I was hooked on him and both of us were brewing with emotion. I didn't want the moment to go to waste.

Dr. Miller’s hands squeezed my buttocks as I sat in his hands with my legs wrapped around him. “I make the rules,” he reminded me, finally with a playful squint in his eyes and a little smirk tipping the corner of his lips.

“You're right,” I agreed. My eyes were locked with his. “What are you going to do to me?”

Dr. Miller couldn't keep his smile from expanding. “I'm going to take you upstairs.”

I let out a little chuckle and our lips collided again. Finally, the tension broke and we managed to salvage the better half of the evening.

By the time Tuesday night’s class rolled around, things felt as if they were back to normal - as normal as it could be for us. Dr. Miller was back to using his charming delivery to woo the crowd of twenty-somethings. As much as I was truly engaged in the subject matter, I suddenly felt totally removed from the rest of the group; like I didn't belong.

It wasn't a bad feeling. None of my classmates were actual friends of mine, or even acquaintances. Somehow it just felt surreal to walk into that oversized classroom and sit in the crowd as if Dr. Miller meant nothing to me, when in reality I was caught up in this forbidden,  whirlwind romance - one where he had just confessed, perhaps, his darkest secret. Perhaps.

For the better half of fifteen minutes I found myself daydreaming as I watched him draw laughs from the crowd, wave his hands with genuine enthusiasm as he spoke and create thought-provoking conversations from his students. When I realized I must’ve looked like a young girl at some boy band concert, I adjusted the way I sat in my chair and cleared my throat.

Class ended with Dr. Miller assigning a short paper that was due by the end of the week. “I’ll begin grading them next Monday,” he explained, “So, you’ll have the rest of this week and the weekend.” When no one commented he put his hands to the sides and said in purposely-cliche fashion, “Class dismissed.”

I smiled to myself when his eyes landed directly on me as I took my time packing up my backpack. At the same time I caught a glimpse of Trevor from my peripheral vision. He watched as I lazily shoved my notebook down into the bowels of my bag and only turned away when I glanced purposefully in his direction.

For the first time I felt a twinge of discomfort. Did Trevor have an inclination that something was going on between Dr. Miller and I; or was he simply jealous that I was getting some of the attention from our professor that he craved? There’s no doubt in my mind that Trevor was the, ‘I’m the smartest guy in the room’ type; a teacher’s pet on steroids.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and I looked away from my annoying classmate to glance at the text that had come in. Dr. Miller. I smiled to myself.

Take a left out of the classroom, go out the back door and get in the car, the text read.

I glanced up at him and smiled when he was staring directly at me. With a little nod, he smirked and looked down as he gathered his laptop and things from on top of the desk.

Trevor and I took parallel staircases down to the bottom floor and I didn’t linger like I typically did once the class had emptied out. The last thing I wanted was for him to start putting the pieces together. My eyes briefly met Dr. Miller’s as I passed by. 

“Bye Trevor.” I glanced over my shoulder as I crossed out of the classroom, catching my professor’s eye again as I disappeared off to the left.

Before I reached the back door I saw Trevor and two remaining students exit the classroom. He looked around the otherwise empty hallway as if he was searching for something; and then he turned around completely and did a double-take when he noticed me by the back door.

Shit. I should have just gone outside, I thought.

When I waved to him, he quickly turned around with his thumbs tucked beneath the straps of his bag and power walked in the opposite direction. I continued my walk out the back door, being met by a smaller parking lot near a manmade pond in the center of campus. It was desolate and dark and would have freaked me out if the Mercedes headlights weren’t willing me to safety. The logo shimmered in the center of the vehicle, greeting me with a friendly hello.

I took a deep breath, glancing around in all directions and pulled my hood up as I walked the semi-snowy walkway down to Dr. Miller’s car. I guessed he had an automatic starter but I was a bit surprised that it could reach from the classroom. When I opened the passenger door, a warmth overtook the chill that had crept inside my body on the short walk outside.

Out of habit, I closed the door and locked it as I sat waiting in the darkness. One minute went by. Two. Three.

I glanced at my phone every thirty seconds or so and on minute six I almost texted Dr. Miller, though he emerged from the giant steel door in the back of the building. My body relaxed and I watched his dark silhouette slink down the same walkway. I watched him all the way up until the back door behind me clicked open and I turned to face him.

The light inside the vehicle didn’t click on. I could barely make out his features. When the door slammed I swallowed hard.

“Dr. Miller?” I had to confirm that it was actually him, though I was certain it was.

All at once, the four locks clicked shut with a collective snap.

“Come here.” His voice was indistinguishable. I would know that voice anywhere. It left the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.

“Yes, Dr. Miller.” I knew that was what he wanted to hear as I climbed into the back seat. Much to my surprise, and satisfaction, his hard cock was already out of his pants. I only knew this in the dark because he guided my hand into his lap. At the same time he was pulling me onto my knees beside him to kiss me.

“It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I’ve fucked you,” he said in a voice just above a whisper, “That’s too fuckin’ long.”

I kissed him hard, making out with him as he groaned into my mouth as I stroked his length in my palm from bottom to top and back down again.

“I don’t have it in me to wait until we get home,” Dr. Miller choked out as he kissed down my neck before roughly catching my earlobe between his teeth. “It’s torture seeing you sitting there in class knowing I can’t ravage you.”

I moaned when his hands slid down past my waist, yanking down the leggings I had on beneath an oversized sweatshirt. I let my Ugg fall off one foot and freed my left leg from my pants. Dr. Miller pulled me onto his lap, eagerly forcing me down onto his greedy, impatient cock. He didn’t wait for me to create the pace as he had in the past. Dr. Miller thrusted his hips up, slamming into me with a force that made me moan without warning.

“Fuuck.” I whined and gripped the leather seat behind where he sat.

Dr. Miller held my hips firmly in place and completely dominated the pace from beneath me. When another set of headlights entered the lot, I looked over my shoulder and slunk down.

“Someone else is here,” I whispered, as if they could hear me.

He gently used two fingers to turn my head back around to face him. “Ride my dick, honey.”

Fuck. It was like checkmate all over again; although I wasn't losing. I was just submitting. Submitting myself completely and fully to him. The car pulled in a few spaces away from the two of us and we both glanced over, just for a second, when another professor exited the vehicle and began walking up toward the building.

Dr. Miller quickly pulled my face back to his, roughly this time, and we made out hard as I moved on top of him. I could tell he enjoyed the thrill of being so close to getting caught like this. It aroused me, too.  “Ughhh…” He broke the kiss to moan and he gripped my bare hips as he cursed and panted, pushing deeper inside of me. I suddenly felt a familiar warmth between my legs and Dr. Miller’s head fell back against the seat.

I looked down, smirking slightly, at how fast he came.

“Oh, fuck, sorry.” He breathed the words out and grinned beneath half-open eyes.

I giggled and touched my forehead to his before pecking his lips. “I love seeing you so worked up.”

“I owe you one.” He pulled me in for a hard closed-mouth kiss. 

“Mmm.”

We parted and I hopped off him, leaving a mess between us that coated the front of his dark gray work pants. Dr. Miller tucked himself back into his pants. He reached into the breast pocket of his white, button-down shirt and pulled out a handkerchief.

I glanced down as he wiped my inner thighs and made eye-contact with me for a second before slipping the white cloth into my hand so I could do the rest. Dr. Miller eyed my every move and then took the handkerchief back. He looked me in the eye when he folded it neatly and stuffed it back into his pocket. Why something like that turned me on, I will never know. But it did.

Dr. Miller smirked at my awestruck reaction and he touched my face and let his thumb dance in circles around my cheek. “I’ll take care of you when we get home,” he promised.

“Okay.” My eyes closed when he kissed me again.

“Hop into the front seat.”

I nodded and kissed him again before doing as he instructed. At the same time, Dr. Miller opened the back door and reentered the car through the driver’s side. When he slunk back into the car beside me, his hand found mine. I loved the way he treated me after ravaging my body.

“Are we together?” I suddenly asked. I had to know. We had never clearly created a label. Not that labels were particularly important, but I decided in this case I needed a concrete answer. When Dr. Miller turned toward me, I glanced down at our interlocked hands.

He waited for me to look back at him before responding. “Yes.”

“Exclusively?”

Dr. Miller nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“I do,” and then added, “Do you?”

He grinned and leaned across to kiss me. “Yes.”

I smiled wide and put my feet on the dashboard as he put the car in drive. Dr. Miller chuckled at my outward elated mannerisms. He brought the back of my hand to his lips and cruised the vehicle out of the small, dark parking lot.

When I glanced out the tinted window, I saw Trevor standing there in the shadows. He hugged a laptop to his chest and adjusted his glasses as if to see better. His presence made me slink down further into the seat. What the fuck was he doing? And more importantly, did he see us?

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @jiminstinypinky

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[thecrystalquill]

A/N: Chapter Ten! I hope you liked the Trick or Treat game for our Halloween Special. Now let’s see if you were right…

Please do your part and leave a like/reblog if you read it :)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Series intro Your First Year Hogwarts Letter

Chapter Ten ~ The Winds Of Change

Slowly, (Y/N) was starting to settle in at Hogwarts. Her classes were going well, she consumed information like a starved man sat before a buffet, and the only person whom she’d consider a friends was Saoirse. Her roommates coming close, but she only really interacted with them in their dorm. Her next goal was to make a decent fiend. After all, what is a protagonist without an arch-nemesis or two?

There was one thing, however, that unsettled her deeply; that shook the caverns of her soul and twisted her innards in pleasant discomfort. (Y/N) had always been quite intuitive, she had a knack for sensing when something was coming, and as of late she felt that same twinge in her subconscious that whispered of a storm. ‘The winds of change’, her grandmama would tell her.

After receiving a reply from her family (and having to plough through a whole long paragraph of Wednesday’s complaints on losing money because of her), she now would only write to them once a week, usually on the weekends. A steady schedule soon developed: on weekdays she would complete her homeworks when assigned, on Fridays she’d write a letter, send it on Saturday after lunch, and receive a reply by Monday – Mortis was glad for the five days of unbothered rest.

October had quickly come and (Y/N) was glad to see the season change; nature was always so beautiful when it was on the brink of death. There was a cold chill to the air that made its way all through the halls of Hogwarts, everywhere where there were no fires to keep the cold at bay. That was the lovely thing about old stone castles: they were always cold. Soon there would be a Hallowe’en feast, and even though she couldn’t spend the important celebration with her family, (Y/N) was looking forward to it. Though, the idea of not spending such a treasured and traditional night with her family greatly saddened her, she was simply too far away. Perhaps next year they could figure something out.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, classes had finished for the day, and (Y/N) and Soairse had come to the library to complete their homework. Two months had quickly flown by at Hogwarts and soon classes would be getting more practical; that being said, there was a lot more theory to magic than (Y/N) had initially thought. Transfiguration was proving to be rather complicated. At some point, (Y/N) had to consider for herself if humans really had any business manipulating the particle structure of anything at all.

“Now wait a minute, wait a minute,” Saoirse spoke up from deep in her Herbology studies, “I thought the mandrake was the one that grew in a bush.”

(Y/N) shook her head and rolled up the sleeves of her black shirt. “Mandrakes are the ones that look a bit like turnips – they can kill you with their scream.”

A look of recognition quickly crossed the brunette’s face. “Oh yeah… well now I’ve got a new name to call my brother.”

Soairse was proving to be a valuable study partner; so far she’d been quick to memorise her charms, sneaked snacks past Madame Pince, and even insisted on making acronyms to remember ingredients for Potions (which (Y/N) would absolutely not admit she used herself).

“It’s no wonder she’s a Slytherin…” (Y/N) heard from a few tables away, glancing to a group of students huddled together, whispering to each other animatedly, “I heard they’re related to vampires.”

“Well I heard they live in a graveyard – dead bodies everywhere!” A boy spoke up, cupping a hand at the side of his face as if it would quieten the accusation.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and went back to her homework, dipping her quill back into her ink and ignoring the boring school gossip, offering Soairse a better word to describe a mandrake’s scream.

“Fraser Nittle told me they keep a monster in the belfry,” a girl’s voice whispered, “and the last one that came here went mad, a real psycho apparently.”

Soairse had started packing up, something about changing her socks for better ones before lunch, and (Y/N) began to do the same, leaving the last paragraph of her essay for later. She ignored the silly gossip, uninterested in the news going about the castle, but unfortunately that didn’t stop her from hearing it. “They’re all freaks, those Addamses.”

Now that caught her attention.

Stopping in her tracks, (Y/N) quickly felt a wave of cool anger come over her, and her face hardened like it had turned to cold stone. Light on her steps, she turned to the table of gossipers, and crept up behind them. They were all hunched over their books, not even working on anything, she didn’t even recognise any of their faces – not that she cared.

“His name is Lurch.”

The group jumped at her sudden presence at their backs, startled and almost frightened when they saw who it was that lurked over them. Barely stuttering out any words.

She sent them the dead-eyed look her mother often used, the one reserved for special circumstances, when someone had crossed a line. “And he isn’t a monster. He’s a butler.” She said sternly. “Not that it makes him any less dangerous.” (Y/N) took great satisfaction in the fear in their eyes. She didn’t move, she barely even blinked, just stood there like a headstone, waiting for their discomfort to spill over, before walking away without another look, as silent as she came.

This place was full of gossip and rumours, hardly any of which held any truth. But she wouldn’t let it bother her; there were always rumours about her family, it was simply something she was used to. People didn’t like it when someone was too different – apparently that extended into the wizarding world as well.

“Is that true?” Saoirse asked as they exited the library, and (Y/N) frowned in disappointment at the inevitable next sentence. “D’you really have a butler? Can I meet him?”

(Y/N) fought back a small smile. Yes, she definitely liked this one.

Hallowe’en was (Y/N)’s favourite time of year; the spookiness, the ghost stories, the darkness. It was all so wonderful. All of the Addams clan took the holiday very seriously, after all it was a very important day in their peculiar culture. It was like New Year’s and Christmas and birthdays all in one, and they stretched the whole thing out over three days and three nights. There would be a feast bigger than the whole family could eat, séances every night, and then readings from Poe before bed. A hundred activities to partake in: pumpkin carving, pumpkin smashing, Wake The Dead, fancy dress, haunted walks, death masks… endless freaky fun. Even if she couldn’t be there with them, she’d promised to at least read the Raven before bed and try to contact Grandfather Humphrey and Grandmother Hester from the Other Side.

There was a strange warm ambiance about Hogwarts, a certain atmosphere filled with joy and… happiness. The castle wasn’t at all dark and creepy like the Addams home would be; the decorations were all vibrant colours and bright patterns, banners hung on the stone walls, and Peeves the Poltergeist was having the time of his life (or rather, death) scaring dozens of students by the hour. The infamous Weasley Twins had doubled or perhaps even tripled their pranks and so far no one was safe. Especially on Hallowe’en day.

That morning, after a rather eventful breakfast (curtsey of the Weasley twins), the first years had Charms class. The professor had even troubled himself to decorate the classroom for the season, all floating pumpkins and orange streamers. Nothing too exciting. If (Y/N) had been in his place, she would have charmed a giant spider to walk on the ceiling, or stuffed some skeletons in a closet, but not everyone could be as creative, she supposed. Perhaps if she was lucky a Jack-O-lantern would bite off someone’s hand.

This would be their first practical charms lesson, and everyone was very excited. To control this excitement, Flitwick decided it would be best to choose everyone’s partners – and unfortunately, (Y/N) found herself yet again stuck next to none other than Draco Malfoy. And this time she couldn’t simply ignore him and let him fly off on a broom.

The professor, atop his desk, was lecturing everyone on the importance of pronunciation, and reminding the class of a student who misspoke and suffered for it… something about a buffalo?

A fluffy white feather lay still on the desk between them, an ugly thing that probably felt as soft as a cloud. Everyone was quick to try, with few succeeding to make their feathers do more than flutter, one student accidentally made their table jump. It seemed magic was much harder than waving a wand and saying a little phrase in a dead language.

“Ladies first.” Malfoy said to her, giving a taunting look as he glanced about at the other students.

“Well then by all means, I’m happy to wait.” She replied with a gesture towards the feather, pleased with the glare he sent back. She could feel the ‘how very dare you’ on the tip of his tongue. “Unless, of course, you don’t think you can.”

He took the bait. “Fine.” Sitting up a little straighter, Malfoy cleared his throat and gripped his wand tight. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered as he moved his wand to the right and down. The feather moved a millimetre or two, but it was hard to tell whether it was by magic or simply the air moving with his gesture. A deep frown set over his face, pale cheeks flushing and mouth pursing as he gritted his teeth and tried again. Only to receive a similar outcome. “It’s not as easy as it looks, you know.” He quipped, hiding his embarrassment with frustration.

“I know.” She replied. (Y/N) moved some hair out of her eyes and looked across the room to where Saoirse sat, gesturing with her wand and talking to her partner – (Y/N) had quickly come to learn that her friend was very talented in this class; the two had spent all of the day before in the library reading about it, and Saoirse was sure she knew exactly what she was doing by the time she’d checked out three different books, two of which were far above their skill level. “You’re too rough with it.” She said monotonously, though he didn’t seem to like being given advice.

The boy scrunched up his nose. “Excuse me?” He demanded accusatorily.

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) pointed to his balled up fist. “Your gesture. Think of it this way: you’re trying to make something float, make it light as a feather. So you have to reflect that in your movements.” At least that’s what Saoirse’s book had said – neither of them had actually practiced.

“Look here, everyone! Miss Granger’s done it!” Professor Flitwick cried from across the room, gaining that class’ attention. A Gryffindor girl with bushy brunette hair smiled proudly at the praise, wand still raised daintily in the direction of her white feather suspended four feet in the air; next to her sat Ron Weasley, looking bitterly on with his arms folded.

(Y/N) turned back to tell her temporary partner to try again, when she caught sight of his own bitter expression. “Perfect little mudblood, always showing off.” He spat under his breath.

Mudblood. She knew that word, had heard it plenty of times, she knew it had even been used to insult her family – it seemed blood purity (no matter how pure or powerful) was still tainted when it came to squibs. And she didn’t like the word coming from his mouth one bit. “Wingardium Leviosa,” she pronounced with a swish and flick of her wrist, but rather than direct it up, she flicked it right to the boy’s face. Honestly, she hadn’t even expected it to work on her first try, but the sight of Malfoy getting a mouth full of flying feather was perfect all the same. “Oops.”

“You did that on purpose!” Malfoy shouted, still spitting little bits of white off of his tongue.

“Did I?” She questioned innocently, watching as he glared with a new fury. “Why would I do that?”

“Of course you did!” He fired back. “You think you’re better than me, do you? Just because you and that Granger girl got beginner’s luck. Well you’re not--”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Flitwick scolded, suddenly stood on some steps near their shared desk. “I’d expect you to speak to your peers much more respectfully in my classroom.” The short man said, pointing a finger at the misbehaving boy. “That’s ten points from Slytherin – and not another word, or it will be twenty.”

Malfoy crossed his arms and slumped back in his seat, watching as their professor made his way back to another student who needed attention. (Y/N) was glad that he was put in his place for it, but certainly not happy that he’d lost them house points. “Well done, genius.” She said sarcastically as she put her black wand in her robe pocket, getting up to chat with Saoirse before he could say anything more.

Celebratory feasts at Hogwarts were like no other – at least, that’s what (Y/N) had heard. Her roommates had all already left to get some good seats, Saoirse included, while (Y/N) stayed behind to change. She’d just finished reading another letter sent from her family and unpacking a box of gifts for the holiday. Tonight they were all dressing up and holding a séance with her mother’s dead parents, then moulding and painting death masks to add to their collection. Tying her hair back in two plaits, (Y/N) checked herself over in the tall mirror that stood by their door; black trousers, black boots, and a black half-turtleneck jumper, the only colour on her at all was an emerald encased in silver, a snake-shaped ring she’d been sent – a symbol of her house and a reminder to always be proud of it.

Jinx made a noise from his place on her windowsill, clicking his claws into the soft cushion she’d sat there and glaring at Mouse for shedding on it. “I’ll be back later, Jinx.” She said, checking the guard was in front of their dorm fireplace before she left with promises to bring him back some scraps.

The halls of the Dungeon were cold and dead, all students and staff far away in the Great Hall making the most of the celebration. (Y/N) knew she was late to dinner, but the Dungeons were just such a lovely place to be that she couldn’t help but wander slower than usual. The Dungeons reminded her a little of home, the chill in the air and the stone walls were much akin to the Vaults beneath their house, and the creaky doors and shadowy corners shrouded in mystery just felt so home-like that she couldn’t help but dawdle. Especially today, when she was feeling more homesick than she had since she arrived.

There was a commotion suddenly, (Y/N) heard the sound coming from a dark corridor to her left, some muttering followed by a loud clatter and the sound of something hard knocking on the floor. Her gut told her to ignore it, but another, much more persuasive side of her told her to investigate – curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

There were no torches lit down the hall, only the faint glow of one around a corner. She couldn’t be sure if she’d ever been down this way before, there weren’t any classrooms down the steps at the end – none that she knew of – all just storage cupboards or something, she’d been told. But now she wondered if there were more to the Dungeons than she’d been led to believe. There was another sound, further away, or maybe not – it was so hard to tell with the way it travelled around the stone tunnels – but (Y/N) was sure she’d heard a grunt or growl of some kind. Slowly, she reached into her boot for the dagger she carried (something every Addams should have on their person at all times). A wand would have been of no use, anyway, not if the only spell she knew was the floating charm. Her heart leapt in her chest with every step she took, following the light from the torch, going ever deeper into the mysterious corridor. It had been far too long since she’d felt such delightful fear, her heart almost ached from missing the erratic pounding of the effects.

All was silent. No more bangs, or grunts, or panicked muttering. When she finally made it to the end, coming to face no more than an old locked door and a flight of stairs going back up, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed as she tucked the dagger back in its hiding spot. It was probably just Peeves, anyway. Having wasted enough time and feeling the pang of hunger in her empty stomach, (Y/N) hurried up the stairs and found herself just another hallway away from the Dungeon exit and back to the main floors.

The Great Hall was, admittedly, looking splendid. Candles floated under the image of the cloudy black sky, carved pumpkins grinning down on them, and live bats screeching and flitting about. She would definitely be telling this to her family in her next letter tomorrow.

“(Y/N)!” Saoirse shouted from the Slytherin table, shouting loudly over the crowds far away towards the staff table, right at the end of the row.

As she walked between the tables and passed students laughing and talking, (Y/N) ignored how some people gave her strange looks, or waited for her to pass before continuing their conversations. Another rumour was developing about the monster she had for a butler, only this time people couldn’t decide what sort of monster he was.

Sitting herself next to Saoirse, who was mixing together apple sauce and cranberry sauce on her plate, (Y/N) straightened her sleeves and greeted her other roommates, who were talking to a boy she recognised from Herbology. He seemed pleasant enough, introducing himself with only a second hesitance, he even shook her hand. What did he say his name was? Blade? She couldn’t hear him all that well over the crowd, but Saoirse would surely inform her later.

She wasn’t planning on staying for too long, not when she had to make time for a séance, she would simply eat until she was full and engage in the usual amount of conversation. But she’d barely had time to reach for dessert when the giant doors of the entrance slammed open and a scrawny, pasty man in a turban came running in faster than he looked capable of.

“TROLL!” Quirrell screamed in the stunned silence. “TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!” He’d almost reached Dumbledor’s chair when he seemed to suddenly run out of adrenaline. “Thought you ought to know.” He managed, before collapsing in his exhaustion.

There was a brief pause as everyone processed what had just happened, then suddenly an uproar. Screams and shouts of terror, panic and chaos that reminded (Y/N) of so many family events, when a thought soon dawned on her: that was what she heard in the Dungeon. That was what she’d almost encountered. Not Peeves, not the Twins, and certainly not her imagination – a troll.

What happened to Hogwarts being the safest place on Earth?

“SILENCE!”

Startled by Dumbledor’s voice, the entire student body froze where they were. All teachers were stood from their seats with similar looks on their faces, Quirrell still laid face-down on the floor. “Prefects, lead your houses back to their dorms immediately.”

It was a sensible instruction, at least for the first three seconds – but anyone who thought at all longer would consider that it wasn’t actually very good advice to give to one fourth of the school. Wouldn’t it be safer to keep everyone in one place, where they already where, than have everyone go through the castle in smaller groups, a quarter of whom who were instructed to go the scene of the danger? Everyone knew Slytherin House was set up in the Dungeons, and Hufflepuff not far behind.

Realising this, many of the Slytherins went into a whole new panic, even (Y/N) could see it. Saoirse was covering her ears, Bridget was trying to protest, and even Draco Malfoy could be heard shrieking like a banshee. But all other prefects were already set in motion out the doors, and Slytherin was being made to follow behind. Oh great.

After the excitement of the night’s dinner, the Slytherin common room was crowded by students putting off going to bed; over half an hour of attendance checks to confirm everyone was accounted for wasn’t enough to ease their nerves, most staying up to avoid sleep, a few hiding away in their rooms. It was one thing (Y/N) was thankful for – now she had the dorm all to herself while her roommates kept to the common area, not that they were all that eager to be in the same room as she performed her ritual.

The only light in the room came from the crackling fireplace and the circle of candles in which she sat. A bowl of dried sage and herbs smoked to her side, some crystals dotted here and there, some photos of various passed family members, and (most importantly) an old ouija board and a crystal ball sat before her crossed legs. Taking a deep breath and clearing her mind, (Y/N) pictured her grandparents in her minds eye and began to recite the Summoning, one she’d heard hundreds of times.

“Sing, O spirits. Harken, all souls. I offer clarion to Humphrey and Hester Frump.” She recited, imitating the commanding voice her mother used every year. “Let me ransom you from the power of the grave. Tonight, O Death, let me be your plague.” The crystal ball started to cloud in a divine mist, opening a door between the worlds of the living and the dead, inviting the spirit of a relative through.

She could feel a presence, vague and distant but there. She carefully placed her fingers on the planchett, opening her mind to feel the pull. The candles flickered as she felt it in the room, awaiting her command. It felt different to every other time she’d been present for a séance; each spirit had a unique feeling. Where she would usually smell expensive soap and chloroform, this time she smelt sugar and burning calligraphy paper. Frowning slightly, (Y/N) reached out with her mind to greet them. “Grandmother? Is that you?” She asked, waiting for the presence to move the planchett tab.

She felt it pull to answer, fingers following it up the board. No.

“Grandfather?”

Again it answered – no.

She froze, every muscle in her body stopping still, sucking in a breath as she stared at the planchette beneath her fingers in alarm.

If this wasn’t her grandparents… then who did she make Contact with?

Heart hammering in her chest as the crystal ball clouded in a swirling mist, (Y/N) racked her brain for who it could be if not a grandparent she called to her. Did she do the ritual wrong? Did she call on the wrong spirit? (Y/N) had partaken in countless seances before, but rarely on her own – it wouldn’t be all that surprising if she’d made a mistake.

Another pull tugged at her – not at her fingers this time, but at something deep in her spirit, dragging her in, pushing her mind and soul aside to make room for another. Her senses were overcome with something so other. There was no smell of burning sage and wormwood, no crackling fire, no velvet green dormitory; only whatever this other was. It was dark, and cold, and empty. There was no sound at all. And then, slowly, she saw. A room, dark and unlit. A figure shifted through, cloaked and unrecognisable, and reached forward to a wall – no, a shelf. But before she could make out what they were doing, it all changed again. A tower, standing tall and proud in the rain of a storm, snow and sleet coating the turret roof. A door. A clock. A crow. A murky window. A tunnel. A statue. A fire. All things that seemed so unrelated. She felt the grip this spirit had on her begin to slip, as if they clutched her with watery hands, digging their nails into the flesh of her soul just to stay a little longer. Addams, it called in a voice roughened with deep rest, far away like they spoke from a flooded grave. She wanted to answer, to ask or say anything, but her voice was stolen from her. I’ve been waiting. It said again, slowly fading away back into the beyond. Find…

Suddenly she felt the spirit tear out of her body, ripping away from its clutch on her soul as it was dragged back beyond the veil, trying to reach out again but it was no use. She could feel their desperation, their pain, their anger. (Y/N) didn’t understand.

Sweat gathered on her brow, her skin clammy and her breath was short and shallow. Slowly, (Y/N) felt her senses come back to her. She brought a shaky hand up to her head, feeling a headache coming on.

What was that?

Who was that?

Thoughts spun around in her head as the dizziness and fatigue that follows such a ritual performed by the inexperience settled heavily over her, making her feel weak in every muscle of her body. Staring vacantly at her surroundings, (Y/N) held in a shaky breath and started to blow out the few remaining candle flames and carefully place her things in a chest to slide under her bed. Already in her pyjamas, (Y/N) sat up in her bed, exhausted from the effort but unable to sleep, those words from that disturbing undead voice filling her anxious mind as Jinx remained asleep on the pillow beside her.

This was by far the strangest Hallowe’en she’d ever had. So far.

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[sugacookees]

lovebug again

✩ boo seungkwan x reader ✩ high school setting, fluff, mutual pining, mentions of death  ✩ w.c. approx. 7.1k ♫ this town - niall horan; lovebug - jonas brothers; for lovers - lamp; forever&more - role model; la la la that’s how it goes - honne; falling for you - colbie caillat

I hate being sick.

Everyone does, but some people enjoy the special treatment they receive from loved ones. But in my household, that is never the case. When I get sick, it always seems to be my fault. Too much time on my cellphone, not enough sleep, going out with friends too much—every leisure activity that could be blamed except for the fact that it actually happens.

Teenagers get two to four colds a year on average. But maybe I’m not a teenager after all since my mom says I should never catch a cold. Only weak people do. And annoyingly so, I kind of agree. As president of the class and of the school council, each day is vital. So, being sick is totally not on schedule and ruins everything. The time I’m spending lying on my bed staring at my ceiling could have been time for me to finalize our plans for the fundraiser and the booths for the upcoming school festival. But no, the universe decided that I should become the most helpless human being on earth at the time I'm most needed.

I couldn't even check my phone for updates or messages from other school council members. My mom is convinced that my phone single-handedly caused me to catch a virus and that it should be kept away from me. She even went out of her way to wrap it in a drawstring bag so my sister wouldn't get sick like me. I tried to do some schoolwork in advance, but I felt like my head was about to fall off, so I quickly abandoned that plan. 

It was a day ago in Chemistry class when I started feeling ill.

“Okay, here are five chemical equations to balance. I’ll give you a couple minutes to accomplish this and then we’ll get right to checking them.”

I look down right away at my notebook and copy the equations. By the second one, the numbers and letters are starting to jumble and lose sense. I feel like I’ve been reading the same number over and over again. I look up and around at my classmates to see if I’ve just been looking down too much, but I quickly regret it as soon as I see Jisoo’s head in front of me turn into three. I clutch my head and shut my eyes closed, hoping it would go away. Nevertheless, I go back to my problem set and attempt to accomplish it.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking to my right, where the voice is coming from, I see Seungkwan, who looks concerned. I quickly reassure him that I’m fine and that it’s probably just the heat. He nods in agreement, but does so hesitantly. Anyhow, I couldn’t find it in me to reassure him further as another wave of pain hits my head, and right at that moment I think I would just like to be hit by a train and be done with.

As I am looking down, I see a peek of navy blue hovering by my peripheral. I slowly turn my head towards it and see a jug held by Seungkwan, still with his worried face.

I’ve known Seungkwan for years. Our parents know each other way back from their childhood as we live just about 7 houses down by each other. It’s a small town too, so we go to the same market, same bakery, same school, and same dainty old cafes and restaurants. On holidays, we exchange meals and gifts, and simple hellos and goodbyes.

I remember the time before Nari was born. Seungkwan and I would always run around the house and play together. He invited me to his birthday parties, and I did too. Though, when we grew up and my father passed, I found myself forever changed. Seungkwan and I started to drift apart as a result of that, among other things.

Seungkwan has always been the most extroverted one in the room, and me, well, I’m completely on the other end of that spectrum. Wonwoo and Jiheon have always been quite introverted as well so we quickly got along. Surprisingly though, Wonwoo had also made friends with Seungkwan along with a few other boys. We would all be together from time to time at the park, the boys playing sports, and Jiheon and I, along with the other younger siblings of the boys, playing a definitely more beginner-friendly version of whatever game they were playing. All in all, we all got along well. Seungkwan and I would exchange conversations every now and then, but we weren’t as close and playful as we were before.

But I must admit, I have, and always will, hold a special fondness for Seungkwan. He was always sweet and kind, and even loved by all the elderly people in town. I recall the time I was out to buy some bread for our house, I saw him happily chatting with Chan’s grandmother. I say chatting, but more like gossiping by the way they were hunched and shifting their eyes. He would always make sure everyone in class was included, and he would always make everyone happy with his jokes and skits that he, Seokmin, Jisoo, and surprisingly, Jihoon, would act out. Seungkwan would also unhesitantly offer assistance to the student council during major projects. Sometimes, he would even stay late with me, saying, “So you have less to do tomorrow, and more time to rest!” He would then walk me home, and never forget to greet my parents and wish them well.

Seungkwan is lovely. And he is even more lovely now as he offers his water to me. Our drinking fountains have been under maintenance recently so, if I take up his offer he’ll have to wait until he gets home to get a drink again. He sees me hesitate and about to reject his offer, so he firmly places his tumbler on my desk and turns back to his notebook, offering no space for compromise.

In perfect timing, Mr. Hyun announces that the time is up and it’s time to check our answers. I pick up the tumbler, open it, and drink. I turn to Seungkwan quickly and smile. He smiles back.

By the next day, the headaches still come and go, but I keep it to myself and head to school anyway. During our break time, Wonwoo and Jiheon notice my weakened state and urge me to go to the school clinic.

“I’m fine! Just sleepy, that’s all.”

They share a look and thankfully leave my table.

But my peace is soon ruined as Jiheon slams a piece of paper on my desk. A clinic slip. The loud thump gathers the attention of the class, and they take notice of the much familiar white paper that occupies my desk.

“Oh my god, class president is sick?!” Soonyoung exclaims while exaggeratingly covering his mouth.

Usually unconcerned Hansol, Myeongho, and Junhui jerk their heads in my way with horrified expressions.

“I’m not sick! It’s just a small headache. It’ll go away soon.”

“It won’t.” Wonwoo says firmly with his arms crossed. “You’ve been having them since yesterday. Go to the clinic right now or else I’ll drag you there myself.”

Now, I'm usually assertive and tend to win in situations, but when I remember how Wonwoo once dragged Mingyu down the stairs by his backpack down the stairs because they were running late, I decide to sign the slip. I definitely don't want to be dragged like that.

On my way out, Jeonghan and Jisoo give me a few applauses with matching devious smirks.

I point at them accusingly and say, “Unlike you, I’m not pretending just to get out of class.”

Now here I am, at home, holed up in my room, bored out of my mind. Until, I hear a knock on my door and see Nari peeking in.

“Unnie, your classmate’s downstairs. He’s talking with Eomma. Come quickly.” She says hurriedly before rushing out.

I wonder what’s Wonwoo doing here. He usually sends me a text if he’s coming over. Well, he’s been one of my best friends for years, and he has come over a lot, so it’s not like my family has no idea of his existence, and maybe, he thought that sending me a text would end up in me stopping him from coming over. Probably.

Knowing it's only Wonwoo, I skip glancing at the mirror to fix my appearance; after all, he's seen me worse. Still feeling a bit lightheaded from lying down for hours, I make my way downstairs.

“Yah, Wonwoo. You couldn’t even se-“

I halt and gape at the man in my living room who is definitely not my best friend with fifty-eight centimeter wide shoulders (we got bored in class).

Seungkwan stands there in his collared navy blue sweatshirt, holding a basket of tangerines, looking at me with an alarmed face, then gives me a soft smile. It is at this moment I truly realize how much the universe hates me. I probably look like absolute shit right now, and Nari’s sly smile only confirms that further. That little girl.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude or whatsoever. I hope it’s okay. I’ll just drop this off and go, I’m sorry again.”

My mom quickly butts in, “No, no! It’s alright Seungkwan. The gesture is much appreciated. And I know this one has been dying for a familiar face that isn’t ours.” She gives me a look, which I have no idea what it even means, and smiles. She takes the basket and heads to the kitchen bringing Nari along.

In the living room, Seungkwan and I find ourselves standing awkwardly, a noticeable gap between us. It's evident that he wants to say something, but he seems hesitant, perhaps fearing that he might not be welcome. Unable to bear the silence any longer, I take the initiative and speak up.

“Thank you for coming by the way. And for the tangerines too. Those are my favorite.”

“I know.”

His response catches me off guard, and my surprise seems to have unconsciously shown on my face, prompting him to explain further.

“In middle school, we were asked to bring our favorite food. You came in holding this single medium-sized tangerine. And you know, my family has a farm so I brought one too. I was really embarrassed because Seungcheol had brought this full-blown meal and everyone was gathered around him. But then you saw me, approached me and told me-“

“‘Tangerines are cuter anyway.” I finish.

We both share a laugh and in between our laughter he asks me, “What the hell does that even mean anyway? How could tangerines be cute?”

I look at him fondly and answer, “Well, they just are.”

There’s a pregnant pause that follows our laughter as we gauge what to do next. As I’m about to ask him what made him drop by, he already answers me with a sheepish smile, “I, uh, just seeing you pale and weak in class, and you not showing up today just really had me worried.” He scratches his head and looks away. “So, I decided to check-up on you to see if you were alright.

Despite my disheveled bed hair, crusty and pale lips, and being dressed in Anpanman pajamas, I confidently say that I'm doing well.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be coming to school tomorrow.”

He gives me a worried look, like the one he gave me a day ago in Chemistry. “Are you sure? I think you should rest more. The council’s doing alright with the prep anyway.”

Feeling my stomach flutter at his genuine concern, I try to brush it off, blaming it on my feverish state, and reassure him that I'll be okay.

“I’ll be fine, Kwan. It’s just a cold.”

Kwan. I hadn’t realized I used a nickname for him I gave him years ago until I had said it. Either he didn’t notice, or doesn’t really care as it doesn’t seem to have caught him off-guard, seeing that he still seems to worry about me.

“If you say so…”

Ever the worrywart, but undeniably cute.

?!

“Well, it’s about to get dark in a while so I should head home. It was good seeing you. I hope you feel better. And if you ever decide not to come to school tomorrow that’s a hundred percent just fine, and I’ll take care of letting our teachers and the council know.”

I chuckle and walk him to the door.

“Thank you, Seungkwan. For coming by, and for the tangerines. I really appreciate it. Be safe on your walk back, and see you in school tomorrow.”

A few steps away from the door, he turns around, now walking backwards, with that charming smile and says, “I mean this in the nicest way possible. I hope I don’t.” As he walks away, that smile still on his face, I wave goodbye, returning the gesture with a warm smile of my own.

Subconsciously admitting that I do feel a little under the weather, I retreat back inside, hoping to get more and better rest.

Nearing the staircase, my mom stops me, and Nari hovers behind her with a smile that makes me feel uneasy.

“So,” she starts, annoyingly elongating the ‘o’. “I haven’t seen you and Seungkwan together for a while.” I quickly try to jump to correct her until she interrupts me. “I mean, you know, conversing. Especially with him coming here to our home.”

“Yeah, conversing.” Nari butts in, also, elongating her vowels. I roll my eyes at them.

“Tell that sweet boy he should come over often like the old days. Makes me feel younger.” My mom yells.

Don’t think I’ll be doing that, but like the good daughter I am, I say okay anyway and go back to my room.

My head pounds as I struggle to wake up, attempting to open my heavy eyes. The blaring alarm in the background adds to my discomfort, and I quickly move over to silence it. Another second of that noise, and my head might just explode. Despite feeling weak, I gather the strength to stand up, determined to get ready for school

Looking at my state and the fact that I can’t even tie my shoes right without getting lightheaded should be enough reason for me to garbage the idea of going to school. But then, I remember all my missed classes and the council preparations. I can’t miss one more day.

During breakfast, I try my best to act normal and perfectly healthy. Nari gives me a side eye every now and then, waiting for a moment to catch me red-handed; pretending not to be sick. Fortunately, my mom is preoccupied with getting ready for work and preparing our lunches, so she doesn't pay strict attention to my condition.

So far so good.

I collect my things and head out. As I open the door, the sun blares right at me so I cover my eyes with my hands and take a few steps forward to get into the shade. As soon as I remove my hand, I jump out of surprise at the sight of Seungkwan.

“Yah! Are you trying to kill me?! What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry! I just..” He trails off and leads me into confusion.

“You just…?”

“My mom!” He screams frantically, and I jump in surprise again. “My mom also knew about you getting sick, so she asked me to accompany you to school to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, well, she really didn’t have to. I’ll send her a text that I’m alright-”

“No!” He screams again.

“Seriously! Why do you keep screaming so early in the morning?!” His agitated state isn't exactly helping mine, and the never-ending screaming is starting to make me lightheaded again.

“I’ll do it. I mean- you don’t have to send her a text. I’ll tell her myself later. Don’t. Send a text.”

“Okay, alright!!”

I turn towards the direction of the school and start walking. He quickly follows and walks beside me.

Trying to make small talk, he asks me, “Are you feeling better today?”

“Yeah I am.” Well, technically, yes I am better. I didn’t say anything about feeling totally okay, so I’m totally, technically, not lying.

“That’s good,” is all he says.

He doesn’t make further small talk and we make our way to school in comfortable silence. Even if we hadn’t maintained a close friendship all these years, I can never feel uncomfortable around Seungkwan. Somehow, he always knows when I am in need of a cheery conversation, or time to be left alone. He also supports me in any endeavor I take on, like running for class president, and school council president. He even went as far as taking Soonyoung and Seokmin to the crafts store, buying materials to make a ton of banners and posters for me. I thanked them by treating them to Chan’s grandmother’s restaurant.

As we arrive in our classroom, our arrival makes some commotion.

“Oh? Class president, hello! Seungkwan-ah… hello to you too.” Soonyoung greets, adding a wink for whatever reason at the end.

As we walk to our seats, I feel lingering eyes following our every move. I look back and see Seokmin and Soonyoung whispering to each other. I raise a brow at them, and turn back to my seat shaking my head.

“Sorry about Soonyoung. I guess he missed you.” Seungkwan says beside me as he settles on his seat. “We all did…” He adds.

Wonwoo and Jiheon approach me asking about how I was and if I was feeling better. I fed them the same remarks (not lies) as I did Seungkwan. Wonwoo looks at me accusingly but decides to brush it off and keep to himself. If I don’t want to be sent home, I should really look out for Wonwoo. He might smell my bullshit about being okay from a mile away.

I made sure to bring a lot of water, using the big jug my mother uses on family trips. And also, to avoid Seungkwan offering his, and ending up infecting him. After all he’s done for me, I really don’t want to do that to him.

I excuse myself and head to the restroom to take a pain reliever, so a headache wouldn’t come over and torture me during class. After doing just that and trying to get myself together, I head back and continue as normal.

At lunch, Wonwoo and Jiheon eat with me. As I open my lunchbox and pause, both of them point at me accusingly, “Aha! I knew it! You’re still sick aren’t you?”

I guess my reaction, or lack thereof, to seeing my lunch was a dead giveaway that I don’t feel so up to par. Usually, I would get excited and eat right away, leaving no crumbs for Jiheon to steal.

“Ugh, but I feel better now. I promise!” I beg, mostly to Wonwoo. “Help me here Jiheon, please?”

“Sorry, I’m with Wonwoo on this one. You’ve been overworking yourself these days and coming to school today will just make your fever worse. You need to rest. It’s okay to, y’know?” She says.

I lean back on my chair, any appetite I even had, gone. I appreciate my best friends’ worries, but I really can’t afford missed days. But maybe they’re right. I can rest, and if I push myself harder I’ll miss more school days than I should.

Wonwoo pulls out an all-familiar slip and pushes it towards me. A clinic slip, all filled out and ready for me to bring. “We’re only worried about you. It’ll be better anyway if you were here in perfect, healthy condition, than physically being here but your mind—no offense, helpless.”

I take the slip and put it in my pocket. And since I don’t have any appetite, nor will I be in the classroom, I offer my lunch to Jiheon, which she accepts excitedly. Wonwoo shakes his head.

I leave the room and head to the clinic. On the way, I really start to feel my fever taking a toll on my body. What even possessed me to leave my bed and get ready? I should have stayed and slept all day.

When I get to the school clinic, they take my temperature and quickly assess that I should be sent home (again) for better recovery. Nurse Yang tells me she’ll ask someone to bring my stuff over for me.

After waiting for a bit, the sound of the chimes by the door brings my attention to Jisoo who is wearing my backpack.

“Thanks, Jisoo.”

“No problem. Though, I’m kinda jealous.” I smack him square on the shoulder. Nurse Yang gives us a side-eye glance. “Kidding. Obviously.” He heads out the clinic, but not before shouting, “Get well soon, our president!” I chuckle at Jisoo’s antics. “Sorry about that.” I tell Nurse Yang, to which she only shakes her head at.

“Your mother says she’s near, you should go to the gate now. Get well soon, dear.”

“Thank you, Nurse Yang. Hopefully you won’t see me back here anytime soon.” I really, genuinely, hope that.

I meet my mom, who is visibly mad, at the school gate. As soon as I get in the car, she gives me a lecture. I drown it out, and use my headache as an excuse to nap, even for a bit.

As soon as we get home, she orders me to stay on the couch for dinner and to drink some ginger tea. Even though the couch might not be as comfortable as my bed, I still snuggle in and nap.

The sound of the doorbell wakes me up. Despite being just a few feet away from the door, I refrain from standing up to get it. I know my family understands my current sickly state, and they will likely get it themselves. I hear the door open and my mom’s delighted gasp.

“Ah, Seungkwan!” I jolt upright and check if my ears heard that right. I look at the door, and there he is, right outside, holding a paper bag and smiling sheepishly at my mom. I contemplate whether I’m dreaming or not, but with Nari tapping my chin, I guess I’m not.

“A fly might go in, Unnie.” She teases then runs away before I give her one.

Seungkwan greets my mother back. “Hello! Just wanted to drop by again and give this samgyetang Eomma made. I also just wanted to check if…” He points at me, on the couch, “…is okay.” He smiles, and waves at me.

“Oh! How kind of you Seungkwan. Come in, come in!” My mom ushers him hurriedly inside, and takes the paper bag from his hands.

She looks at me pointedly, “Make some space for him!”

Seungkwan, alarmed, quickly blurts, “Oh no, it’s okay! I can just stand here...”

Despite his protests, I move my legs off the couch and move off to one side. I look at Seungkwan, who has a look of horror (and a bit of shame) on his face, and pat the very vacant seat beside me.

“Seungkwan, it’s okay. Lying down for so long isn’t great anyway.” I reassure him.

“Well, I won’t be here long. I just wanted to check if you were okay. But also, I felt a bit guilty that I didn’t notice that you were sick this morning.”

If I thought my head pounding was painful, the rapid and loud beating of my heart in my chest is quickly overshadowing that pain. Kind, charming, sweet seat mate and friend Boo Seungkwan, who offered me his water bottle [despite the fact that he can’t get a refill throughout the day], dropped by my house afterwards to give me a basket of tangerines, came to my house early in the morning to accompany me on my way to school [even if he was closer if he were to walk from his home], brought homemade samgyetang, and now says he feels guilty for not noticing I was still feeling sick. I think I might just melt into this couch, actually.

Thinking of nothing to respond, I switch the subject and ask him how his family is doing.

“They’re doing pretty good. My sisters miss seeing you. They always liked you ‘cause they could dress you up and talk about girl things I probably can’t understand.” He laughs.

“Well, I miss them too. Being an elder sister to Nari makes me want one too. I’ll make sure to visit when I get better.”

To that, he merely nods. We’re left in awkward silence again. Running out of things to say, I impulsively invite him over for dinner.

“Oh, no it’s alright, I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

My mom overhears him and quickly excuses him (more like begs him with pleading eyes), “No, Seungkwan. It’s alright. We would love to have you over for dinner! It’s always just us three, so another would make great company.”

“Eomma’s right, Kwan.” 

Kwan. The nickname again. I silently hope he doesn’t notice. And instead of dwelling on why it felt so natural to call him that, like in the old days, I beg him to stay.

“It’s the least we can do for all you’ve done for us, for me. The visits, the tangerines, the samgyetang, your water… Please stay.”

He looks at me to my mother, in deep thought. He fumbles with his hands, and I take notice of how slender and pretty they are. He takes a deep breath as he answers, “Okay.” My mom cheers and shouts my sister and I’s names, telling us to set the table and help her in the kitchen.

“Let me help!” Seungkwan says loudly, standing up from his seat.

“No.” We say in unison. Seungkwan gives up and sits back down with a huff.

During dinner, the atmosphere in our cozy kitchen is delightful, with lively conversation filling the air. A table for four, an antique lamp hanging right above our heads, and a lit candle on the counter. Seungkwan seamlessly fits in, right here beside me, engaging in cheerful chatter with my family. As we lock eyes occasionally, we can't help but share sheepish smiles.

In the middle of Seungkwan telling a story of how his sisters dressed him up for Chuseok last year, a sudden and powerful thunderclap reverberates the room and takes us all by surprise. Nari drops her spoon in surprise and latches on to our mother. As my mom consoles her, I look over at Seungkwan and see him deep in thought.

Oh right, he still has to go home.

“Oh, that must be the rain. Before it gets any stronger, I should probably go…” He says, looking down, afraid to disappoint my mother.

Out of concern (and concern only), I butt in. “What if it gets stronger as you’re walking home? Even with an umbrella, the walk home will still be pretty dangerous.” My overthinking self proves to be quite resourceful at this moment in concocting excuses, even though, in reality, it's not even raining yet. Despite that fact, I continue, “It’ll be better to wait it out, here, where you’re safer.”

I look to my mother in hopes she would agree with me. Her brows are raised but she relaxes them back as soon as I nudge mine for her to interject.

“Oh, yes. Agreed. Definitely. It’s time we took care of you, don’t you think?”

We all look to Seungkwan. An uneasy expression settles on his face. So, to assure him that he isn’t overstaying his welcome (I don’t think he ever can), I place my hand on his arm and smile softly.

“Please?” I squeeze his arm a bit. “I don’t want your family to get mad at me anyway for sending you home drenched.”

He chuckles and places his hand on top of mine. It’s warm. Where is this heat coming from? My fever? My naturally sweaty hands? My hand being sandwiched by his skin? The candle? Or maybe, it has something to do with the loud, fast rhythm my heart is going.

“Okay, okay. You convinced me.” He says out loud. His hand still on mine.

As dinner ends, my mother tells me to put on a movie in the living room to pass time in waiting out the rain. Seungkwan and I make offers to help with the dishes, but my mother is sure she can handle it and doesn’t let us forget that, actually, I’m still sick. Seungkwan, as if hit with this revelation, looks to me with shock as if he had also forgotten why he had come in the first place.

He rushes us back into the living room, settling on the couch, and picking a movie to watch.

“How about that one?”

“The Mimic?! Are you serious?! I’m sorry but no.” He says to me, as if very offended.

“But they said it’s good!”

“How about this one instead?”

The Lover’s Lake, flashes on the TV. I look to him in surprise. I should’ve known he was a rom-com guy.

“See, look. 5 star ratings! This is definitely the one.” He says excitedly. With this much excitement coming from him , I find it impossible to say no. He celebrates shortly, then stands up to dim the lights, setting the perfect mood, and then settles back down, wiggling around to find a more comfortable position. And this said position seems to be at a spot closer to me than he was previously.

I have this thing where, if the movie is good, I tend to instantly fall asleep. And that is just what I did. My eyes were getting heavy about just 20 minutes in. I had felt myself slowly leaning onto Seungkwan, and continued doing so until my head rested on his shoulder. He had not said a word about it, and continued to watch the film.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but he had leaned onto me too. Though, I wouldn’t be so sure about that as I had drifted off to sleep by then.

“Okay, now just pull the bunny ears you’re holding. Pull them tight.”

Following his instructions, I pull tight and successfully tie my shoelaces. His face contorts in delight and breaks out in a big smile.

“See! You did it! Not that hard, right?”

“It was hard.”

He laughs and picks me up in his arms.

Giving me a big smooch on my cheek, he tells me, “I’m proud of you anyway, my love.”

“Thanks, appa.” I say, and hug him tighter.

“Now go back down and show them.”

I run down the stairs excitedly. Today’s my 4th birthday and my family and friends have come to celebrate with me. There’s people towering over me everywhere. Finding my way to my mom to show her my recent feat, I maneuver through the crowd the best I can, but in doing so, I bump into someone.

“Ow, my head!”

As the voice screams out, I instinctively reach for the spot where we bumped, trying to figure out who I even bumped into.

It’s Seungkwan!

“Seungkwan!” He greets me back with the same enthusiasm, both of our pains ebbing away.

“Look!” I point to my shoes and he looks down to see what I’m even excited about.

His jaw drops a bit at the achievement usually only 6 year olds can achieve. “You did those?!”

“Yep.” I say with a proud smile. He continues looking at me in shock and he looks down at his shoes.

Velcros.

I laugh heartily but stop immediately when Seungkwan looks back up at me with an annoyed face.

In an attempt to make him feel better, I ask him if he wants to go get sweets with me. He puts up a bit of a fight before agreeing, but says yes anyway as if it was his last resort.

I take his hand in mine as we weave through the crowd towering over us. He squeezes my hand every now and then, when someone bumps into him and he’s lagging behind, afraid I’ll leave him behind. I tug on his hand.

After what felt like the world’s most grueling journey, we arrive at the kitchen. The sweets are on the counter, but they are really, really high up—way beyond our reach.

Seungkwan and I share a look.

He gives me a nod and I return a look of confusion. He nodded at me like I knew what he was about to do, or that we’ve been through this a million times. He really needs to stop watching those spy movies.

He leaves for a moment and comes back with a stool. As he takes a step on it, it wiggles a bit and I clutch onto him immediately. I look up at him and he merely says, “Oops.” I furrow my brows at him in annoyance.

“Let go of me! I’m so near!” He whines while gently pushing my forehead.

I sigh in defeat and let him go.

He takes another step, both feet on the stool. The added leverage enables him to see the array of sweets on the counter, which, judging by his reaction, is a pretty damn lot.

“Woah! There’s bungeo-ppang, chocopie, songpyeon, and-” He pauses and lets out a gasp.

“What? What is it?! Tell me!” I beg, tugging on his shorts.

He looks at me to create suspense, and then screams in glee, “HOTTEOK! Our favorite!”

In utter surprise and excitement, I pull my hand away from Seungkwan and start applauding. But it seemed like I did it too quickly, causing him to lose balance. From the first wobble, I start screaming his name repeatedly.

“Seungkwan! Seungkwan!” I say it repeatedly, and too fast, that by some point (yes, at this point he is still pretty much wobbling, putting up a good fight) all anyone would hear is, “Kwan! Kwan! Kwaaaan!”

He falls.

I rush to his side and ask him if he’s okay. He stays on the floor, with his eyes closed. After a beat of silence, he starts laughing. I look at him in confusion, wondering if he hit his head too hard. Seungkwan is now crazy and I have to say bye-bye forever.

He opens his eyes and stops laughing as soon as he sees my expression.

“You sounded so funny. ‘Kwan! Kwan! Kwan!” He says, mimicking my voice.

I smack him square on the shoulder.

“Sorry. Here-” He tries to sit up and hands me something. A single piece of hotteok. “Happy birthday!”

I take it from his hand saying, “Oh. Thanks!”

“What happened here?!”

We both look up in surprise at the horrified voice. It’s my mother.

In fear, Seungkwan starts apologizing frantically. “Sorry! We just wanted some sweets but I fell down. Don’t worry they’re still fine! I just got one hotteok though.”

My mom sighs deeply and helps Seungkwan up. She returns the stool from where it came from and reaches for something on the counter.

“Here. One for you, since you fought so valiantly for it.” She says, ruffling his hair. Someone from the living room calls for her. She gives us a smile and walks away.

Seungkwan and I exchange amused glances and burst into laughter. Amidst our laughter, I manage to take a bite of the hotteok now and then, only to continue laughing with my mouth full. Seungkwan playfully teases me, "You hotteok addict! At least wait for us to stop laughing!”

I smack his shoulder again, which seems to urge him to tease me further. “Hotteok addict! Hotteok addict!” He starts mimicking my voice and my rushed tone from earlier, now saying, “Tteokki! Tteokki! Tteokki!”

“What does that even mean?!”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. What does Kwan mean?!”

“Your name is SeungKWAN, stupid!”

“Kwan! Kwan! Kwan!”

“Tteokki! Tteokki! Tteokki!”

“Yah!” We both look at the booming voice, and see my dad towering over us with his brow raised. Seungkwan and I look at each other and nod. Then we start running away in laughter.

A loud thunderstrike jolts me awake.

Huh. My 4th birthday. That was the last time my dad celebrated my birthday with me, and the last time Seungkwan ever saw him alive. What a bittersweet memory.

I try to raise my head but feel a weight on top of it, stopping me from doing so.

My cheeks heat up at the realization. Seungkwan fell asleep too. And, he’s leaning on me.

In a state of panic, I try to make him more comfortable, but only lead myself to move my head and realize how stiff my neck is. I wince in pain which jolts Seungkwan awake. He looks around, feeling heavily disoriented.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you.” I say.

He looks at me with his mouth slightly open, his hair all floofed up in different directions, and a faint red mark on his left cheek where he was leaning on me.

He gains a bit of composure and says, “No! If anything, it’s my fault. Sorry for falling asleep on you. It must have been uncomfortable.” He scratches the back of his head, feeling a bit ashamed.

With no intention of lying, I agree with him. “Yeah, a bit. But it’s alright.” I say, laughing a bit towards the end to make him more comfortable.

“Well, it seems like the rain has stopped. I should head home…”

My mouth opens to say something, but the words seem to escape me, leaving me with a simple, "Oh."

He stands up to collect his things and prepares to leave. I stand and go to the door before he can, then Seungkwan appears in front of me.

I open the door and gesture my hand for him to step out first. He smiles shyly and heads out, with me following right after.

“So, uh, thanks. For coming by today. I really lo-liked having you here.”

“Me too.” He responds promptly. It seems to be a vague response so he adds, “Thank you, I mean. Thank you also for the great dinner and letting me stay for a while. Sorry again for… sleeping on you…” He looks away.

I laugh and tell him, “Kwan, you apologize too much y’know. Honestly, tone it down.”

He lets out a blissful sigh. “Well, I won’t keep you out here for too long. Goodbye.” He wistfully says, saying my name at the end.

“Goodbye, Seungkwan. I’ll see you in school.”

He starts walking away, towards his home, away from me. And for some reason, I wait. I wait for him to do something. Not exactly sure what. But I just feel like I don’t want this to end.

So I rush back inside the house and reach for something below the shoe rack. I run after Seungkwan, shouting his name.

Alarmed, he looks back immediately in shock. I stand before him tired and panting with my hands on my knees.

“What are you-”

“Here-” I hand him an umbrella. It’s pink and has flowers. “You should use this. Y’know, in case it- umm, rains again.”

He appears hesitant, almost ready to decline, but he stops himself and settles for a simple, kind, and gentle, "Thank you. You didn't have to do that.”

We stand in the middle of the street, just staring at each other with soft smiles. Just two people who have been gravitating around each other, now seemingly refusing to be apart.

He breaks the silence and says, “I’ll go now. For real this time,” while pointing a finger at me. We share a laugh.

Feeling a bit ashamed, I look down and say, “Sorry.”

“Ah, it’s alright.”

He smiles at me, and in response, I smile back and nod, silently indicating that I have nothing else to say to hold him back from going home.

“Get well soon, Tteokki.” He says, ruffling my hair. I say nothing about the nickname, like he did all those times before, and keep smiling.

Seungkwan finally turns back and walks towards the direction of his home, and I do the same.

Before I step inside, I can't help but glance back at him. Seungkwan continues walking with the umbrella hanging on his wrist, swinging it along with his arms. I keep my eyes fixed on him until his silhouette fades away.

With a sigh, I turn back inside, unaware that a certain round-faced boy had momentarily halted his walk and looked back, his thoughts mirroring mine. Just for a moment.

After an exhausting day of essentially doing nothing, I plop down on my bed. I fluff my pillows, get under my covers, and hold onto my teddy bear, hoping for the best sleep ever.

However, just as I close my eyes for about three seconds, I hear a notification sound from my phone. Unable to ignore it, I reach over to my bedside table and check the notification. The curiosity of not knowing what it is would surely keep me from sleeping soundly anyway.

It’s a message from my mom.

Confused, I swipe to open our conversation and see that she has sent me an image. It hasn’t fully loaded yet so I click on it and wait.

When the image loads, my heart starts beating quickly.

It’s a picture of me and Seungkwan sleeping on the couch. My head on his shoulder, his head on top of mine. My brows aren’t furrowed like they usually are. I look relaxed; at ease. I don’t look like I’m sick at all. And Seungkwan looks the same.

I zoom in behind us and see Nari smiling wide holding up a peace sign.

I shake my head and react on the picture with an angry emoji. Before I turn off my phone, my finger hovers over a button.

It doesn’t take much resistance from me to go ahead and click it, so I do.

Then a pop-up notification appears on my phone.

Image saved.

I smile to myself, then turn off my phone and head back to sleep.

Maybe I don’t hate being sick anymore.

a/n: loosely based on a dream I had of seungkwan! fun fact: that dream was the reason he ultimately became my bias T__T i miss u boo! Be well, always <3

#seungkwan #boo seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan fluff #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen fluff #kpop x reader #svt imagine #seungkwan imagines #seungkwan x you #seungkwan x y/n

[hallucinateonpaperspines]

Is anyone else really disturbed by Breakdown’s end? Like I can’t watch anything zombie adjacent now because of that shit. Like? I respect the hardcore aspect, and it was a deliciously ironic end that, in my opinion, emphasized that no one was a bad/good guy while humanizing the cons. But, mercy on my soul, I STILL can't watch that episode without going into a panic attack.

Doesn’t help that during my first viewing I was young enough that the whole death/torture/desecration concept hadn’t quite hit my little noggin… or the fact that I accidentally skipped a few REALLY important episodes. So I went from “BD is a little banged up, but he’s fine, he’s with his bestie KO” (because child me Sucked at subtexts) to “Why is Breaks strapped down to a table? … why are they looking at him like that? … why is Knocky smiling like that? WAIT- why is he asking Screamy for help? Why is- WHAT THE FICKETY, WHY IS HE VIBRATING AND LOOKING LIKE THIS AND MAKING THAT SOUND?” And noped right out of there as soon as the exorcism vibes kicked in.

Also did not help that this was late at night, I was by myself, and my parents were under the assumption I was sleeping.

I did not, in fact, sleep that night.

I love TFP, I’m still in the fandom, and I’ve done everything but watch the Human Factor and that nightmare of an episode. I've read the scripts, seen reactions, individual clips, literally EVERYTHING but actually sit down and watch it. I tried once, in full daylight, but I had such a visceral reaction that I couldn’t make it past the title card.

I’m not a squeamish person, I’ve seen actual horror movies (more slasher-oriented but the Alien franchise can get me anytime), crime shows, and my major, by default, exposed me to some pretty gnarly stuff for educational purposes.

BTW our bodies are amazingly wonderful things, but please take care of yourselves! Hydrate, take a stretch, take a deep breath.

I’m not squeamish, but that whole thing has made me incredibly sensitive to just this horribly specific vibe of horror. The desecration, sadistic torture, and self-righteous hubris. It makes my skin crawl and I have to physically leave the room. Reading Frankenstein for my English class was a pain until I could figure out a way to mentally compartmentalize it.

My rage at the Doctor may have been slightly biased as a result.

Does anyone else have this? Where a source of childhood comfort also contains one of the foundational pieces that formed your fears?

#tfp #transformers prime #aligned continuity #tfp breakdown #Breakdown's death #rambles #ramblings #I really hate Silas #but that was brutal to everyone #this is how i know im an empath #i cry when robots die

[princessasmosprincess]

Charmed, I'm Sure

Chapter 18

Summary: No human has ever avoided Asmodeus's charm. Except for you.

Pairing: Asmodeus x GN Reader/MC

Genre: Drama, angst, a little fluff.

Warnings: None.

***

Lucifer formally announced the field trip at dinner even though everyone present already knew about it.

“You may want to purchase some more suitable clothing for the trip with your allowance,” He’d said to you.

You spent most of your time in your school uniform, and your Human World clothes were acceptable for lounging around the house but you’d noticed none of your outfits, save for the one you’d bought with Asmo, were fashionable in the Devildom. They weren’t bad, just bland. The other factor was the weather. It was quite hot in the Devildom at this time in the year. Devildom-style clothing would be much more comfortable.

You felt ok after your first day back in class (as you suspected you would) so you had Mammon take you to Majolish when RAD was over.

The store looked different during the day. It was full of customers, you noticed a lot of them were RAD students, likely preparing for the field trip as well. The racks were filled with the latest fashions, different from those that had been in the store on your last visit.

Lisette was talking with two assistants, she gave a curt nod as the two of you entered the store.

The back wall of Majolish was decorated with multiple photos from the latest issue of Devil Style; the biggest was a blown up picture of the cover featuring Mammon. He puffed out his chest at the sight, and a few customers stared at him when they noticed the cover model standing right in front of them.

“The Great Mammon’ll make sure ya get VIP treatment.” He slung his arm around your shoulders. “Hey Lisette, mind if my friend here uses one a’ the private dressin’ rooms in the back? It’s crowded in here.”

Lisette smiled, sending her assistants off to their assignments, “Of course, and welcome back, MC.”

You returned her smile.

Mammon looked between you and Lisette, “You two know each other?”

“I’ve been here once, with Asmo.” You said.

“With Asmo?”

You lowered your voice, “You know, the night we went to The Fall.”

“Oh,” Mammon hadn't cared that much right after it happened, then your pact had been new and you were just a human to him, his crush on you only just beginning to bloom. But looking back he really wished he had been there for you. Although he didn't envy Asmo’s punishment, knowing Lucifer would have been harder on him if he had been in Asmo’s position. Such was the life of the second born.

“She read tarot cards for me,” you said.

“What?” Mammon said a little too loudly. “Tell me what they said, human.”

“It’s my future,” you said. “I’d rather keep it private.”

“We got a pact and I’m supposed to watch over you. Ain’t that my future, seein’ as we’re always together?” Mammon argued.

You shrugged, revealing nothing.

You had mostly pushed Lisette’s card reading aside in your mind, a lot had happened since then. But it would be incorrect to say that you hadn't thought about it at all. There had certainly been a lot of heartache as she'd foretold, for you and others. Asmo’s face came to mind and you tried to push that away. The Death card was always looming in your mind, even though Lisette had assured you it didn't always stand for death, but for change. And as for the seven cups, the illusions, you still weren't sure what that meant.

Mammon followed you around the store, somewhat deflated since he wasn't the one to introduce you to Lisette and Majolish, disappointed that you wouldn't reveal your future to him, and still thinking about the past. Carrying your outfit choices for you wouldn't exactly make up for it, but he hoped it would help. You seemed to be enjoying yourself as you matched pieces together, imagining how they’d look, all of it piling up in Mammon’s arms. Occasionally he would speak up and give you recommendations, usually suggesting you add more layers and even more accessories.

When you were finished, Mammon led you to a room in the back labeled “Room 1”. One side of the room was sectioned off with a black curtain to change behind, directly across from it was a large three paneled mirror and a dressing table. A round platform surrounded by three chairs took up the center of the room.

But what really caught your eye was the large portrait taking up most of the back wall of Room 1. It depicted an elegant, beautiful looking couple. It looked to be a very old portrait, both the subjects wore Edwardian era clothing. The woman lounged sensuously on a settee, the full-length skirt of her intricately beaded midnight blue dress dripping onto the floor. Her golden hair was done up with diamond pins in the Gibson Girl style, which you recognized from old illustrations. The woman was Lisette. The man standing behind her, a demon, spread his large, elliptical wings out behind him; the artist captured the iridescent shine of his black feathers. Thick black ram’s horns curled from his head. He resembled Lucifer a bit, with glossy black hair parted to the side and a haughty smirk on his lips. His violet eyes seemed to stare right into your soul.

“That’s Lisette and her husband, Kallios, they started Majolish together,” said Mammon as he hung your outfits on an empty rack. “He was a RAD student and pretty close to the crown.”

“Was? What happened to him?”

“He died like fifty years ago in a rebellion. Not everyone's on board with Diavolo's ideas to unite the realms.”

“Fifty years ago?” You repeated.

“Yeah,”

You approached the painting, staring up at it. The mark in the corner indicated the year it had been commissioned. Your hand hovered over the date. “1909… That would make Lisette-”

“Well over a hundred?” Mammon smirked. “That’s what dabblin’ in magic and lovin’ a demon can do to ya.”

You stared at Lisette’s painted form. She looked the same as she did now, not a day over thirty.

You didn't have much of a chance to think about that because Mammon was dragging you over to the dressing table to show you something else.

“Have a look at this,” He had pulled out a thick binder. Inside was a copy of every cover and full-page spread in Devil Style from the last hundred years. There were lots of different models, but you noticed many of them were of Mammon, although Asmo showed up several times, and both Satan and Lucifer appeared a few times each as well.

Mammon pointed out a few of his favorite photo shoots: April 1925, December 1937, August 1964, and October 1995.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in, everyone’s decent!” Mammon called through the door.

Lisette stepped into the room. “Everything going alright?”

“I haven't even started trying anything on,” you admitted.

“I was showin’ MC some of our past photo shoots,” said Mammon. “Remember January 1959? Man, I looked sexy!”

“I can see why you haven't gotten anything done,” Lisette suppressed a laugh. She turned to him. “Mammon, since you’re already here, I'd like you to try on your outfits for our next photo shoot. Andromalius has them all ready for you in Room 2.”

“On my day off an’ everything?” He gave a dramatic pout. “Of all people, why does it gotta be Andromalius?”

“It’s his collection we’ll be debuting next month.”

Mammon sighed, “You’re lucky you’re the only witch I can tolerate.”

“Be careful what you say about my siblings in the craft,” she simpered, returning his banter in good fun.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mammon gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “You’ll be alright by yourself, MC?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said.

“This will only take a few minutes,” said Lisette.

The two of them left, leaving you with your rack of clothes.

You tried on outfit after outfit, trying to style them the way you’d seen in Devildom magazines and on the street. This would have been a good time to have Asmo around, he’d know exactly what to do. You did set aside some of Mammon’s choices, and you hoped he wouldn't see them when he came back to the room. They were just a little too much for you.

In the end you had several outfits put together that you were somewhat confident. You’d have to ask the brothers for their advice later.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” You straightened the hem of your shirt. “I just tried on my last outfit but tell me how you feel about the length of these pants.”

Lisette was the one who entered.

“Oh, I thought you were Mammon,” you said.

“He’s just finishing up.” Lisette smiled. She and her assistants were wheeling three mannequins into the room. They pushed them up against the wall under the painting. “The pants look good on you, but I might suggest shortening the cuff by half an inch. We can also take in the inseam just a bit.”

“How much will that cost?” When you had been to Majolish the last time, Lisette had sized yours and Asmo’s clothing to fit perfectly with magic. The spell looked complicated but Lisette had done it so easily. Even so, you didn't think that was something that would be done for free.

“Free of charge, my dear. I did promise Mammon I’d give you the ‘VIP treatment,’” she said with a little glint in her eye and a wink.

“Thank you,”

She waved your thanks away humbly. “I magically tailor all the Demon Lords’ and rulers’ clothing for free, it's good advertising. And since you’re a guest of the crown as a RAD exchange student, I should do the same for you.”

While you changed back into your own clothes, Lisette surveyed your fashion choices, humming approvingly.

“I’ll admit my coming here and offering to tailor your clothes isn’t a totally innocent occurrence.” she said.

You pushed the modesty curtain aside, now fully dressed. “How so?”

“I wanted to ask if you would try these on so I could get another human’s opinion.” Lisette led you by the hand to the three mannequins. Each one was dressed in traditional Devildom formalwear, you recognized the general shape of them from portraits in RAD and the House of Lamentation. “These were all created by local designers. I’m hoping to debut them next month alongside Andromalius’ collection.”

“I don’t know that much about fashion.” you said.

“Nonsense,” said Lisette. “Clearly you know something, judging by your wardrobe choices.”

You looked at the three ensembles. They did look gorgeous. And Mammon still wasn't back yet so you still had some time.

You agreed to try them on. Lisette and her assistants helped you dress, there were many different components to each outfit, lots of sashes and buttons, that you weren't sure you could do by yourself and you didn't want to ruin them.

The first was made of black brocade silk, sewn in multiple triangular panels, the pattern of the brocade matching up perfectly on each seam.

The second was made of thick, red velvet and covered in jewels. It was heavy but you found it was still easy to move around in.

The third was softer than the first and more understated than the second. It was made of pearl white gauzy material with a little bit of lace that seemed to almost float around you. There was a cutout in the back, exposing some skin, but it wasn't overly revealing. The edges of the sleeves and the hem had delicate embroidery in eight different colors that sparkled in the light. The colors of the thread could only be seen up close.

“Now, which one is your favorite?” Lisette asked.

You twirled in front of the mirror, watching the fabric billow as it moved. “This one, for sure.” It felt so light and airy and very comfortable.

“An interesting choice…” there was that glint in Lisette’s eye again. “You have to take it, darling, you look marvelous in it. I noticed a lack of formalwear in your chosen wardrobe and this would be perfect to fill that gap.”

You turned toward her, the fabric moved with you before falling in a graceful poof. “I really don't think I’ll have a need for anything this fancy.”

“My dear, the Prince is always hosting balls at the castle. I’m surprised he hasn't held one since you’ve been here.”

You looked at your reflection again, pondering, it flattered your figure so well. You ran your fingers over the embroidery.

You really did want to wear it again, if only for one night.

“How about this,” said Lisette. “I’ll loan it to you and when the day comes that you wear it, and that day will come, you can return it to me when you’re finished with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am, in fact I insist.”

“Ok, I’ll take it.” You relented.

Lisette and her assistants helped you undress and you changed back into your own clothes. By the time you were finished, Mammon had returned to your dressing room.

“Beel said he just got outta Fangol practice, wanna meet up with him at Café Lament?” Mammon asked as the two of you made your way back to the front of the store to pay for your outfits.

“Sure,”

You left your contact info with Lisette so she could text you when your purchases were ready. “It should take about an hour to size everything, dear,” she said.

As you and Mammon walked to Café Lament, he told you about next month’s collection. You were only half listening, though. Your mind was still on your new clothes, and particularly the formalwear.

When you arrived at the café, Beel was already there with four empty cups of buffo egg milk tea in front of him, he was working on a fifth.

“I ordered a cake too,” he said. “Want some, MC?”

You accepted a small slice and Mammon went up to the counter to order you a brown sugar buffo egg milk tea and a Dark Hell Mocha Chip Cream Frappuccino for himself.

***

Cross-posted on AO3

#obey me #omswd #obey me shall we date #asmo obey me #asmodeus obey me #asmo #asmodeus #asmodeus x gn mc #asmo x gn mc #asmo x gn reader #asmodeus x gn reader #asmo x reader #asmo x mc #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x mc #mammon obey me

[lizardgimpking]

Book Review: The Living Dead (Daniel Kraus, George A. Romero)

Been wanting to read this for a good long while (Well, 2019 I guess). First, I had to wait for the standard annual wait between hardback and the more desirable/affordable paperback, then I had to wait for that to be a bit more affordable too. And, well...I also had to muster up the determination to actually read the damn thing, because this book is huge, and whilst not the biggest book out there by any means, it’s very easily the largest one I’ve read since I rekindled my love of books during the Covid lockdown in 2020.

And it is big for a reason, this is a true epic of a zombie novel, one that spans over a decade and follows a huge assortment of different characters in a wide array of different locations/circumstances. Across nearly 800 pages (In the paperback at least), this is the late, great George A. Romero’s definitive and final word on the ‘Dead’ series he created back in 1968. One that covers pretty much everything you could hope to cover on the subject, and it does so with his well known understanding that largely it’s less about the zombies and more about the blood-soaked mirror they hold up to the real world and the way humanity behaves within it. But still ripping guts out and all that fun stuff. The best of both worlds, I say! Now, obviously Romero himself didn’t write the novel, or at least he didn’t manage to finish it. Daniel Kraus was brought in to write it after the legendary director’s passing in 2017, using unfinished writing, notes and plans, and various loosely connected short stories by Romero to bring this final piece of work to life. Now sadly, and despite a chunky authors note at the end which is well worth the read, I remain unclear on how much of this was actually Romero’s work and how much has been improvised by Kraus, but all the same it ended up a mostly quite excellent read.

‘The Living Dead’ is broken up into three acts. More-so it’s broken up into two acts with a short bit of connective tissue between to bridge the large gap of years between start and end. The first act is set broadly in the first couple weeks of the ‘Dawn’, charting what could well be the first instance of someone coming back from the dead, and then exploring, through a wide array of perspectives and locations, how humanity responds to the end of the world as we know it. Amongst our collection of protagonists are a pair of pathologists, a woman living in a trailer park, a TV journalist and a Naval officer stationed on a aircraft carrier. To name but a few. Needless to say all their differing locations, ages and perspectives lead to a multitude of different tones and scales. With the Naval element providing the kind of bombastic insanity that would’ve likely never made it to the big screen for budgetary/content reasons, whilst the pathologist thread is more intimate and sombre. The main things connecting all these stories, bar some loose shared elements, is both the viscerally described and brutal nature of the violence that ensues, and the way in which both modern American life, and the concept of death and undeath, are explored in both sociopolitical and philosophical contexts. There’s a lot of ‘evil phone bad’ kinda stuff that didn’t quite work for me, but beyond that it’s all quite engaging, and turns the novel into as much of a grim reflection on human nature, in all its highs and lows, in addition to faith and class/race division, as it is a blood and guts zombie epic. Which is exactly what Romero’s ‘Dead’ films were like at their absolute finest. The second act, which I won’t spoil the grander details of, takes place over a decade after the dead rose, and sees several of the previously established characters ending up in the same location. In my opinion, this act is where the novel gets the most wild and interesting with its zombie elements. Again, it’s best left discovering yourself, but there’s certainly a lot more to all of this than just zombies munching on legs and limbs, and this more nuanced and elaborate take on the undead, again, feeds into the politically charged and ultimately pessimistic vibes of the overall story.

And it is a mostly quite grim read. If you aren’t into gore, even when written down on paper, this isn’t the book for you. If you’re looking for something that will raise your spirits or offer happy endings...you clearly haven’t watched Romero’s previous works in the genre, that much is certain. This is a bleak and brutal epic that questions humanities role on the Earth, and whether or not they can ever ultimately turn around the sinking ship that is modern civilisation into something better for both us, and the planet. There’s a lot of heavy, existential themes to contend with, so if you’re just looking for a bit of spooky fun, this ain’t gonna do it for you. Especially given its titanic length. Personally, I found it all quite fascinating and gripping to read through. I was really worried before starting that this was going to be a slog...it’s a huge book, and if a huge book isn’t hooking you in, then you’re going to be stuck on it for a long time. Fortunately I enjoyed it a lot, and whilst some elements maybe overextend into goofy or extremely contrived territory, as a lot of Romero’s works ultimately did, even those were at the very least still striking and entertaining.

This is certainly a much better final word on the zombie phenomena Romero himself created back in the 60s, as opposed to the, frankly, abysmal ‘Survival of the Dead’ from 2010, which sadly constituted his final cinematic work. With Romero’s ideas and Daniel Kraus’ strong and poetic writing, this is a must-read for any fan of the genre, and indeed any fan of the ‘Dead’ series of films. Some of it may come across as a little familiar (Shades of ‘World War Z’ for instance), as a lot of zombie material does these days, but ultimately the scope and final destination of the epic journey make this one of the definitive works of zombie media. Flawed in parts, but still highly recommended.

Read it or Leave it : Read It.

Reading Next (The Lamplighters by Emma Stonex)

#Books #Novels #Review #George A. Romero #Romero #Dawn of the Dead #Dead of the Dead #Daniel Kraus #Horror #Zombies #The Stickman #Reading

[the-lightbulb-and-the-octopus]

The Summer Readathon is over

Which means the world gets an update on what I’ve been up to.

So, I had a list of 10 books, and a second list of 8 books as well as the promise that I would not read fanfiction this month. And guess what ? I read the two lists, I even had to make a small third one, and I still managed to read fanfiction. I’m scared to think about how much I could read if I really gave up on fanfiction. That’s too much power for one person to hold.

Here’s the list of what I read (complete with little comments because it’s fun):

Orfeia by Joanne M. Harris (3/5, but not sure I really understood what the story was trying to tell me outside of the dealing with grief part-)

Kitchen/Moonlight Shadow by Yoshimoto Banana (3,5/5, I liked Kitchen better but both stories are very emotionally and softly telling you that it’s possible to grieve in a healthy way)

Chalice by Robin McKinley (3/5, very interesting concept though I found the writing a bit heavy from time to time)

Uprooted by Naomi Novik (4/5, listen to your friends like I did and read it, it’s cool)

Shifting by Bethany Wiggins (2/5, a slow and predictable plot that suddenly rushes at the end makes ‘trust issues’ and ‘must not date outside my social class’ meet and fall in love)

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (3/5, enlightening but be ready to read the accents)

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman (4/5, blood! death! monsters! weird magic stuff!)

The Dragon of Ynys by Minerva Cerridwen (4/5, appropriate for young readers, cute message, several LGBT+ characters, and the bromance between Snap and Sir Violet is the best)

Alamut by Vladimir Bartol (3/5, definitely interesting and manages to pass off the historical inaccuracies as detail because of the focus on beliefs, bonus points for the ‘how to recruit people in your sect’ tutorial)

Final Girls by Riley Sager (1/5, hated it, might make a ‘potentially bad books’ review later)

Weightless by Kandi Steiner (2/5, you see the YA books where it becomes less about the heroine and more about the mysterious love interest? yes.)

Murder in the Dark by Margaret Atwood (2/5, turns out that I’m not that interested in what the author thinks)

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen (3/5, sadly nothing surprised me, not even a little, but it wasn’t a bad read)

Fence (#1 & #2) by C. S. Pacat (3/5, these two issues make a total of like 60 pages so it’s still the beginning but it seems fun, and also, Bobby.)

Lies Like Poison by Chelsea Pitcher (2/5, so many LGBT+ clichés in a small town...)

Cursed by Jennifer L. Armentrout (1/5, not bad ideas but the plot is so stupid, maybe good for a ‘potentially bad books’ review)

The Children of Húrin by J. R. R. Tolkien (3/5 interestingly enough, I think I liked the Silmarillion version better)

A Golden Fury by Samantha Cohoe (3/5, cool despite the predictability and the fact that the author has definitely never set a foot in Normandy)

Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis (3/5, very focused on the influences of gods on humans and quite a few clichés but not unpleasant to read at all)

By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept by Paulo Coelho (2/5, for me too much religion kills the religion, but for the main character, too much religion leads to romance so to each their own I guess)

Snow & Rose by Emily Winfield Martin (3/5, cute tale, definitely appropriate for young readers)

Total number of read books : 22! My tbr is now under 200 books, I count that as a victory.

#summerreadathon22 #books #it took so long to write #did i really read all that? #apparently yes #does it prove that i need help or that i should sleep more? #probably

[vulpeskorsak]

Day 7 of Whumptober 2022: Shaking Hands

Day 7 of Whumptober 2022!

No. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER

Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

Timeline-wise my current shorts go: Day 2 -> Day 5 ->Day 1 -> Day 4 -> Day 3 -> Day 7 -> Day 6

Victor is my human fleshsmith inventor (KibblesTasty Homebrew class) from a long-running DnD adventure. Ludwig Richter is a tiefling and a former gravedigger turned archeologist who wields a rifle and a battle shovel named Charon that I play in a TTRPG.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42221958 (AO3 link)

Shaking Hands

“Ludwig?”

Victor has noticed his colleague has been quieter and less focused than usual tonight. They got ambushed by a band of forest bandits a few hours ago, so he is worried that Ludwig has suffered a bad blow to the head or there is a wound he has not disclosed for an odd reason.

Victor enters his room with the question and his medical kit in hand. Their archeological party has practically taken over the entire tavern and most of the team are on the ground floor celebrating the last “free” day before their dig begins, so it is relatively quiet up here. Hopefully, Ludwig will not hesitate to talk with less people around.

Ludwig lifts his head up from a book he is reading under the oil lamp light. He is sitting on his bed cross-legged in his nightgown. His thin pointed tail is carefully curled next to him. Thankfully, there are no visible injuries.

Victor does see something even more worrying though. Ludwig’s hands are shaking so badly that he cannot possibly be able to actually read the tome. He also looks paler than usual.

“What is it, Doctor?” The team leader asks steeling himself before the intruding man. “I hope nothing is wrong?”

“Same question to you, “Sir”.” Victor flicks his tongue out mischievously. “It did not escape my prying gaze that you are clearly not feeling good.”

He steps into the room, closes and locks the door without waiting for permission. He drops the kit off at the empty desk. It seems that Ludwig has not done any work tonight like he usually would before the start of a new operation.

The tiefling studies him quietly as he approaches, then sighs dropping his book on the bed-side table and swings his legs off the bed, his hooves hitting the floor with a distinct thud.

“I’m beginning to doubt that if I fire you some day, you’re actually going to stop working for me.”

“You are stuck with me.” Victor confirms with a brilliant smile. “Until the day one of us dies. Maybe longer.”

“Why…” Ludwig rubs his temples but does not complain when his colleague sits down next to him.

“So… How about we get straight to the issue, my dear expedition leader? We can’t have you keep sulking tomorrow.”

“That’s… fair.”

Ludwig stops talking and after a few seconds Victor shakes his head and turns a quarter way around towards him, putting his right leg on the bed and putting a hand on his back. He can see his hands are now shaking even more.

“Are you hurt in any way? Any odd pains? You don’t look like you have a fever.”

“I am alright… It is nothing… physical.” Ludwig finally says and looks up at him. His golden irises framed by the black “whites” of the eyes are always a treat to stare into from this close. But Victor needs to stay focused.

“Then it is mental?”

“Unfortunately…” His long pointed ears twitch down a couple times as he tries to find the words. “Victor, you are always so nonchalant about it, but how many people have you killed?”

“Oof. Are you a detective in disguise? Cause I’m not answering that without a lawyer.” Victor laughs awkwardly hoping to reduce the tension but that does not work at all.

“Victor. I’m serious… It’s just… maybe you can tell be how to deal with that? I’ve never… killed any sentient being before that… thug on the road.”

“Really?” Victor is genuinely surprised. They have fought side by side quiet a few times by now but he never paid attention to Ludwig’s finishing moves. And both of them witnessed quite a few deaths together. “Huh. Didn’t realize that. And so? It is affecting you?”

“Yes… I did not expect to get this… upset about this myself but apparently, I am affected. Can’t stop thinking about it. Any advice?”

Ludwig shifts uncomfortably. He has not seen Victor’s face ever express anything like akin to remorse, unless it is for a joke, so he would not be surprised if he was unfamiliar with the concept. But maybe he has unique insight in that regard.

“I mean, if it is accidental, I do feel… bad.” Victor answers as if reading his thoughts. “But usually, if I kill somebody, I’m doing it for a reason, right? And there are all sorts of reasons. Self-defense. Mercy. Long-term self-defense. Defense of a close friend or a lover… and other more complex reasons sometimes. And if I kill for a reason, why would I feel bad? That’s something I had to do. Otherwise simply would not have done it. I’m not going to be mad if I try to harm somebody and they harm or kill me in return. That’s fair. I started this shit. If you’re a bandit, you know what you’re doing. Or at least you should. You should expect that people will protect themselves against you. Some might show mercy and let you go if they win. Others won’t. So. Why feel bad? You didn’t murder an innocent granny in her sleep. You shot a man who pointer his crossbow at you first.”

Ludwig listens to him rant and nods along. It all makes sense to him. It roughly summarizes his own thoughts on the subject. It does not bring instant relief but it feels good to be reaffirmed on a matter such as this.

He takes his round glasses off and bends over Victor’s lap to set them on his bed-side table. His hands are still shaking. He should probably get some sleep. Hopefully, a good night’s rest will help him clear his head.

“To be fair, I don’t always understand why people feel the way they do, including on the subject of death and killing. So my “advice” is not that great.” Victor admits before catching Ludwig’s trembling hands on his way back up.  The tiefling’s tail instantly coils around the closer wrist in order to yank it off his hands. “From what I know of you, it will likely not take you too long to stop worrying about it on your own. But I can help you if you need me to. I have noticed a while ago that people often enjoy physical contact when they are distressed.”

“Do you?” Ludwig hesitates and does not proceed with the intension.

“I am a person.” Victor laughs. “Do you want me to stay for the night? Cuddle or something? Make sure you don’t run yourself into a fever with all the stress?”

Ludwig chuckles. This is ridiculous. He would never agree to this normally but hey, maybe, it will actually help somehow.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but I would like that.”

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.7 #dnd #oc #fantasy #tiefling #morality discussion #shaking hands

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 14: The Expanse 1x10 (!!!)

I didn’t stop watching The Expanse because of anything to do with The Expanse, more because of the struggling to be a human thing. But here I am, back, finishing off S1.

First of all, this show needs a previously on. Even when I was watching one episode a week pretty consistently, I still felt like I needed a neat little summary going in. Take a couple weeks off and I’ve given up on anything other than Cool Vibes and Look, Action!!

I do still really like Eros station and just the set design in general. The bit in the arcade-space reminded me of the fsociety headquarters in Mr. Robot, possibly because I found my old notes on it recently and I kind of want to rewatch it, I think. But I also loved the whole ‘coins falling on a dead body after a death-match’ shot—very metal. I thought the episode did a good job of having finale-worthy character moments, like Holden choosing not to save Kenzo (do I entirely remember who Kenzo is? No. I mean I remember who he is but not when he was last seen. But that’s okay because I get, like, the meta of what they’re trying to do, I read the moment in its context, sort of like knowing what part of speech a word in a foreign language is, but not what it means). Or Naomi and the little girl—portentous.

I sort of wanted there to be more explanation, both since this was the season finale and because I thought the end of the last episode set up a possible Exposition-Heavy next installment, but it did lean heavier on the action sequences/movement-based plot and less on actually giving context to anything or providing answers. So I have mixed feelings about that. Like I do think tantalizing clues, like whatever they were doing with Julie’s body, or whatever the blue human shape attacking Kenzo was at the end, are appropriate for a finale ep, but I needed some MORE. Is Julie still ‘alive’ somehow? Is the blue light indicative of this substance being more than just a weapon? That’s what I’d like, honestly. The explanation Holden and Miller outline in this episode—it’s just a really big, really bad weapon, and Bad Guys are using Eros as a testing ground for it, hoping to pit all three major players against each other over their suspicions of it—is certainly, like, a plot. A plot I’ve heard before. But understandable, digestible, solid. Classic, one might say.

But what if… something else. What if it’s not just a weapon? What if its ability to brutally kill is just the first thing it does? What if it can also reform or reconstitute? What if it’s absorbing rather than killing? What if the resultant bodies have some sort of unique use or value? That would certainly take the show’s themes of The Machine literally chewing up and spitting out the bodies of the underclass for the benefit of the upper class to a new level. I thought there were some indications of this—not this specifically but an unknown additional level—in the finale. Whatever they were doing with Julie’s body, and the line about saving us all. That Holden and Miller’s explanation, despite its plausibility, is left hanging as not quite complete or not quite accounting for all the facts. The human figure in the blue light at the end. That we have so little exposition and so much of an air of mystery around the whole episode, as if we’d really learned almost nothing here, despite all the action.

I’m not saying I’m necessarily getting my hopes up for any of this because it’s so purely speculative and I could easily see the show moving off in some totally different direction.

A few other random thoughts: the Julie-hallucination turning into Amos made me legitimately laugh. Like this episode is not funny and the show is pretty overall serious but I laughed for real. The funniest character for it to actually be. Also, love guard dog Amos making a return. I think Holden and Naomi are bros. Alex has grown on me a lot. I like when he takes out the country twang voice. Usually the Roci looks like a bullet but today it sort of looked like some kind of bug, while it was still attached to the dock.

#the year 2024 #2024: fandom thoughts #2024: the expanse #came home immediately fell asleep sjfiwesf #and so to bed #again

[cmdr-h-of-the-woods]

Another 2,000 light-years

//Start log//

After 6 weeks or so in the Pleiades, the dreaded "Where to now?" question started popping up in my head as I was wrapping things up. For a few days, I hopped around, revisiting some favourites and taking a look at places I might have missed.

On 12th August, I launched from asteroid base Stargazer in Pleione, with a 70-jump economical course plotted to HIP 26566. That system had been in my bookmarks for a bit, I had noticed it had an O-class star and 3 black holes and I was intrigued.

From the Pleiades, I briefly crossed into the Taurus Dark Region, and then into a long section of brown dwarf stars in the Synuefe sector. I diligently picked up any biological samples I could find. Around such dim stars, those icy bodies only ever seem to host bacteria, mainly of the Acies type.

Eight days later, I reached HIP 26566. The main star looked incredibly big and bright, especially after all these L, T, and Y class stars. Just 165 light-seconds away, two black holes (B and C) are found, orbiting each other. I moved roughly to the barycentre, facing the California nebula, and spent a good while just watching how the light was distorted around black hole B. I almost forgot about black hole C until I turned around and saw that the universe looked wonky on that side too.

I flew to black hole D, and there, something weird happened. I suddenly noticed a strange yellow orb, just floating there. I tried to get closer, but it got farther and farther away from me. I thought, maybe if I hopped into supercruise for a second, I could catch up to it, but it disappeared and I couldn’t find it again. No idea what that was. I did get video evidence of it, just in case.

My next waypoint was just a few jumps away, at a red giant called HIP 26832 A. I landed on body 2, only 182 light-seconds away. I figured, if I landed on the dark side of that planet, the temperature might be bearable. I stood there for a while, contemplating that dying star, pondering the meaning of life and death and the universe and humans being made of stardust.

I then decided to head towards the California nebula, which I had noticed kept getting bigger and bigger in the sky. On 24th August, I made my first "First discovery". The system, Synuefe QE-Z A13-0, had already been visited, but this must have been pre-FSS days, and no CMDR had flown all the way to the last two bodies. I landed on body 4 on the edge of the largest crater, at -39.5096/-132.0637, facing Barnard’s Loop, the Orion nebula, and a strange tunnel of stars. Heard some pretty eerie sounds, must have been the ice creaking, but who knows.

Soon I started finding bodies with bark mounds and non-human signatures, a clear sign that I was getting closer to my destination. I had read something about bark mounds having been classified as an endangered species, so I was quite happy to have found those little colonies. As far as the non-human signatures, I’ve decided to leave them alone. In the human Bubble, I’ll try to get rid of the probes I find, because, well, it’s human space. But the nebulas have belonged to the Thargoids for... millions of years?

Body ABC 6 d in California Sector JM-V c2-5 had some really lovely views of the nebula through the rings of this icy body, bathed in sunrise. I made one final push to HIP 18390 and docked at California Freeport.

Also, a “funny” photo—I had a sudden realisation that from a certain angle, the California nebula kind of looked like a bird of prey, not unlike the falcon featured on my ship.

//End log//

Bonus: Ryan, my AI explorer companion, reading this log:

#elite dangerous #logbook entry

[catubarca]

Autism & Stereotype

 So i’m absolutely not an expert on this subject, but I am autistic myself and have recently been diagnosed as of Nov 2020. I’ve been thinking about this subject a lot recently, and I really just wanted a place to discuss my thoughts.

I never thought I was autistic.

Sure, I learnt about autism in school when my (year 9?) class had to read about an autistic character in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, but I never related particularly strongly to the book.

I understood the character’s dislike of social settings and how he’d rather avoid talking to people, and the dislike of physical touch, and even then it flagged with me that this book was (up until Jasper Jones) the only English assigned school book I’d ever bothered to read the whole way through, but it didn’t flag enough for me to look any further.

I didn’t relate to a lot of the canonically autistic characters in the media; the Sheldon Cooper’s & Good Doctors. I didn’t have hyper-fixations on things like math or science or trains, I did understand sarcasm and I (usually) got jokes.

But the kind of characters I did relate to?

Hermione Granger & Luna Lovegood & Newt Scammander & Tony Stark & Peter Parker & MJ & Batman & Katniss Everdeen & Will Graham & Amy Santiago & Castiel & all these other characters that, since receiving my diagnosis, I’ve seen arguments for them being (possibly) on the spectrum.

When I used to read Harry Potter aloud to my dad, he would always comment on how I would literally talk just like Emma Watson. I had a phase where I tried to dress like Luna Lovegood.

Tony Stark is so tied up and in-tangled with my own personality I literally don’t know where he starts and I finish anymore; when he died on screen I was inconsolable for weeks and had, at the time, no way of understanding or communicating why his death was so personal but I was grieving an actual part of myself.

Something I’ve come to see in the media & its representation of autistic folk is how often the characters that are actually intended to be autistic often fall flat into stereotypes.

It’s often the characters that aren’t written as autistic that we latch onto strongest. Why though?

Because those characters aren’t approached as “autistic”, they’re approached as “humans”, and that’s what we all are primarily: humans.

As a writer myself who loves character creation, so often I steal little personality traits from my friends and family, and from myself. It is, as so many authors have said before, the best and strongest way to make interesting characters that feel real. Giving them traits you see in real people is the best way to ground characters in actual reality.

So, when you have an author sitting down to write a character - they look to those strangers & familiar around them. And you know what, in a world where so many neurodivergent people go undiagnosed (especially those AFAB), sometimes a writer might pick up traits from an undiagnosed person.

That’s why the non-canonical autistic characters end up feeling so much more diverse and unique, and why they often accidentally end up registering with the less common or understood or even known traits of autism: because their treated as humans first, not stereotypes and simple trait breakdown on an autism diagnosis website.

Hermione is bossy and can come across as rude when she’s trying so hard to socialise and make friends (”I’m Hermione Granger. And, you are?”). She turns to books and quiet spaces like the library, feels such a strong pressure to succeed academically because she’s less strong socially. She is incredibly loyal to her few friends she has made, and stays out of Ron & Harry’s fights as much as possible (”I’m not an owl!” “Boys.”). She swings between being under-empathetic (i.e. struggling to understand Harry doesn’t want to talk about Sirius’ death so soon) & hyper-empathetic (i.e. Cho Chang, “just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon”).

Luna Lovegood is unique and one-of-a-kind, and faces quite intense bullying at time from her peers in Ravenclaw. She doesn’t conform to normal fashion expectations and, similar to Hermione in some ways, is often seen with her nose in some edition of the Quibbler. She loves her weird creatures and even spends time with the Thestrals, preferring animals over humans. She misses social cues and jokes, even those made at her expense (or, perhaps, she ignores them). She also has, often, the same facial expressions.

Newt Scammander avoids eye contact, usually only making it for a brief second before glancing away, usually to stare over someone’s shoulder. He is awkward with physical touch and often blunt about his social skills (”most people find me annoying”). He prefers the company of animals over humans, and hyperfixates on them intensely. He has little regard for people thinking he is strange or odd. Sometimes he even blinks excessively, something I’ve done since childhood (it worried my mother so much she took me to an optometrist. I now know it’s a stim).

Tony Stark had a weird thing about not being handed stuff, which I don’t know about any other autistic people, but that’s actually something I hate myself. He blasts loud music in his lab because it’s a loud noise under his control. He rambles and talks about whatever he wants/is interested in, with little regard for if anyone else is keeping up with what he’s saying (this got noted in my diagnostic report, myself). Not to mention his significant intelligence and sometimes black & white sense of justice (”suit of armour around the world”). He struggles to communicate his emotions and often masks his emotional distress beneath wit & humour. He can also be quick to forgive (i.e. “thank god I’m here”), even to those it seems only a short time before he was furious with, because he doesn’t have much luck elsewhere with friends (also fixing Fury’s display to better suit is one eye).

Peter Parker (and yes I know this is from the spiderbite but it stills strikes a chord with many) suffers from sensory overload, but he also has a very black & white sense of justice (”I don’t want to kill anybody” “if you can do the things that I can, and you don’t, and then the bad things happen...”). He misses social cues (”I’m just grabbing the door for you”) and hyperfixates on topics of interest like science & sci-fi & lego, and so much of his communication style is quotes and references and interest topics, something we also see with Tony (”Point Break”, “you ever seen this really old movie Aliens?” “i don’t want another single pop-culture reference out of you for the rest of this trip” “I don’t know I didn’t carbon-date him”), which is, funnily enough, exactly the style of communication my autistic father and I have with each other, communicating primarily through Douglas Adams quotes.

MJ self-admittedly “doesn’t have much luck... getting close to people”, she is blunt and doesn’t give much thought to what other people think of her (”but you’re also at this party?” “Am I?”). She can come across perhaps to some as rude (”you guys are losers”). She has weird interests (black dahlia, “i read it was secretly built as a mind control tower... which is why it’s my favourite destination on the whole trip”), and as an autistic person dating another autistic person Peter getting her a Black Dahlia necklace was accurate and adorable.

Batman is a character I saw quite an interesting argument for a while ago, so forgive me if I’m forgetful on the details. But, someone was arguing the alter-ego of Batman or, more accurately, his false identity as ‘playboy’ ‘himbo’ Bruce Wayne is the alter-ego, a mask to appear how people expect him to be. He prefers dark spaces & has the weird attachment to bats, and a black & white no-killing!!! sense of justice (which the DC movies :( seem to have forgotten). He is intelligent but intensely private & loyal.

Katniss Everdeen is one I related to myself. She struggles to connect with her mother in any meaningful way and can often be quite blunt with her (”you can’t [disappear] like you did with dad”), but has a very strong connection with Primrose. She prefers being out in the forest hunting, where it is simple and quiet. Some complain she was too “bland” and a typical “YA main character” but I always thought she was really quite interesting? Her hunting skills don’t come out of no where, she clearly practices and it’s a connection to her dad, it’s a soothing and somewhat repetitive activity to lose herself in. She’s quiet and reserved around strangers except for anger (i.e. first meeting Haymitch), but she’s looser and funnier with i.e. Gale (mocking Effie in the first book). She’s able to mask and act (rather awkwardly, I’ll admit, but not every autistic person is good at masking) in front of the camera, and jokes she does make with Caesar Flickerman that get a laugh from the audience seem to surprise her.

Will Graham is a character commonly thought of as autistic. He also has an aversion to eye contact, saying it’s “distracting”, but seems to love (a bit reluctantly) physical touch, especially from those he cares about (perhaps to a fault - loyalty to toxic relationships is often seen in autistic women in particular), and is a unique case of hyper-empathy, which we so often don’t see in autistic characters. He loves his dogs and doesn’t react well to people who try and analyse him like some kind of science project. He’s funny but blunt and can come across as intense.

Amy Santiago tries her hardest in both her job & with her coworkers, and often comes across as a little too earnest and maybe a bit awkward. She’s detail orientated and loves her organisational folders, and an absolute stickler for the rules, but she’s driven sometimes to the point of stubbornness. She’s a bit of a perfectionist and sometimes gets made fun of by the other characters for her “goody-two-shoes” attitude. She doesn’t handle change and become anxious when she can’t plan properly.

Castiel “didn’t understand that reference.” When he first meets the Winchester’s he’s a bit uptight and struggles to understand and relate to human emotions. He’s clueless to human media and struggles to keep up with Dean’s constant references, but tried to connect with him in the ways he can (”it’s funnier in enochian”). He misses social cues (”what’s the word, Cas?” “a shortened version of my name.”) He can be a bit naive and easily driven, i.e. making a deal with Crowley, but intensely loyal to the Winchesters despite their often lacklustre treatment of him. He doesn’t make a lot of facial expression, and often mimics Dean, and, of course, “dude, we talked about this... personal space?”

All of these characters show various symptoms & behaviours, at least ones that are familiar to my experience with my autism, and I find it interesting the characters I used to mask and create fake identifies to hide my behaviours as a kid were all characters I shared traits with.

These are just a few characters I could talk about - and please don’t be upset if you disagree or didn’t see your head-cannoned character here, I haven’t watched every single piece of media ever and am still learning about this community myself :)

#autism #autism diagnosis #autism headcanon #autism headcanons #autism stereotypes #autistic #hermione granger #Harry Potter #autistic hermione #autistic hermione granger #katniss everdeen #hunger games #autistic will graham #hannibal #hannibal lecter #marvel #avengers #tony stark #ironman #autistic peter parker #spiderman #peter parker #irondad #spiderson #supernatural #spn #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #brooklyn 99

[ichayalovesyou]

THE BIG VULCAN BIOLOGY POST (aka Vulcan is a Hell Planet)

DISCLAIMER: I am not a biologist, astrophysicist, neurologist, animal psychologist or literally anything that would qualify me to talk about this with 100% confidence. This is the result of dozens of headcanons and obsessive deep dive research. I don’t want this post to be three miles long, so after I address the planetary stuff I will oblige y’all with a Read More.

Adsfasdkfjhaslkdfh I’ve been working on this post for almost a month SO HERE WE GO!

First of all, Vulcan (aka T’Khasi) is a HELL PLANET, which is part of the reason they’re so badass, I say this for the following reasons:

No moon(s) (natural satellites)

Sodium (Salt) is so rare on the planet that Vulcan’s oceans are freshwater

It’s a “Super-Earth” (as in big chonkin’ planet of similar composition to earth in the “goldilocks region”)

Let’s do this.

“Vulcan has no moon Ms. Uhura.”

-Spock, The Man Trap

Tons of things change about our planet if there was no moon:

Much darker nights (no moonlight)

Much lower sea levels since there is no gravity from the moon to pull it upward.

Lower and weaker tides because the water is pulled by the sun instead of the moon, and it depends on how large the Vulcan solar system’s sun is for how big the waves are.

Stronger winds from faster planet rotation.

Depending on whether the axis of the planet would straighten or tilt further without the moon’s pull, combined with the faster rotation would lead to more severe seasons (strong tilt) or no seasons at all (no tilt)

The first factor may lead to Vulcan eyes being very catlike even if they aren’t nocturnal (I think they’re crepesucular but we’ll get into that later). Which given the likely nature of their blood and their herbivorous eating habits they probably aren’t. The sky would still be so dark that our human eyes couldn’t even see our hands in front of us, being blind when the sun goes down could be a death sentence. Alternatively, if they didn’t develop strong night vision that may be one of the reasons why they have such strong senses of hearing.

The stronger winds, faster rotation, and stronger (or nonexistent) seasons come from the lack of resistance and friction that stronger tides and the moon’s pull create on our planet. I suspect that Vulcan is larger, or at least denser than Earth, but I’ve been informed that according to the TMP novelization that it does rotate faster. I also think that Vulcan’s tilt is on the more extreme end to get the hostile extremes like storms and heat that we see on Vulcan.

If you look at this image of Vulcan, water covers way less of the planet’s surface than Earth. I don’t think this is necessarily because Vulcan has less water, but that it isn’t spread as far because of the lack of moon, and the fact that the oceans are freshwater, I’ll get into that shortly.

“My ancestors spawned from a different ocean than yours.”

-Spock, The Man Trap

In the Star Trek: The Original Series (third) pilot The Man Trap, there is a creature that kills its victims by draining their bodies completely of salt. Spock encounters the creature but does not die, implying his (and Vulcans overall) body contains little to no salt. His justification is that his species did not evolve from a salinized ocean.

What does it mean to have oceans with no salt?

This has to mean that sodium is a very rare mineral on Vulcan, as the reason our oceans are so salinized is due to erosion of minerals by rainfall, carried from river to ocean. Salt in the ocean is also generated by submarine volcanic activity, which means either that the volcanoes on Vulcan (which we definitely know exist) somehow don’t produce salt, or the vast majority of the submarine volcanoes have been inactive for millions if not billions of years. The active volcanoes on Vulcan must be very far inland and/or Vulcan has almost no rivers, which given how hot the planet is, wouldn’t actually be too much of a stretch of the imagination.

Which means every single lifeform on T’Khasi, including Vulcans, evolved biosystems that exist without (or with very little) salt content. Any salt that exists would likely be deep beneath the planet’s surface, and within volcanoes.

No saltwater has a ton of consequences:

Plants (like underwater algae) are rarer and may not photosynthesize the same way Earth plants do, meaning less oxygen and more carbon dioxide, which means more greenhouse effect, which means higher temperatures.

The lack of salt would also mean less diverse plant life (at least as humans know it) and given the lack of visible rivers and vast swaths of desert on Vulcan, we can safely say vegetation must be hardier and infrequent.

Lower sea levels as the oceans would have lower density due to lack of salt.

Little to no water convection, which salt is crucial for on Earth. Which means warm ocean water doesn’t move to cold regions and vice versa. Creating extremes, the equator being obscenely hot, and polar waters freezing at the poles more extensively.

Lack of convection means more frequent and stronger storms like hurricanes.

If you thought the lack of a moon made Vulcan inhospitable, compound it with the low sodium factor and you’ve got a planet of even more severe extremes than before. The heat, and the decrease of plant diversity definitely explain why the vast majority of Vulcan is rocky desert, even being near the water poses more extreme dangers than it would on earth due to the increased frequency of hurricanes.

“Mr. Spock is much stronger than an ordinary human being.”

-Kirk, This Side of Paradise

I am almost 100% sure that Vulcan is either bigger or denser than Earth. Which would explain why Vulcans are so much stronger than Humans and other species that exist on similar gravity worlds.

Effects of a high-gravity planet or “Super-Earth” include:

Everything is shorter or has very strong foundations, plants, animals, structures, and people.

More “Armageddon” class asteroids would hit the planet (like the one that killed the dinosaurs and created the Gulf of Mexico)

Larger liquid mantle under the planet’s surface, higher pressure under the surface as well.

Weaker magnetic field due to lack of convection in the planet’s core (not to be confused with the mantle interacting with the planet’s crust). Which means a weaker atmosphere, lower magnetism in surface metals, and increased vulnerability to solar flares.

More volcanically and seismically active due the the increase in the mantle’s size and generated heat, more earthquakes, and more volcanic eruptions.

Would have to have a smaller sun but be closer in orbit to it than earth.

Extremely deep oceans, potentially with water under so much pressure at the bottom that it becomes solid like ice. Luckily Vulcan is not an ocean world, because the pressure would block the planet’s core from interacting with the atmosphere, which would prevent life as we know it from happening.

There is plenty of evidence for this on so many levels. We never see any plant life similar to trees on Vulcan. Nor animals significantly larger than Vulcans, the ones that are bigger are much more muscular. Vulcan’s sky is more red than blue because of the lack of oxygen molecules for the light from the sun to filter as blue. I actually headcanon that Spock is unusually tall for a Vulcan because of his human heritage (Leonard Nimoy was around 6ft tall) , and may have had heart and muscle problems in his teens and early adulthood while on Vulcan.

Perhaps Vulcans are the result of many more extinction level events than we are, contributing to their hardiness. Perhaps they are, evolutionarily, not too much older than we are, and had more incentive to develop extraterrestrial technology than we have, so that they could repel Armageddon Class meteors and defend their planet against Solar Flares? Space travel being born out of self-preservation rather than curiosity. Which would absolutely account for their attitudes in the beginning of Star Trek: Enterprise.

It could be that Vulcans still maintain a semi-nomadic lifestyle even today because their planet is so incredibly volatile. Unsentimental and utilitarian in anything less than the most sacred of architecture long before they adopted the teachings of Surak. Their own survival more valuable than any structure that would inevitably be damaged or destroyed by their planet’s harsh environment.

In summary, Vulcan is a Nightmare Planet because:

So, so many much natural disasters, like, so many, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, hurricanes, twisters, just, so many more than Earth.

Water is relegated to specific locations in the world rather than spread across it due to lack of flow and lower sea levels.

Extreme temperature changes, intense heat, intense cold, hard to breathe, stronger gravity.

Due to the planet’s hostility, there is a smaller diversity of life than we have here on earth, which means fewer and hardier food sources that, like Vulcans, are very difficult to kill.

So… How do they handle it? What features have they developed to adapt and thrive in such an inhospitable place?

First thing is first, lets talk about

BLOOD

“My hemoglobin is based on copper, not iron.”

-Spock, Obsession

Funny thing is Spock, it’s not hemoglobin at all! It’s hemocyanin! In fact, there are earth animals that have it, among them Horseshoe Crabs, crustaceans, mollusks and spiders!

Hemocyanin is blue when it hasn’t been exposed to oxygen, and blue-green when it has, according to some sources on Vulcans their blood is orangey red when unexposed to air and that’s why they have pink lips and so on, but we can brush that off as chemical variation within their hemocyanin. Better yet, maybe it’s trendy for Vulcans to wear pink lipstick nowadays, ‘cause Surak knows how horny Humans and Vulcans are for each other XD! Anyway!

Hemocyanin does quite a few things that our blood can’t, it’s uniquely built for high pressure, low oxygen environments, as well as endure temperature extremes like cold (not unlike nights on their planet). Not only that, but it coagulates and clots WAY faster than our blood. Which means wounds seal themselves off from harmful bacteria and stop bleeding much faster than hemoglobin. Pair that with the Vulcan ability to enter a healing torpor, no wonder Spock keeps surviving environments and wounds that would definitely have killed a human.

Now, the animals I listed don’t have veins, which for us carry oxygen around via hemoglobin, so it’s possible that the same difference that causes Vulcan blood to be a coppery orange-red beneath the skin, is the same reason they have veins. Allowing them to look more like us and lack the exoskeletons and deep ocean delving that their earth blood cousins have.

“The ship’s temperature is increasingly uncomfortable for me. I’ve adjusted the environment in my quarters to 125 degrees.”

-(Elderly) Spock, The Deadly Years

Oh goodie, the Vulcan blood temperature discourse has arrived, the age old question, are Vulcans warm-blooded or cold-blooded? The answer to this question is

YES

I am firmly in the small (but hopefully growing) camp Vulcans Are Heterothermic. Among the earth animals we know to be heterothermic are bumblebees, several species of bats, the opah fish, and the arctic ground squirrel. Of all these animals, despite the opposite temperature intensity of Vulcan’s environment, I’m basing how Vulcans function on the last one, the arctic squirrel.

Which means they can deliberately control their body temperature in accordance to the needs of their survival. I imagine, just as arctic ground squirrels can drop their body below zero as needed (entering what is called a “daily torpor”) Vulcans can do the same. In turn, they could possibly skyrocket their bodies to temperatures that would be a lethal fever for humans. Which makes both McCoy’s “nonexistent Vulcan metabolism” comments in various episodes, as well as describing his blood as “ice water” make sense. As well as Spock being able to handle the heightened body temperature caused by Henoch in “Return to Tomorrow”. It also explains why Spock was in far better shape than Bones in the freezing temperatures of the planet from “All Our Yesterdays”.

However, like arctic squirrel newborns, they start out as ectothermic (cold-blooded) which lends itself to the Vulcan infants needing even more skin to skin to survive than humans theory by @acesexualspock. Being born cold blooded would prevent them from immediately dying the second they were exposed to the dangerous extremes of Vulcan’s heat. I also think they slowly lose the ability to control their metabolic rate as they grow older, slowing down dramatically as they age, which is why Spock gets increasingly colder as he ages rapidly in “The Deadly Years”.

“The brightness of the Vulcan sun has caused the development of an inner eyelid.”

-Spock, Operation: Annihilate

I wanna thank @tribbleland for inspiring this part in particular.

I want to offer a special congratulations to furries people who let their love for anthro-cats bleed into their love for Vulcans, turns out Vulcans are very catlike! Like our feline Terran friends, Vulcans have what is called a Nicitating Membrane. It’s functions that would serve Vulcans well in their desert home include spreading moisture across the eye, protect the eye from small water and small debris (like sand for example), as well as protecting the eye from ultraviolet radiation, which is more or less what Spock said in that episode. Other animals that have Nicitating Membranes aside from felines is actually the majority of the animal kingdom, and primates (like us) are the exception and not the rule. I also subscribe to the idea that Vulcans have other desert dweller features like thick hair and eyelashes, sealable nostrils, big feet, a crepuscular sleep cycle (avoiding extreme midnight and midday temperatures), and a tough as nails digestive system!

As an added bonus fact since this section is pretty short: It makes purrfect sense for Vulcans to purr! In cats purring is an emotional regulator when they are angry or scared (Vulcans are ALL about regulating their emotions) as well as purring when they are happy. It is also a mechanism for healing themselves, their kittens, and their owners, the frequency at which cats purr (25-140 Hz) cover the same frequencies that are therapeutic for bone growth and fracture healing, pain relief, swelling reduction, wound healing, muscle growth and repair, tendon repair, and mobility of joints. I’m over here getting emotional about the mental image of like, Spock or Tuvok or smth sitting next to a wounded crewmember and just like, purring with a completely straight face and that is soft and just a little funny and I am emotionally compromised.

“And are it’s natives predatory?” “Not generally, but there have been exceptions.”

-Spock to Trelaine, The Squire of Gothos

Surprise! This isn’t just going to be about Vulcan dietary needs, it’s gonna be about animal behaviors and self-domestication as well! I was trying to think of herbivores that are capable of eating meat, and then this idea hit me like a bomb going of in my head-

Vulcans are like Hippos!

I don’t mean I think they used to be hippo-like (visually anyway) somewhere along the evolutionary line. I mean that they were probably big, extremely aggressive, pack roaming herbivores that are able to eat carrion when food is scarce. Have you ever seen a video of a group of Hippos smashing an alligator to smithereens? They kill more humans than any solitary predator on the African continent! What about a murder of crows killing a cat that injured one of them, or a group of bison saving a calf from a lion?! Herbivores can be insanely aggressive while still being social, plant-eating animals.

With that in mind, let’s talk about self-domestication! This is something that we humans (and to an extent, cats too) did way back in our biology according to some studies, we bred out aggression and bred in cooperativeness and curiosity. Cats, while partially domesticated by us, started looking for mates that were more sociable so that their offspring could exist closer to humans (and their food) as well as to tolerate other cats. While I do think Vulcans self-domesticated to a degree, I do not think they were able to do so nearly to the same extent as humans or our deliberately domesticated companions. Vulcan is a harsh, violent, and unforgiving planet, even more so than Earth, if Vulcans were naturally as friendly and curious as we Humans are now, they would not have survived as a species.

I believe this is why their emotions are so primal and strong, and things like Pon Farr and their unusually high wariness of the new and unexpected still exist so strongly. How do they live together in such high numbers and develop a functional society? They developed other means of coping as a work-around the impracticality of decreasing aggression!

“Call it a deep understanding of the way things happen to Vulcans.”

-Spock, The Immunity Syndrome

So, how do you have a species as aggressive, unforgiving, and frighteningly strong as Vulcans keep from completely destroying itself (aside from Surak’s teachings)? You take the empathy that humans already have, turn it up to 11, and tack on every evolutionary possibility to increase it. We already know how the Earth comparisons for Vulcan empathy: the extreme vitality of touch for the survival and emotional stability, cats purring to heal each other and themselves (and regulate emotions), nonverbal communication, the ancestral instincts of an infant animal being able to walk days after its born. What if we had all of these traits in remarkable spades, Vulcans certainly seem to! (Be prepared, the science starts getting a little squidgy because there are no real world comparisons and neurology research is very jargon heavy)

Electricity is a fundamental part of the biology of nearly all living things, it allows synapses to fire, regulates our internal organs, and gives us our senses of touch and movement. Skin to skin is so incredibly vital to the survival of infants, and the emotional stability for adults, that needing any more touch could be impractical and counterintuitive. So what if we got more from less? What if our sense of touch, and the acuteness of being able to read the emotions of others from body language and touch manifested as a form of what looks like from an outsider’s perspective, telepathy!

Now what if the radius of the sensation of touch could be extended much farther, say being able to sense someone to the same intensity I described in the last paragraph, like, through a wall or from across a room? What if you could connect to other lifeforms with the same ability like a chain circuit that could connect a whole species together in one giant circuitboard? I just described what Vulcans call the kwar’ma’khon, the telepathic energy that connects all Vulcans to each other!

Imagine having this same intense telepathic connection to someone for an extended period of time, like a t’hy’la or Bond Mate. What if you had a relatively easy to master non-lethal attack against other members of your species, that comes to you easily due to your intrinsic understanding of nerves and touch, like the Vulcan Nerve Pinch. In turn, what if, through the intensity of this connection you could transfer everything you knew and saw and felt to another person in the event of your death. That way, if you survived the harshness of your world without dying violently or unexpectedly, you could deliberately pass on that knowledge and those instincts to your next of kin, like the Katra. (thanks @distractedducky @spacedancer1701 & @find-me-in-outer-space)

Now, that’s A LOT of empathy on top of A LOT of aggression, if you don’t have a work around for any of these, as a species you’d be rendered a complete emotional wreck pretty much 24/7 (or whatever the time cycles for Vulcan are). Which is where @ineffablebuddies theory that Vulcans can control, or at least mitigate their incredibly strong emotional reactions the same way they control their nervous system and metabolic rate. Which is how they are able to be touch telepathic, able to enter a torpor at will, and be heterothermic in the first place. The only reason Vulcans come off as unemotional to us is because we simply do not see and feel the way that they can. Unlike us, because of their ability to control their own internal chemistry, if they follow Surak’s teachings and/or Syrranite ideology, they can take that emotional regulation to the extreme.

(BIG EXHALE) Congratulations on getting through this insanely long post! I hope you enjoyed it, if you want sources on any of my non-tumblr post research just let me know in the notes. LLAP! 💚🖖🏻💚

#Vulcan biology #*emphatically* vulcan biology #VULCAN BIOLOGYYYYY #AHHHHHHHH #vulcan has no moon #big gravity #big disaster #vulcantology #a post 3 weeks in the making #yes I know it’s 1am EST what about it?! #vulcans #vulcan Vulcans Vulcans #return to tomorrow #the man trap #the deadly years #obsession #operation: annihilate! #hemocyanin #heterothermic #aggressive herbivores #touch telepathy #Pon Farr #self-domestication #nicitating membrane #vulcan infants #neuroelectricity #xenobiology #xenobiologist #the immunity syndrome #the squire of gothos

[quirklessidiot]

Title: pretty eyes [short story] Pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn!reader [soulmate au; takes place eight years before the yuuji and sukuna fusion] Genre: josei, romance, fluff, comedy, and your normal tragic angst!

Summary: in which the right eye is mine and the left eye is yours and when we meet for the first time, you see your own eyes staring back at you. Warnings: language, blood, minor manga spoilers, mild ooc gojo and death

Notes:  can we all just sit down admire satoru? Like the eyes man, the attitude omg... Ah im so sorry in advance  if hes ooc here sksksk it is my first time to write about any jjk characters and I havent fully grasped them yet despite reading the manga anyways i wont be online next week and tomorrow so i decided to publish this ahead of time. ily all and again thank you for the love and support, it does mean a lot *bows down* see you all again when i’ve got time? jskskss i fucking hate college and online classes, satoru save me please soulmate au’s [not read in any particular order nor are they connected, they just share the same trope]  Pretty eyes [gojo vers.] ||  lasting blues [toji vers]

tragic soulmate au series || taglist 

“Pretty.” were the very first words you uttered in complete awe as you saw yourself in the mirror and no, this wasn’t directed to your physical appearance. It was directed to your left eye, the eye of your soulmate.

Contrasting to your normal boring color on the right, your soulmate’s eyes were ethereal and unreal. How could someone have such pretty eyes? It was completely surreal at that point that you refused to believe that someone with these eyes were actually human.

You placed one hand and gently caressed the left side of your face where the pretty eye rested, “You must be an angel.” you muttered, “Only angels have pretty eyes.”

Thus      like every child     you gave your soulmate a nickname, ‘pretty angel’  and every night before you slept, you’d wonder out loud how your pretty angel was doing, if they were nearby, or anything like that. You wonder what type of food they like, do they like to leave the window open for a cool wind or do they like their chocolate hot or iced.

Yet as you grew older, the pretty angel faded out into your thoughts. The pretty idea of soulmates and love disappeared like the story books you read as a child. The pretty blue eyes on your left is forgotten as life takes a toll on you.

They say death was inevitable, when your mother died in middle school, you watch as your father’s left eye turn to your mother’s color. You watched as he clenched her hand, like it was some last resort of plea. You watched him cry as he passed by the mirrors and you wondered, would it hurt like that too?

It baffles you how beautiful and cruel the soulmate system was.

How every time your father would stare at his own reflection, his left eye would be nothing but a reminder of your dead mother.

You let out a second meek cough in the quiet bookstore that night, the sounds of the car passing by were nothing but quiet noise to you as you immerse yourself in the literature book you were reading, your students would surely love this one.You let out another cough as you turn around to find a small space to read since standing for too long made you tired too quickly. 

You’re too enchanted by the words of the author that you don’t even notice the rather tall man in front of you.

You look up, ready to give a quiet apology but stop short when you notice how ethereal the stranger looked. Albeit he wore a pair of weird Lennon shades at this time of night, he reminded you very much of an angel with his snow white hair.

You don’t even notice how your left eye is returning back to it’s normal color, the stranger does though and it surely was odd to see his eyes on a stranger.

“Well,” the stranger has a shit-eating grin decorating his handsome features, he definitely looked like trouble for sure, “This is unexpected.”

He lowers his shades and your eyes immediately widen as you suddenly cup the left side of your face, you’d recognize those unique eyes anywhere, after all, you had those on your left eye since you were born, “Y-You.” you muttered, the shock momentarily eating you up.

“Yeah, me.” He grins, loving the sudden attention, “Wow, I was expecting something like fireworks or flowers to appear.” He suddenly teased, bending down to your level.

Now that you notice it, he was very, very tall.

“I…” You blink, trying to gain your composure, “Wow…”

“Did I pass your expectations?” it’s been a few minutes since you started talking and all he has been doing is teasing you. 

“You do look like an angel.” You complimented and his eyes widened at the rather out-of-place compliment, “Your eyes are very pretty, thanks for letting me borrow them for twenty-two years.”

Gojo Satoru thought he had the upper-hand, after all, you looked quite meek but when you said those compliments, he was sure that you were going to be the teasing one in this whole-soulmate thing.

So he tries to one up you.

“I’m Satoru Gojo but you can call me tonight.” He grinned, trying to tease you once again, the corny pick up line sounds suave but your blank expression says otherwise.

“I’m Y/N L/N and  think I should call you in the morning, it is quite late right now and I still have classes at eight am.” You mumbled, looking down at your watch, “How about you just walk me home, then?”

“Okay.” Satoru immediately raises his hands, signaling that he was giving up, “First off, you should be more hyper aware that I may be a serial killer.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you a serial killer?” you repeat, “That would be awfully disappointing if my soulmate was one since I’d immediately give you up on the police. I’m not interested in being in a Bonnie and Clyde type of thing and I think it’s too early for me to die.”

“You’re very upfront about these sorts of things.”

“Well, you’re very teasing for someone who just met their soulmate a few minutes ago.” you shrug, “So, are you going to walk me home or not?”

“Ah, bossy too. I love the attitude already.”

“We’re spending our whole lives together. You might as well get used to it.”

You’d think the idea of soulmates would scare you after the firsthand experience with your parents but curiosity always got the best of you and the white-haired man proved that maybe it would be different this time.

Throughout the few months you’ve spent with him, You’ve noticed that Gojo Satoru and you may be alike in some ways but in most ways, he was different. 

First, he was enigmatic. You’ve known the man for a couple of months now and you’ve been going out on dates but you don’t know much about him except that like you, he’s a teacher at a good school and he tends to be conceited when he talks about his personal skills as a teacher.

“...What are you doing?” Satoru asked, peeking from behind your shoulder as you type in the grades of your student for your class.

“I’m grading my students.” You muttered, it was after dinner at your place and he was lazing around your place, the sound of faint jazz music could be heard throughout your small space and the wafting smell of freshly baked brownies filled the room, “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something since you're a teacher?”

Satoru quirks a brow as if you had said something odd then it seemed like realization had dawn upon him at that moment.

“Ah, I’m not doing much since my students are on break.”

“Didn’t you say that last time?”

Silence filled the room and Satoru breaks it off with his very famous ‘heh’ that made you inwardly roll your eyes and chunk the pillow that you’ve been hugging towards his direction, “Stop slacking off, you’re a teacher.” You scold him mildly, followed by a small cough.

“Ah, Y/N-chan. You’re so mean to me,” He frowned, handing you the mug filled with water, “...No fair.”

“You're a teacher and you’re slacking off.” You deadpanned, ignoring his sly ways of trying to get you in his arms, “How is that even fair?”

“My students can handle themselves so well that I don’t need to babysit them.” He hmphed,  arms crossed and head held up high in a rather arrogant manner. You could only only scoff back a reply at his rather haughty attitude but you’ve gotten used to it to the point where you just roll your eyes.

“You’re a very bad teacher, Satoru.” 

“Hey, I am considered one of the best and it’s an honor-”

You clicked your tongue and just pinched his cheek in reply to get him to stop drawling on about his achievements. You wondered if you dated a man child or something.

Second, despite his teasing nature and good looks, he’s a rather shy bean and has some insecurities about it too, maybe it was because there were moments where you couldn’t really understand your soulmate and his puzzling life. He didn’t tell and you didn’t want to pry because you technically both had your whole life to get around that subject.

Luckily, you seem to have found a remedy for moments like that.

“Satoru…” You called out to your soulmate who was staring at the nutrition content of the wafers on his hand, “Satoru!” 

“Oh, sorry. What were you talking about?” he finally snapped out of his daze and turned to you who was standing there, hand on your hip. The crispy wafers on his hand are long forgotten. 

Your soulmate is good looking, alright. If anyone were to pass by him they wouldn’t see the minor zilch of worry in his eyes.

“Are you alright?” You ask, walking closer to him, completely serious.

“...You aren’t going to leave me, right?” 

You raise a brow at the sudden question, wasn’t he too young to have some mid-life crisis? Was this because of the soulmate movie you watched late last night about the soulmate leaving their other half to rebel against the system and because of his partner’s family?

“Why would I leave you?”

He blinks once, then twice, the only sound that could be heard was the familiar music playing throughout the grocery store, it was as if no one was there during the mid-day. Satoru proceeds to look away, “I don’t know. What if you realize that you don’t like me as your soulmate and you followed what the dude did in the movie?” he started to mumble, mouth pressed on a straight line.

“Ah, the whole rich in-laws.” you blinked, “Don’t tell me you’re a son of some huge clan in japan that’s loaded and I’m going to be a disgrace to your family name or something?”

It came out as a joke at first, it really did and you were going to laugh but when you notice the straight face he has on, you realize it was anything but a joke.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, Oh.” 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking that question then?”

“What?” He almost half-yelled, eyes wide behind his usual shades that he seemed to wear a lot, “That doesn’t make sense!”

“Neither does your question, Satoru.” You frowned, massaging your temples, “I should be the one asking you that, are you going to leave me?”

“Of course not.” He sputters out.

“Then there goes my answer too.” You replied, huffing out as you grab the sweet wafers on his hand to put into the cart, “You’re very weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“No, you are.”

“You seriously asked me if I’d leave you because of your rich family in the middle of the day.” You deadpanned, inching closer to him to the point where your lips are brushing against his.

“This is unfair.” He huffed, suddenly turning red, “You’re attacking me in broad daylight.”

“Oh dear.” Your beguiling eyes, enjoying his rather embarrassed state, “This isn’t attacking, Satoru.”

Then you closed the distance between you two, his eyes seemed to widen behind his shades at your forward approach, clearly you guys never did PDA. You took this as an opportunity to lick his lower lip so you could slip your tongue in and as he starts getting into it and placing his hand to cup your ass, you pull away with a big smile on your lips, “That’s attacking.” you grinned.

Satoru seemed to have regained his senses quickly after that rather heated public make-out session, he placed his hand on top of his mouth and feigned embarrassment, “My, My, I didn’t think you’d enjoy those types of things in public.” he was back to his normal teasing self.

Well, that seemed to have worked very well.

“Mhm,” 

Yet unknown to you those thoughts still lingered in his head, it wasn’t just his family that he was worried about, it was also regarding his job as a jujutsu sorcerer       something he has yet to mention, he’s not even sure if you’d believe him       it’s a normal occurrence for people like him to die in this occupation and he’s scared that one day, you’ll see your left eye turning back to his eye color with no valid explanation.

Not only that but the amount of people who’d go after you to get to him, he clenched on the shopping cart tightly

“I’m tired.” You cut his thoughts short and Satoru turns to you, unlike him, you weren’t physically active so you tire easily, even joking around that you were a granny in a child’s body, “Can we sit down after this and get some gyudon?”

“Sure Y/N.” he grins, giving you a one-arm hug and kissing your temple.

Third, he’s terrible with kids, period, no questions asked. 

Your eyes narrowed to slits as he brought in one of his students named Megumi, the boy is quiet and compared to your giant and teasing soulmate, he’s serious. In fact he was more serious than the tiny pinky of the white-haired man.

“...Are you kidnapping a third grader?”

“He’s one of my students.”

“You don’t even know the first thing of looking after kids.” You pointed out, “And didn’t you mention that you teach high school students?”

“Well,” he drawled on, “It’s kind of a long story but he’s technically a genius.”

You let out a stifling sigh, “You’re impossible.” you mutter, bending down to the small boy’s level, “Would you like something to eat in compensation for him annoying you?”

The boy nods mutely.

“I wasn’t annoying him!” He corrects.

“He looks very annoyed standing next to you.”

“That’s literally what he looks like!”

You roll your eyes in reply and turn to the young boy, handing him a pastry that you had brought earlier. You  watched Megumi eat his pastry in front of the television that played some child-friendly show as you let out a soft cough and pour yourself some water

“Are you alright?” Satoru asks, resting his head on your shoulders.

“Yeah,” You replied, “Why’d you ask?”

“You’re looking quite pale these days.”

“Maybe it’s the allergy season, already.”  you nonchalantly replied, taking another gulp of water, “You’re terrible with kids, by the way.”

“That’s why I’m a high school teacher, Y/N.”

This connects you to your fourth observation, he’s nonchalant and easy going but he harbors a rather deep worry for you to the point where you wonder if he was really your soulmate or your mother incarnate. Three years into the whole soulmate thing with him, you still couldn’t help but think that he’s doting nature was quite adorable.

You feel like you’re coming down with a cold these days, your head has been throbbing and your cough is worsening. Satoru’s eyes are filled with nothing but worry as he handed you some medication. Your soulmate was now a mother hen and if it were different circumstances, you’d laugh it off.

“We should go to the doctor.” He nagged you once again.

“I’m literally going to sleep it off.” You hoarsely replied, “I’ll be fine, Satoru.”

“You literally sound like you smoked a pack with your voice, are you sure?”

“I am.” You glared, “Don’t sleep-”

Before you could even finish what you were saying, he flops right next to you in the bed, “-I literally told you to not sleep next to me.” you scolded him.

“A mere cold won’t phase me.”

“I swear to god, Gojo Satoru. I’ll kick you out.” He ignores your ministrations and snuggles his head on your neck, his warm breath tickling it, “You’re impossible.”

“You love me.”

“Sadly.”

“Hey.”

“I’m kidding.” you let out a quiet chuckle, looking down at your soulmate and running your hands through his white hair, “I love you very much, you idiot.”

“Hard same.”

“Never mind, I take it back.” you giggle.

And after a rather short playful banter between you two, you find yourself sleeping and snuggling on his long limbs. You think all is well, you really do. That was until you wake up later at three am in the morning with a loud coughing fit. Satoru immediately sits upright and opens your nightlight but what he sees next, scares him more than the curses he has ever encountered.

Your sheets are now stained in blood from the coughing fit that had just happened and you're completely taken aback too, completely breathless.

“Y-Y/N…” He gulps down, quickly taking the sheets away from you, “Let’s go to the hospital now, please?”

“...L/N-san, have you been getting coughing fits before this?” the doctor asks, looking up from your chart. Satoru watches you shake your head as you clench the paws of his jacket, the doctor takes off his glasses, “How about coughs that don’t seem to go away? Getting tired too easily?”

Satoru doesn’t like where this was going, he doesn’t like where this was going at all.

“Um, just some dry coughs and I’ve always been an inactive person.” You quietly replied, contrasting to your usual bright and teasing demeanor, you looked too tired this morning and Satoru just hopes it’s because he dragged you out of bed at four am to get yourself checked asap.

“Y/N-san, has any of your family members been diagnosed with lung cancer?”

The whole room is silent and you could almost hear a pin drop, Satoru feels his knuckles suddenly turn white, “I recalled my okaasan died because of that.” You replied silently and the doctor nods feverishly.

“...Y/N-san...It pains me to say this but the reason you’ve been experiencing this is because of the tumors located in your lungs.” Satoru feels his heart drop when he hears those words, “We have to do further tests to confirm-”

“Do it.” Satoru cuts the old doctor off, his hands are visibly shaking already, he hopes that this was just a misdiagnosis, that this doctor was just a bad one or better yet whatever excuse his mind could make up at that moment, “Do all the tests needed for Y/N, please.”

Fifth, he’s very supportive towards you and your impulsive decisions. If he could join you in it, he would but you usually decide against it.

It’s another quiet night for you as you sit across from your soulmate at the dinner table. You’ve grown awfully thin and your hair was starting to fall off due to the chemoradiation, this day marked the third month since you found out that you have lung cancer just like your mother. Surgery was apparently too risky so the safest option right now was this treatment. 

You don’t deny the anxiety eating you up every day, specifically the fear of death, you’re even more worried for Satoru since not only had he been paying for your treatment but he had opt to take care of you, saying that his job would be fine without him since you were going to get better soon anyways.

“Would you still love me if I shaved my hair?” You asked, your voice still quite hoarse.

“You kidding me? I’d still love you even if you turned into a roach.”

You immediately crinkle your nose in disgust, “That’s disgusting.”

“Honest reply.”

Truthfully, the man had been your rock these past three months. You knew how hard it was for him to be happy around you, how he had put on a brave front and remained positive saying that this was just going to be a rough couple of months and you’d be back in no time despite the bleak outlook.

It kept you sane amongst the tragedy.

“I wanna shave my hair.”

“Like right now?”

You nod, “Can we use your electric razor?”

“You want me.” he points to himself, “To cut your hair?”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.” You grinned.

And that’s how you ended up in your bathroom after dinner, Satoru’s shades on the side and his concentration directly on your scalp. You had literally told him that he just needed to do it the same way as he shaved his beard but he was still scared. Apparently, he had never shaved anyone’s hair before.

“...Okay, Y/N. Here goes…” He proclaimed, switching the razor on. As bits and pieces of your hair fall to the ground, you feel your cheeks getting wet and your shoulders tense, Satoru is quick to notice the switch of emotion and immediately turns the razor off before bending down in front of you, “Woah, woah… Y/N….”

“I-I…” Your lips are quivering as the tears fall faster when you see his pretty eyes staring back at yours, you try to let out a laugh but instead it comes out as a choke sob, “Sorry, this is stupid. I’m literally crying over fucking hair.”

“No, of course not…” He replies, enveloping you in a hug, “Of course not.”

Satoru feels you start to shake in his arms and he knows he should keep his emotions in check, he’s a sorcerer for crying out loud but seeing you break down for the first time in three months had him shaking too, you didn’t deserve all this, fuck, you didn’t deserve any of this at all!

“Would you like me to shave my hair so you’d feel a bit better?” he asks. After recovering from your breakdown, you had asked him to continue shaving your hair because you might as well be done with it.

“Please don’t.” You reply, wiping your tears away, “We’d look like eggs.”

“Cute eggs, you mean.” He corrects, teasing you and trying to cheer you up, this was all he could do and he hates it. 

He really hates it.

What good was the title of being the strongest when he couldn’t save you from all of this?

Lastly, if you hadn’t highlighted it enough. He has pretty eyes, contrasting to your dull and boring ones, you always loved how different his eyes are. Sometimes you wondered why he dared to hide them behind his crappy and overused Lennon shades.

“Can I see them?” 

Your room is dimly lit as Satoru sleeps next to you on the hospital bed, you were growing weaker and frailer by the day and you could see the toll it took on your soulmate. You were heavily reminded of your father who was sitting right next to your mother on her deathbed.

“See what?” He yawned.

“Your eyes.”

“You’re awfully in love with them, huh?” 

“I’ve always been in love with them from the moment I saw it in the mirror.”

Silence envelopes the room with your statement and as requested, he takes the shades off and now you’re greeted by the most beautiful blue eyes that you love to look at in the reflection since you were a child, “Pretty.” You muttered, raising your frail hands slowly to cup his face, “Pretty eyes.”

Satoru takes in a deep breath as he places his hand on top of yours, the silence is heavy. You both know what’s about to come in the next few days, you’re lucky if you even last a night. Yet he doesn’t want to talk about it, he shuts the topic off quickly when you try to even raise it.

“Yeah.” he mumbles, staring at you, “Pretty.”

You let out a quiet laugh, “I doubt it, I’m anything but pretty now.” your voice hoarse, making him lightly squeeze your hands, “Will you be bringing Megumi tomorrow?”

“Yeah, the brat said he saved enough money to get you your favorite pastry.”

“That’s good.” you blinked, “I’m tired.”

Satoru feels his shoulder tense at your words, they were so plain yet at the same time so heavy, “Should I call the doctor?” he asks. You shake your head and just snuggle on his chest.

“No,” You mumbled, inhaling his scent and basking on his presence, “I want your warmth next to me.”

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“You know, you’ve always had prettier eyes.”

Yet you don’t reply and he feels your grip on his sweater lessen, he doesn’t even need to see his reflection to know that his left eye has returned back to your (e/c) ones.

taglist [if crossed out, it means you aren’t available for tags!]

@airybnb​ ;  @hcn421​ ;  @shinhiromi​

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenario #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo saturo x reader #saturo x y/n #jjk gojo #soulmate aus #pretty eyes

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Seven Demon Lords’ Pet Human

So I’m quite fond of the idea that the lesser demons see MC as the brothers’ dumb pet human up until MC is revealed to be a five star badass who can control the brothers on a whim. But Himiko isn’t okay with being referred to as anyone’s “pet”, and after a very bad day, she’s going to let the brothers know that.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Genre: Half Crack Half Fluff

Warning: This story features my MC, who uses she/her pronouns, if that makes you uncomfortable no harm no foul, see you next time

“Just their pet human,”

“Aw, they let their cute widdle pet walk around all by herself~.”

“The brothers’ new pet looks so delicious…”

Himiko Nanami was not one for demeaning nicknames. She had told Luke over and over again that the reason people kept calling him a chihuahua was because he gave them a reaction, but she just couldn’t follow her own advice. A pet… the brothers’ pet… what complete and utter shit.

She had forged pacts with the seven lords of Hell. She had escaped death more times than she could count. On her first day at RAD, she had gouged out a demon’s eye with her headband for trying to eat her. She had walked Cerberus and survived. Himiko was no dainty little pet.

It was a tragedy that some of the demons that wandered the halls of RAD couldn’t see that. Not all the demons were irredeemable anti-human trash, some were quite sweet. But it only took one weird squishy grape to make Himiko refuse to eat the rest of the bowl. That’s how that saying goes, right?

It was supposed to be a good day, it was a Friday for Christ’s sake! But no, the world at large was conspiring to make Himiko’s forehead vein burst.

First period with Satan went normally for the most part, until the two paired up for an assignment and Himiko decided to give Satan a few pats on the head. A few snickers coming from a few rows behind her drew her attention, and right after Satan left to use the bathroom, that’s when she heard it. The first comment of the day.

“Aww, a pet petting her master, how sweet.”

When Satan returned, Himiko was holding a broken pencil.

To her credit, she didn’t dignify those idiots with a response, but their comment managed to burrow its way into her brain and settle there right when she snapped the pencil.

Second period shouldn’t have been so shitty, Himiko had friends in that class. Friends other than the brothers and the other exchange students, but no. Everything sucks in the Devildom.

Paimon had so sweetly offered to share some of his chips with her when he heard she had skipped breakfast. Himiko was in the middle of happily chowing down when some asshole decided to ruin the cute friendship moment.

“Geez Pai, I thought you’d be more responsible than that~.” A demoness a few rows ahead cooed. “Feeding other people’s pets without asking~.”

Paimon choked on the chip he was chewing on while Himiko gave the demoness a bone chilling glare.

“Sh-she’s not- I’m not-”

“How about you mind your own fucking business?”

The demoness only rolled her eyes and turned back to giggling with her friends. It was truly a shame that at least 60% of all the demon ladies in the school were incredibly mean and/or homicidal, a shame for Himiko because she’s a raging bisexual.

With her appetite lost, Himiko forfeited the rest of the chips to Paimon.

Lunch went by as normal as it could have gone. She sat with the brothers as usual and happily watched their antics. When she left the table to throw her trash away was when all hell broke loose.

“-Pet,”

“-Pet…”

“-Pet.”

“-Pet!”

All those damned whispers reached Himiko’s ears and if she had any less patience she would have pulled her hair out and screamed. When she got back to the table, she spent the rest of her lunch period in silence.

What’s worse was that her next class was with Solomon, and the only seat available was next to him. Great…

“Grouchy today, ms. Nanami?”

“Annoying today, mr. Wizard?”

Solomon let out a quiet and carefree laugh and rested his head on his hand. “Oh Himiko, you know I’m always up for being a little annoying.”

Himiko rolled her eyes and tried to pay attention to the teacher. “Whatever…”

Class went on, but Solomon didn’t let up on his quiet pestering.

“Himiiiiii, tell me what’s wrong, I won’t laugh.”

“Go to hell.”

“Poor choice of words, you’re there with me.”

“I hate you.”

“So mean, I’m just trying to help. Solomon the Wise is known for giving great advice!”

Himiko turned and looked at the immortal sorcerer next to her and saw his pitiful attempt at what looked like puppy dog eyes. She rolled her eyes again and turned back to her work.

“I thought you were known for ordering a baby to be sawed in half.”

“Hey!” Solomon huffed, crossing his arms. “The baby did not get sawed in half. The saner of the two women got to keep the baby, I was being smart.”

“Sure, sure.” Himiko couldn’t hold back a bit of a smile. To her own surprise, Himiko began to weigh the pros and cons of actually telling Solomon what was going on. Hm, on one hand, Solomon was the only other human that might possibly understand what Himiko was dealing with, on the other hand, Solomon was a known shifty bastard and could barely be counted as human at this point. In the end, human solidarity won out.

“Solomon,” Himiko began. “Have you ever gotten called a pet before? Like a demon’s pet..?”

Solomon thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Probably. I’ve been alive too long not to have been called every name under the sometimes lack of sun, but I’ve always been more widely known as someone who makes demons into his pets.”

“Mmm, sure.”

“But fret not Himiko, those closest to you know the truth. You’re no pet.”

Not exactly the heaps of comfort Himiko wanted, but at least Solomon answered truthfully and didn’t say anything that would get on her nerves-

“I don’t know why you’re so upset about that nickname though, you’d look amazing in a collar.”

For what happened to poor Solomon right after he said that, let’s just say a palm reader could read Himiko’s future off Solomon’s face.

In fourth period, Himiko had to hold herself back from bitchslapping someone else who decided it would be a good idea to test her. A quick word of advice to anyone in the Devildom who would like to survive an encounter with Himiko, never, ever, fuck with her headband.

“You fiendish demon!” Luke yapped, trying to help get Himiko’s headband back from the nasty awful no good demon who decided to pluck it off her head and hold it out of reach. “Give that back!”

“N’awwwwww, pet buddies!” The taller demon laughed and dangled the headband a little closer. “So cute! Someone get a picture for Devilgram-”

Luke slammed his foot directly into the demon’s kneecap. The demon practically shrieked and doubled over only to be met with Himiko’s knee in his gut. She daintily plucked the headband from his grasp and quickly pulled Luke out of the room.

“Are you okay?” The moment the two were far enough down the hall, Luke began to fuss over Himiko like a tiny nurse. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No buddy, I’m fine.” Himiko held out her hand for a high five. “Up high,”

Whack!

“Down low,”

Woosh!

“Too slow.”

“Hey!” Luke whined. “No faaaaaiiiiir!”

———————

No one wants their human to be grumpy, especially not the brothers, so when Himiko spent the rest of the time until dinner holed up in her room, they were a tad concerned.

“My human’s all saaaaaaaaad,” Mammon rested his chin on the table and whined. The rest of the brothers sans Asmo were sitting at the table awaiting dinner. “Himiko said she didn’t wanna play the Game of Life, and it’s like, the one game she’s good at…”

“Yeah, she’s been pissy all day.” Belphie added before quietly yawning. “What’d you do, Mammon?”

“Me?!” Mammon sputtered, practically scrambling out of his seat and pointing an accusatory finger at his brothers. “I didn’t do shit! What about you idiots?!”

“Well, let’s look at what we know,” Satan said, waving off Mammon. “During first period we partnered up for a project, I left to use the restroom, then when I came back she looked upset. During lunch when she left, she came back and didn’t speak the rest of the lunch period. Any theories?”

Beel raised his hand, and Satan nodded to him. “Himiko has terrible separation anxiety now, she can’t go too long without us.”

Satan gave Beel a few nods, then turned to the others. “That’s one guess. Anyone else?”

Mammon raised his hand, and Satan promptly ignored him.

“Oi! Pay attention to me!” Mammon stuck his hand in the air and waved harder. “She’s angry because she’s failin’ a class! Every time we’re not distractin’ her, she remembers!”

“I would have heard if she was failing a class.” Lucifer finally piped up from the head of the table, his face was buried in RAD’s newspaper. “You on the other hand, Mammon, are failing three of your four classes this semester.”

Mammon slid back into his seat and scratched the back of his neck. “About thaaaaaat, I need money for uh… for new books n’ pencils n’ shit. That’s why I’m failin’, you’ll lend me money, won’t ya big bro?”

Lucifer didn’t get to respond as Asmo burst into the door of the dining room with a pot of pasta that was almost half his height. “DINNER IS SERVED~!”

As everyone settled in to eat, Himiko finally made her appearance and plopped herself down in her usual seat next to Mammon and helped herself to the pasta with rosé sauce.

“It’s good! It’s good right?” Asmo peppered the group with questions about the food and how good he did. Himiko had to admit, this was damn good pasta. Smooth, creamy, cheesy, all that was missing was garlic bread. In a matter of minutes Himiko had cleared her first bowl and was going in for seconds.

“So Himiko,” Satan said as Himiko continued to shovel pasta into her face at a pace that could rival Beel. “We’ve noticed you’ve been looking a little upset today, care to satiate our curiosity?”

Himiko paused mid bite, which wasn’t doing wonders for her appearance considering she had sauce on the tip of her nose. But still, how sweet of her boys to notice, it made her cold dead little heart swell with love.

“Oh you know, just idiots at school not worth my attention.”

“What have they been saying?” Asmo asked, his voice unusually stiff.

“They’ve been calling me you guys’ pet.” Himiko grumbled. “How ridiculous is that?”

The clattering of forks and the chewing of food halted as the boys went completely silent. Himiko shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she looked around. Had what those demons said been a greater insult to the boys than she-

“Pfff- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Mammon erupted into laughter and the rest of the brothers followed suit.

“G-Geez,” Belphie snickered, feigning wiping a tear from his eye. “Humans are so sensitive.”

“Excuse me?!” Himiko gripped her fork so hard she was sure it would leave indents.

“I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, Himi,” Levi said between bouts of cackling. “But you are a teeny tiny little normie human surrounded by well… us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! That I should just roll over and take it!?” Himiko immediately turned and pointed at Belphie. “Don’t you dare.”

Belphie’s mouth was open to make a comment about Himiko’s poor choice of words, but the pact activated and any words died in his throat. Belphie flipped her off and Himiko returned the gesture.

“Himiko,” Beel was sweet enough to not laugh at Himiko’s predicament. “It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, people love their pets.”

As sweet as Beel thought his words were being, Himiko really wanted to send him to bed without dinner.

“Yes, yes, Beel’s right.” Satan took a deep breath and collected himself after his laughing fit had finally ceased. “It’s nothing to worry about, Himiko. It shouldn’t be bothering you. Just don’t listen.”

Himiko somehow gripped her fork even tighter as she levelled her ice cold glare at Satan. “Thank you so much for demonsplaining how I should deal with and feel about the very human problem of people seeing me as some toy.”

The venom in her words seemed to snap the rest of the table out of their giggly stupor, and Mammon gave Himiko a few pats on the back.

“Ah don’t worry about it, Himiko. I’ll fight any bastard who says anythin’ like that.” Suddenly realizing he hadn’t been a tsundere for five whole minutes, Mammon went red and snatched his hand away. “Ya know, just because you’d probably use the pact and order me to anyway…”

“I’m not a dere~” Levi began to softly sing, Himiko perked up and grabbed Mammon’s cheek.

“A tsun-tsundere~”

“Not that song again!”

That should have been the end of that whole debacle. Himiko’s decent mood had been restored and all was well! The gang chatted amicably for the rest of dinner. Himiko made sure to heap loads of praise on Asmo for his amazing pasta. She felt a part of her die when she went in for fourths and the spoon scraped the bottom of the pot.

Too bad nothing ever goes smoothly in the Devildom.

Since it was Asmo’s night to cook, it was Himiko’s night to do dishes, so she got up and began to clear the table. As she began to collect the unused knives, Lucifer, not looking up from his newspaper, handed Himiko his plate.

“Thank you, pet, that’ll be all.”

Himiko stopped dead in her tracks and her grip on the plate tightened. “Repeat that, Lucifer?”

“Thank you, pet, that’ll be all.”

A tiny smirk spread across Lucifer’s face, which only served to make Himiko’s blood boil. If he thought he could make a joke about that while she was still mad he had another thing coming.

As quick as a flash, she had whipped the plate straight at the ground, shattering it into dozens of tiny pieces, before Lucifer even had a chance to say anything, Himiko was standing in front of him with a frigid glare on her face.

“Lucifer, put your hand flat on the table and spread your fingers. Keep quiet.”

With no choice but to obey, Lucifer slapped his hand down on the dining table, though, the glare he was giving her wasn’t any less murderous. Not caring, Himiko’s gaze remained cold and calculating, she turned to the other brothers, who were rooted in place from sheer shock. “Stay.”

“I’d just like to get something out there to you seven,” Himiko said calmly, holding one of the knives in her right hand and waving it around like it was the most casual thing in the universe. “I, am no one’s pet,”

Himiko turned and slammed the knife right between Lucifer’s middle and index fingers, imbedding it deep in the table.

“Arm candy,”

The second knife was slammed right in between Lucifer’s middle and pointer finger.

“Or accessory.”

The final knife went between his index and pinkie finger. Himiko’s next words were slow and deliberate as she stared the strongest of the brothers directly in the eyes.

“I am your friend, and equal, I won’t accept being anything less, whether it’s a joke, or not. You agreed to those terms the day we made our pact, didn’t we Lucifer? Have you changed your mind?”

It was so quiet you could hear Henry 2.0 swimming around in Levi’s room upstairs. No one dared to breathe as the seconds ticked past.

Finally, Lucifer responded, his voice tinged with exasperation. “No Himiko, I haven’t.”

“Good,” A small triumphant smile appeared on Himiko’s face as she removed the knives from the table and finished up cleaning the table. “That goes for the rest of you boys too, got it?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Mhm.”

“Yes…”

As Himiko walked into the kitchen to do everyone’s dishes, they quietly reminded themselves exactly who they were dealing with. Himiko Nanami was no dainty little human, no no no, she was the one master to rule them all, and by god was she going to make sure no one ever forgot.

——————

AAAAAAAA THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!!!! I really need to write more stuff with Himiko! Inspiration struck at like… 10 this morning and I just ran with it.

Now on one hand, I can see that people might think that Himiko overreacted to Lucifer’s little joke a tad. Buuuuuuuuuuut she’s gotta shut down that shit early, right? She doesn’t want “pet” to be the next “chihuahua”.

Lucifer’s probably trying to stick his nose back in his newspaper as he wonders whether he’s incredibly enraged or unbelievably turned on.

Hope you all enjoyed! Now back to the regularly scheduled shitposting.

#obey me #obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #Obey me fic #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Mammon #Obey me Satan #Obey me Leviathan #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me Belphegor #Obey me Solomon #Obey me Luke #obey me OC

[kosmosguk]

Lineage (M)

Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be.

Warnings:  HEAVY yandere themes, mentions of gore and death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, dubcon smut (reader is a virgin, fingering, unprotected sex), 18+, explicit language

A/N: Part 1 of Lineage! Took 3 months, a messy outline, and 2 drafts that I decided I hated halfway through writing and deleted before starting over to finish one part. Tags of people who replied to the preview will be added in a reblog. Thank you for everyone who has been waiting and has shown support for the preview of Lineage and my writing account overall! This is inspired by the multitude of Korean webnovels I’ve been reading during quarantine. If you like it, please leave a comment because I will cry out of joy and this took me a WHILE to get out of the drafts. Enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

‘‘Duke,’’ the king’s teeth chattered in terror as he spoke, his voice low. “What have you come to visit me for?”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly as if he was in thought. Normally, he’d be furious at the lack of efficiency, but something stopped him from simply slicing the fool’s head off with his sword. After all, there was a much more important matter at hand that he needed to deal with.

‘‘My king, you do,’’ Yoongi spoke slowly,’’ remember our deal, don’t you? I win the war against the bordering kingdom and give you a considerable sum, and you…’’

Yoongi directed a pointed look at the king, and the king flinched before hurrying over to his desk. He fumbled around with the papers on it, even knocking down a stack of sealed and stamped documents with his shaking elbows, before extracting a small silver-framed portrait.

Yoongi could see the tremor in the man’s hands as he handed him the portrait, but Yoongi only exhaled softly, almost as if he was relieved, as he took hold of the small painted picture.

Pretty long-lashed eyes that warmly sparkled despite paint being the only medium used, curved lips like budding flowers, and silky tresses that swooped past her delicate shoulders. The maiden etched into the canvas was not known as a beauty compared to her extravagantly dressed older sisters, but to Yoongi, she was worth much more than the other princesses combined. Yoongi gripped the portrait a little tighter, his hands slightly clammy.

‘‘You wanted the 8th princess, Princess [Y/N], as your bride,’’ the ruler before him sputtered. “As soon as you’re ready, I will have the engagement officially announced.”

Yoongi broke out of his reverie and tucked the portrait into the pocket of his coat before getting up from his seat. ‘’Thank you, my King. I will never forget the kindness you have bestowed upon the House of Min.’’

As Yoongi was about to open the door, the king called out once again.

‘‘Duke Min, if I may ask, why do you have so much interest in the 8th princess? I would have never thought she would suit your preferences. If you wanted, you could have the crown princess. Her beauty is known even in distant lands, and she is skilled—”

Yoongi coldly smiled at the pathetically shivering man, interrupting him sharply,’’ Do not interfere in personal matters, my King. Long live the Sun of the Kingdom.’’

The door clicked shut behind him, and the king sagged further into his extravagantly plush ruby couch. For the first time in his greedy life, the king truly felt sympathy for the young princess he had just sold to the notoriously named Duke of Hell.

You kneaded the dough of the bread firmly down onto the table, flour sticking to the crevices in your palms. The harvest had been plentiful that year, although many of the lands surrounding the kingdom had been ravaged by war, and the small palace, which was more like a shack than anything else compared to the palaces of your older siblings, you had in the royal territory was fortunate enough to receive a small portion of the year’s yield.

You had to be quick about kneading the dough. The weather in the kingdom had been warming up as the seasons changed, and if you dawdled, the dough would stick to the table and you’d spend the next half hour trying to scrape it off the wooden surface. You could feel the sun’s warmth on your back, and you hummed a pleasant melody as you kept working.

There were footsteps outside of your palace, a sharp knock on the door, and you paused. It was strange; no one really visited your palace other than the occasional maid, and their visits had dwindled down to barely showing up after they realized how insignificant your position was in the palace. But the maids never knocked; they always burst in, throwing down a basket of food before running off without so much a word.

Could the person outside be lost?

You hastily grabbed a piece of fabric, tying it around your neck to obstruct the view of your collarbone; this had become a habit you developed when you had been taken to the palace in order to hide the strange mark on your clavicle. You hastily pushed open the door, your fingers still crusted with flour-covered dough. The person outside was dressed in the garbs of a messenger, but you noticed that he looked and acted much too elegant to be in the role of a servant; perhaps he had been more blessed with good looks and manners but had no fortune in status, you mused to yourself. 

You must have looked more like a maid than a princess because the messenger in front of the door took one look at you and asked,’’ Could you bring me the 8th princess? I carry a message from the palace.”

You smiled pleasantly. “Sir, you’re speaking to her. Are you lost, perhaps? The crown princess’s palace is down the road, and if you take a left, you’ll be right there.’’

The messenger blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open slightly, and he practically trembled as he realized his mistake. “No, this is a message for you! I’m so sorry, Your Highness; please punish this lowly servant for making such a—!”

You shook your head good-naturedly; you were no tyrant after all, having been born more like your mother, a noble of lower class who, albeit poor, was much more noble than those of higher ranking, than your father, the king. That was a fact that you took pride in.

“What message do you come to bring me? No one quite visits this palace,’’ you questioned.

“Your Highness, the 8th Princess of this Kingdom, I pass a message from the Duke of the House of Min to you. Your marriage has been agreed upon by His Majesty, King [L/N]. The Duke requests that you move into his estate as soon as you can so the preparations for marriage can be efficiently arranged and completed,’’ the messenger spoke.

Your smile stiffened, the edges of your lips curved awkwardly as you took in the message with wide eyes. “My marriage?’’ you managed to keep the tremble away from your voice as you asked the question.

“The Duke himself has personally requested of the king that he be bestowed your hand in marriage, Your Highness. He expects you to be done packing anything you find essential from your home by the morning of tomorrow. The wedding will be held the day after you move into his home.’’

You nearly sputtered in shock at the words of the messenger drifted in one ear and out the other, barely registering properly in your incredulous mind. “The wedding?! Isn’t that too soon? The engagement period usually lasts for at least a few months!’’

The messenger tried to smile, as if comforting the shock-stricken you, and he slowly spoke, hesitating,’’ The duke values efficiency above all else. Might I be so bold to say something? Princess...I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about the Duke. May they be either bad or good, please keep in mind one thing: you’ll be safe in his estate. He will protect you well. Good day, Your Highness. I wish you good fortune in your marriage to the Duke.’’

The messenger turned and was about to walk away when you called out,” Can I at least know your name?’’

The messenger turned back around, his eyes wide with surprise. Those of the nobility class never asked a lowly servant their name; names were symbols of rank in the upper classes, and thus the nobility did not care much about names when those names marked the identity of the lower classes. You were different from the other nobles. You looked and spoke just like her; no wonder the Duke was so fond of you.

“My name, Your Highness?’’ his voice hesitated as he spoke, his eyes wide in surprise,’’ Namjoon.’’

“Namjoon,’’ you breathed out, your lips that had been strained in an unnatural, forced smile spread into a genuine smile,’’ Thank you.’’

The nobility never thanked a servant, nor did they smile at them with such warmth. To a servant, a lack of punishment was enough.

Namjoon nodded and left your palace. When he was free from view of you and anyone else lurking around your palace, the ground underneath his feet turned an inky black, swirling like an abyss that was ready to swallow him up. Namjoon took one final glance at your palace, his previously dark eyes glowing an ominous red, and his lips that had been shyly smiling at you twisted into a smirk, flashing off two indents in his cheeks. He could see why the Duke, a man so devoid of warmth and humanity that he was a clear reflection of the demonic blood running in his veins, took such interest in you; you were interesting.  Something about you drew him in; was it the kindness you showed, or was it just how hungry your smell made him feel? Whatever it was, Namjoon was sure of one thing: the Prophecy was to be fulfilled. Yoongi would make sure of it, after all.

Namjoon vanished from sight, swallowed up in the black that had dyed the soil in dark wisps of air, and the only trace of him left was a sharp acrid scent of smoke.

You closed the door, your hands trembling as you went back to kneading the bread dough. The warmth of the afternoon sun seemed like a chill on your back now as you prodded and shaped the dough into loaves. Since you were to leave the next morning, it seemed like a waste to bake bread; it wasn’t like you were to eat all of them by the time the dawn came. You would go into the city later after they finished baking and give them out; after your marriage to the duke, you were certain that you would receive no more chances to dress up in the garments of a maid and sneak out into the city.

It was unfortunate, was it not? To go from being the daughter of a lowly noble, one who had unfortunately caught the attention of a tyrannical king and ran away from him to the woods only to be caught and killed, to the forgotten but trapped 8th princess to something to be sold off for the selfish gain of another. You were like a lamb going to the slaughter, desperate to live but powerless.

The Duke was notorious for many things, the kinds of things that were gossiped by maids passing by your palace and left goosebumps prickled on your skin. He was a man who killed as easily as he found it to breathe, a man whose very name was used by the children as a way to scare each other. You were certain that you would be no exception to his murderous rage. 

After you returned from the city, barely being able to take in the last wisps of life outside of the cage you had been forced in, and packed your remaining items into a small bag, you fell into an uneasy sleep. In your dream, you saw shadowy figures. They screamed and yelled, and you could only stand there as cold metal pierced your body through the collarbone. It hurt so much; it felt like agony ripping away at your skin, and you could feel your own blood rush down your weakening frame. You woke up before the day came to life, your body wracked in a cold sweat that left your eyes wide open in the pitch black of the night.

The carriage of the House of Duke came right as the light of dawn broke upon the horizon, sending splatters of rosy pink and gold light onto the sky’s canvas. You were drowned in the dappling shades of the new day as you handed the bag to the driver, who remained silent after a formal greeting. You took one final look at the building you had spent half of your life in, watching with unblinking eyes as the home that you had spent many lonely days in disappeared from view.

How were you supposed to feel? There was no jittery high of happiness that came from being married, something that was common throughout the romantic novels you had bought from the city; there was only a foreboding sense of doom. Would the Duke kill you once you stepped off the carriage, or would he enjoy the game of hunting and wait?

Although the House of Min had an estate in the capital of the Kingdom near the palace, the Duke preferred living a secluded life away from the tiring politics of the capital. You understood him on that. The ride was not long to the territory, however; the rich could afford paying to use the small portal stones to travel, which were remnants from the times that there had been magic and gods in the world. What would have been a trip lasting two weeks was narrowed down to a trip of 9 hours.

You arrived at the territory in the early afternoon, your body sore from having remained seating for such an extended period of time; you only had two breaks throughout the trip, one to empty your bladder and another to eat a small lunch at an inn. As you stepped from the carriage down to the ground in front of the manor, your mouth dropped in shock at the size of the Duke’s land. The wealth of the Duke was vast but to see it in person was astonishing. You recalled the trip through his territory; as the magical portal had been on the cusp of his territory and the outer lands, the trip to his estate from that magical portal had taken a solid 2 hours of your trip.

The land for just his estate was large; you could not see the edge of the estate’s land that you had previously entered in earlier. His main manor building loomed above you like a fortress, spiraling black buildings and shadowy crevices, and you felt a wave of anxiety rise in your throat. The manor of the Duke was more like a fortress with its sturdy, impenetrable walls and dark atmosphere. A chill ran down your spine, prickling goosebumps on your otherwise smooth skin, as your eyes scanned the buildings on the estate. There was only one word that could properly describe them: ominous.

Even the atmosphere of the maids lined up in front of you in greeting had you unconsciously tensing, your jaw clenched slightly. You could see their eyes; they were haunting in the way they were so devoid of emotion. You were familiar with how maids were like; they always had some form of emotion in their eyes: either a sickly sweetness as they itched for favor or a mocking expression that didn’t conceal their spite. You fought back a shiver when you heard them open their mouths, their voices in perfect unison as they spoke.

“Welcome, Your Highness, to the Estate of the House of Min. We look forward to serving you from now and into the future.’’  

Three of the maids stepped forward, their steps aligned perfectly and their bows matching. They dipped their heads, and one of them spoke. She looked middle-aged, older than the other maids, but the look on her face matched theirs.

“We will be the main maids serving you. I am the head maid of the manor. As the future Duchess of the House of Min, everyone at the manor is at your service. The Duke will—.’’

She paused; you heard a crunching of something underfoot in the silence of the courtyard. Was it stone? The smile that you had forced on your face froze, uncomfortably stiff.

“Welcome, my fiancé,’’ you heard a voice call out. The voice unnerved you more than the expressionless looks on the maids had; it sounded cordial and low, pleasant to the ears even. If your ears had been untrained to the sounds of the nobility, you might even have mistaken it for affection, but you knew that there was no true emotion in the voice, or at least that’s what you assumed. No warm voice could make you feel so terrified after all. You, however, didn’t notice the brief look of shock in the staff in front of you; never, in the whole time they had been serving the Duke, had he sounded so gentle.

You looked toward the sound, your fear cleanly masked by your frozen smile; after being mocked by the queen, concubines, and their children as a child with lowly blood, you were good at training your expressions. The more you squirmed, the sicker the nobles’ expressions got, which is why you spent your later years at the palace hiding away in your palace, hoping that you would continue to be forgotten. The Duke was no exception to this; if you crumbled before him, he was sure to crush you under his polished shoe. You couldn’t die yet. You had not much to live for, that you admit, but the core essence of humanity was its desire to survive. To live.

The Duke stood before you. His demeanor was elegant, but you could sense an imposing aura radiating from him. He was good-looking, though; from the rumors you had heard from passing maids, you envisioned a hideous monster with sharp teeth and claws for hands who would rip out your throat for breathing too loudly. He looked like a statue delicately carved by an artist with his smooth, white skin, like alabaster and marble, and sharp, handsome features. His nose slanted gorgeously, his jawline was strong, and his lips were softly curved.

But the most distinct feature of his were his eyes. They were shaped elegantly, curving in a refined shape, but it was the color that left your feet glued to the ground. You had heard the rumors but seeing it in person was another ordeal. His eyes were a vibrant shade of crimson, the color of freshly spilled blood, and there was an eerie depth to them. They were, you recalled, the eyes of the devil. A chilling thought came to your mind as you stared into his eyes. They were the same color as the mark on your neck. You unconsciously tightened your fingertips around the scarf you had carefully looped around your neck.

“What has your mind so distracted?’’ the Duke smiled, but although you should have felt calmed by the sight, his smile unnerved you for some reason,’’ Everything has been properly arranged for our wedding tomorrow, if that is what you are scared of. If you desire, you may look over the plans and arrange it however you like.’’

The Duke had walked closer to you when you hadn’t been paying attention, and you flinched when he reached out towards you, his fingertips brushing the side of your cheek affectionately. Your heartbeat raced in your chest; however, instead of the giddy heart thrumming that was depicted in romantic novels, your heartbeat racing was purely because of anxiety. The presence of the Duke made you feel like a small prey in front of the menacing gaze of an apex predator. Would he snap your head off? Twist your delicate neck in his hands?

He took his touch away from your cheek as your thoughts raced, his fingers snagging into your scarf accidentally. The scarf fell down to the ground, and his eyes widened in glee slightly. Your hand flew to your clavicle, covering the mark there. You didn’t know why, but something in your gut told you to not let him near the mark. His eyes glowed for a split second, the color of a polished ruby glistening in light, before dimming back to their normal color; you blinked rapidly, wondering if you had imagined the change.

“My deepest apologizes, Your Highness. You must be exhausted from your trip. We don’t want you too tired for our wedding. Your maids will take you to the room you will be staying in tonight,’’ the Duke smiled politely once again, hesitantly stepping back, his composure poised,’’ I am looking forward to our union. Rest up. I have a meeting later, so unfortunately, we won’t be sharing a meal tonight.’’

He turned to leave, his eyes lingering on your collarbone, and you stayed glued to the ground, your hand still covering your mark. The head maid reached out with another scarf in her hands, and you took it, your fingers trembling slightly, before wrapping it around your neck. You knotted it two more times than usual this time, your eyes trained on the Duke’s retreating back.

You did not notice it at the time, your mind too busy wandering in your thoughts, but the previously emotionless expressions on the maids’ faces flickered with fear before quickly shifting back. As you turned your gaze back towards them, you mused to yourself once more. How odd was it that their expressions had not changed even once?

The room you were staying in was lovely; of course, that was to be expected from one of the top noble families in the kingdom, if not the whole land. Billowy drapes hung from vast windows, detailed gold embroidery sparkling in the brightening sunlight, and there were expensive pieces of furniture adorning the large room. The price of one of the candlesticks would be enough to cover the expenses of a peasant family for a year.

You had an unrestful sleep; nightmares plagued your dreams once again. They were more vivid this time, and you could still feel the agony of cold metal piercing through your soft flesh. The mark on your collarbone seemed to throb and burn against your skin, and you dragged your nails against it, trying to quell the itching sting. You somehow fell asleep once more, and when you woke up, the dreams had vanished from your mind, and the only remnants of your nightmares was a clammy coldness that lingered on your body and red lines on your mark from your nails.

You heard a knock on the door.

“Your Highness, may we come in? We will be preparing you for the wedding,’’ you recognized the voice of the head maid.

You inhaled a deep breath, trying to recover from your body’s cold sweat and slow the frantic pounding of your heart before calling out calmly,’’ Come in.’’

The maids came in, walking in calmly with their hands full of items.

The head maid was the one who had spoken outside, and as she walked near you, you held out a wary hand.

“If you are to serve me, I must know your name,’’ you spoke, trying to put on the dignified airs that was similar to the queen, or your stepmother, though you refused to refer to her with that title.

“My name, Your Highness?’’ the head maid looked taken aback, her eyes on the floor,’’ I’m sorry, but the names of servants are an insignificant thing to be known in this household. I only go by my position, here, as head maid. If you wish to know my name to have me punished, please just ask for the head maid to be punished.’’

You could tell that this was some unspoken rule and forced down the part of you that wished to rebel and find her name. If you were to pressure her over something so mild, unpleasant rumors would spring forth. 

You followed their directions silently as they prepared you, and you ate small bites of the meal they had laid out when you had completed your morning routine. They then changed you into your wedding garment, tying up the corset around your torso so tightly that you could barely breathe when they were done. You could feel their gazes lingering on the mark you had on your collarbone; you were used to the looks, the mockery and the disdain, but their gazes were different. Was it curiosity? Hell, admiration? Or perhaps, fear?

Hours stretched and passed as they worked on your hair and makeup. Your scalp and skin were prodded at by them as they worked to prepare you. When they were finally done, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and was left breathless at your reflection.

Your hair had been coiled up in an elaborate up-do and decorated with sparkling hair pieces that weighed down your head. The dress was made by one of the capital’s top designers and fit you perfectly, as if the measurements of your body were known by the Duke’s Household down to a tee; it showed off your neck and the mark on your neck, and when you had asked to find something to cover the mark up, the maids shook their heads.

“The Duke wishes for this style of dress; unfortunately, nothing can be used to cover up your neck properly, and the dress can not be changed,’’ the head maid told you.

The dress, other than expose society’s stigma imprinted upon your flesh, was gorgeous. It was a pure white, sparkling with small pieces of carefully cut diamond, and tastefully accentuated by delicately beaded pearls. It wrapped around your torso and flared out into wide, layered skirts, a style that was extremely trendy in the capital. You looked stunning in the dress.

The maids had done extremely well on your makeup too; your skin glowed and was soft like a baby, and your lips were reddened to the color of cherries. Your cheeks were reddened as well, a blush delicately touching your cheeks. You looked ethereal, like a mystical being descending upon earth, though you embarrassingly believed that it was rather conceited of you to think that.

The head butler—you vaguely remembered him from the staff yesterday, although he had not spoken a word to you after the initial greeting—guided you to a carriage silently after politely greeting you, which led down to the church building in which you were to be married in.

Your fingers twisted in your fine white skirts as the rush of anxiety churned in your gut; you were grateful that your breakfast had been light, or else you would have hurled it all over the floor of the carriage.

You somehow managed to keep it together, even when you stepped down from the carriage. You even managed to keep your composure together as you walked towards the Duke, standing in front of the church, with the Kingdom’s Priest standing behind him. The church was filled to the brim with people, mostly nobles who vied for some connection with the Duke. You could even see the King in the front, watching you with eyes that told you not to mess your marriage up.

You even managed to keep it together underneath the burning sting of the Duke’s eyes as the Priest recited aloud the vows of marriage. You gazed back into the Duke’s eyes, watching the reflection of the sunset’s lights glow in their cold depths as the priest concluded the ceremony.

“May this couple’s union, placed together by the holy goddess of creation that had formed the earth, be a blessing upon the Kingdom.’’

You felt the mark on your collarbone throb slightly, a dull ache, but, in that moment, you had believed it to be a part of the bone-aching exhaustion that had settled deep into your body’s marrow.

The first duty of marriage was the consummation of it. You were aware of what went on, having ventured off into the city and gotten your hands onto romance novels that had their fair share of obscene scenes, but to be experiencing it firsthand, that was something that terrified you. The pain of having your virginity taken had been described in detail in the novels, and you could feel a pit of nerves form as the maids led you to get prepared for your first night as a married couple.

The maids bathed you, as the head maid crooned to you low in your ear the duty you were to fulfill. They rubbed fragrant rose oils into your skin, as the head maid repeated over and over the instructions and her condolences for the night, and dressed you in a nightgown—it was a soft, clear pink that scandalously showed off your figure—that was more like an undergarment than anything.

Then, the maids led you to the room you were to share with your husband. As the head maid was about to open the door, she spoke one last time,’’ Duchess, I have done my best to inform you of your first night. May the fortune of the goddess of creation bless you upon your first night as the Duke’s wife.’’

The room was dark when you stepped in, and it would have been pitch black had it not been for the wispy pale rays of moonlight glowing through the large glass windows. This room, through your adjusting vision, was certainly much more beautiful and elegant than the room you had used for your temporary one-night stay. You saw the Duke standing in front of one of the windows, his eyes on you, unnervingly unblinking. Although his gaze remained eerie, you could not deny the ethereal beauty that radiated off of him as he watched you with ruby eyes.

As you were admiring his looks, you noticed that he had taken steps forward before pausing before you. His eyes looked at yours before roaming your body, and you noticed that there was an almost carnal hunger glowing in his crimson-red eyes. He looked starving, and you realized, unconsciously wrapping your arms around your body, that you were the meal he was to satiate his hunger with.

You could not help but flinch when the Duke pulled you forward into his arms and kissed you, his lips harsh against your own as he stole your breath from your lungs. His teeth snagged into your bottom lip, digging into it. There was nothing gentle in the kiss; nothing sweet and romantically sentimental like what had been described in romance novels.

His hands, the palms roughened from his days on the battlefield, caressed your body, slipping underneath your night gown. You gasped breathlessly against his mouth at the cool touch on your warm body, a sound that was swallowed up by his lips as his tongue delved into your mouth, and you clung onto the thin fabric of his night clothes.

“D-duke,’’ you managed to breath out shakily when he finally broke away from this kiss. You were about to say something more, but the sight of your lips, bruised and swollen from the Duke’s harsh kiss caused his eyes to darken in lust.

“When you are with just me, call me Yoongi,’’ he rasped, and the sound of his voice near your ear caused pleasurable shivers to travel down your spine. You felt something wet between your legs, and your cheeks flushed in shyness, your eyes widening in embarrassment. That look of pure innocence seemed to cause something in the infamously cool-headed Duke to snap. Yoongi’s actions were more hurried as he practically tore the dainty dress from your body, and the breath in your chest was knocked out as you were thrown onto the large bed.

His touch felt like it was burning against your body as it touched you in intimate ways. You tried to block his touch anxiously, but he simply brushed off your hands as if you had no strength; against his overpowering strength, you were utterly weak. You closed your eyes anxiously when you felt him suck bruises into your neck and then on your breasts, leaving bite marks blooming on your quivering skin like roses on silk, but you felt a sharp ache in your jaw as he grabbed your chin harshly and lifted your head to face him.

“Look at me. I want you to witness your first night with me, my beloved wife.’’

His voice was sharp despite the pained rasp coating its tone, radiating with an authority so powerful that you found yourself snapping open your eyes to look at him in mute shock. In the dim lighting of the night, with only the ghosts of the moon to leave a sheen of waning light on his handsome face, the Duke—no, Yoongi—looked lethal.

Your mouth fell open in a wide o-shape when his touch brushed down your soft breasts to your stomach and then finally to the most intimate spot on your body. His index finger swirled around your bud, sparking little shocks down your spine before venturing lower. His first finger stretched your walls, going deep into the sacred garden that had been guarded since you had been born, and you could only pant helplessly. There was a buzz in your head, something heady that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, as Yoongi touched places deep within you.

He added another finger and the another, and your mind spun as your walls stretched and clung onto his fingers. You clutched onto his clothes tighter, holding your breath, as he explored your walls. He dragged his fingers out, his movements slow and gentle, before he slammed them viciously into you; you choked on a sound that was a mix between a gasp and a moan. He repeated the movements until you were writhing under his touch before pulling his fingers out of you. His fingers were drenched in a honey-like substance, and you, with your ears burning, watched as he sucked on his fingers.

“My beloved wife, my goddess,’’ Yoongi’s voice sounded ragged, as if he was about to fall apart, and his fingers, sticky with dried saliva and your essence, curled up under his garments and peeled them off,’’ I can’t wait any longer.’’

“W-wait,’’ you stuttered out pathetically as he pushed something firm but soft and undeniably hot against your garden. Yoongi paid no heed to your word as he pushed into your walls mercilessly without so much a pause, and your heart raced as you realized what was invading your innocence. There was a throbbing agony as he got deeper and deeper, a feeling that was much more painful than his fingers had been. You clung onto his shoulders when he finally stopped moving in, tears building up in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. When the head maid and your romance novels had talked about the pain, they had described the pain as fleeting, a sharp pinch that faded away quickly. This was different; you could feel your lower regions burning in agony as they stretched and trembled around Yoongi’s length.

At the sight of your tears, the look on Yoongi’s face was practically feral. Without waiting for you to get accustomed to the feeling of your purity being torn apart, Yoongi pulled out and slammed back in, his hips setting a tormenting pace that made you squeal in pain.

“Please pull out; oh my God,’’ you gasped out, your nails digging into his skin,’’ It hurts, it hurts so bad.’’  

Yoongi let out a grunt in response, his breath choppy as he forced his voice from his throat. “The pain will go away soon. If we don’t fulfill our first duty of marriage, then the marriage will be considered void by law. Do you want that? The next man the King marries you to…’’

Yoongi’s eyes turned deadly, as if the thought of another man even touching you set him on a murderous outrage, and you trembled at the idea. The next man would undeniably be a portly, greasy lower noble, who would take you as his concubine as your purity had already been taken by the Duke. Your future children would be spat on by those around them, an experience that you had gone through but would never wish on your children.

Yoongi spoke again, a question this time. “Will you endure the temporary pain, or will you refuse and endure a much more lasting pain as someone who lost her purity but did not fulfill her first duty?’’

You could feel him inside you, pulsing and twitching, and you swallowed your nerves. Although Yoongi had worded it as a choice, you knew it was not. It was anything but. You already knew the decision you had to take before he finished asking.

“Please,’’ you begged, softening your voice in order to incite some pity from this brute of a man,’’ Be more gentle?’’

His lips twisted into a carnivorous smile, something that caught you off guard and left you in a short daze, and his only answer was him pulling out of you before pushing back in. The pain was rough at first, but you could tell that the Duke had taken into consideration your plea, at least he did so at first. When the first pricks of pleasure sparked in your gut, your head slammed back and you moaned before panting out a shameless,’’ Duke, Yoongi, please, faster.’’

You looked ravishing in this state; marks littered on your soft skin, and your face in an arousing expression with your swollen lips parted open in shaky breaths and your eyes glazed in desire. You looked like the embodiment of sin itself against the pure white sheets of the bed. The constraints that Yoongi had placed on himself snapped, his hips slamming against you hard, an erotic sound of the clapping of skin echoing in the night, that left your skin feeling heated and flushed. You only mewled in response as he began to pound into your body. He was animalistic, the cold airs he had been encased in dropped as a rosy flush tinted his pale marble face. You felt like you were being intoxicated by the sensations of pleasure and sin.

He pushed in even deeper than before, and you felt an uncomfortable pain as his length pushed against your cervix. Your air left your lungs at the feeling, and your nails dug even further into the Duke’s broad shoulders, leaving drops of blood in its wake. The Duke didn’t even flinch at the pain, burying his head into your shoulder to let out an almost growl-like noise. You were so fucking tight; it was like you were squeezing around him, refusing to let him go.

You felt sensitive, your nerves heightened as the whirl of pleasure building in your gut climbed. Your eyes remained wide open, your dizzy mind remembering the Duke’s earlier command, and your back arched slightly as a wave of pleasure crashed into you. Your vision went blurry as you crashed into your first climax; you were coming, tightening around him so hard that your mind went completely blank.

You could feel Yoongi’s teeth sink into your collarbone, a flash of white digging into your red mark, and the pain coupled with the pleasure cascading onto your limp body caused you to let out a lewd choked moan. Yoongi slammed into you, his pace steady and stable as his breath grew more erratic, before he pushed deep into you, a groan pulling out deep from his chest. You felt something hot spill into the depths of your body, and your fingers and toes twitched at the feeling.

You were exhausted as he pulled out of you. He was still painfully hard, but you were so tired, and the lull of sleep was so tempting. Your vision blurred, and your eyes drooped shut as you fell into an unconscious state, ignoring the pulsing sting of your collarbone. The last thing you saw before you were swept up in a rush of sleep was a flash of red eyes, the look of them so vivid against the darkness of the deep night, and Yoongi licking off droplets of your blood off of his lips, his lips curved up in a menacing smile.

“Goodnight, my beloved wife,’’ Yoongi spoke out into the silence, his fingers reaching out to entwine themselves into strands of your hair,’’ May the dreams that reach you be a blessing.’’

He brought up a stand of your hair to his lips, his lips touching it tenderly.

“And may our marriage bring us both fortune beyond what humanity can perceive, my Goddess.’’

A/N: if you want to be tagged in the next part, please reply with a 👑! And if you liked the story, please leave a comment or a review! Thank you so much for being here for my writing journey :) I’ll do my best to keep improving.

Part 2

#yandere yoongi #yoongi x reader #yandere bts #bts smut #yandere lemon #yandere smut #bts fic #bts x reader #yoongi smut #yandere #yandere writing #yandere x reader #bts yoongi #yandere fic #bts thriller au #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #duke yoongi #yandere male #bts scenarios

[fernpost]

Cycle 0 - Interviews

[read on ao3]

[next]

Taako Taaco. 114. Elf. Wizard; Specialization in transmutation and inventive magical applications.

Previous experience: Top of class at Tredore, Academy of Magics and Technology; recently graduated.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of petty theft.

Davenport likes to think of himself as calm and composed. It’s hard to throw him off. He has to be in order to have gotten this far in his mission as fast as he has.

But when he turns around from shutting the door to see his interviewee with his feet kicked up on the table, twirling a wand through his fingers, he’s a little shocked. He’s been doing these interviews for two days now, and even the more relaxed and confident people have held a bit more sense for decorum.

It’s a bit rude.

It’s also a little interesting.

He sits at his desk, pulling the elf’s papers away from his boots (shiny, and though they look expensive he can see they’re worn down and well taken care of) and glances down. “Tell me, Taako Taaco, what makes you want to explore the planerverse?”

“Bored.”

If the feet on the desk threw him off for a second, that floors him entirely. “Bored?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do on this plane, why not, you know?”

“No burning desire to go further than any being has gone before?” That’s one of the normal responses, the well-planned out speeches he keeps getting in response to his opening question.

The elf crosses his feet, leaning back somehow further into the provided chair. Davenport worries for a second that he may fall as he continues on, “that’s cool too, I guess. But I figure, why wouldn’t you want the great Taaco name aboard your ship.”

Davenport picks up a pen from his table and makes a small note on the paperwork, “no offense, Mr. Taaco, but you’re rather cavalier about this interview that determines whether or not you’re accepted into a program that may redefine our understanding of the world.”

The elf shrugs and takes his feet off of Davenport’s desk, flashing him a smirk, “you’ve seen my sister’s paperwork, yeah? No way you’re not going to accept her, and we’re a package deal. Says it right there in bold at the top of my application, my man.” It does, in fact, say that at the top. Cursive words noting how he refuses to accept any position on the ship if his sister isn't there too. When reviewing who he was interviewing today, he saw similar words on Lup Taaco’s paperwork.

“You’re very confident in your sister’s abilities.” Davenport begins, pausing for a second as he notes the way the elf begins to tense up before continuing, “however, I wouldn’t sell yourself so short. You also graduated top of your class, and excelled in the art of transmutation multiple times. One of your letters of recommendation even noted how you made many spells easier to cast, somatically speaking.”

“What can I say, I’ll find any short cut I can.”

Davenport makes another note on his paper. “Now, I do need to ask about your record of petty theft.”

“Oh, natch.”

Lup Taaco. 114. Elf. Wizard; Specialization in evocation and applied magic regarding planar research.

Previous experience: Top of class at Tredore, Academy of Magics and Technology; recently graduated.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of petty theft.

“Lup Taaco, it is nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain.” The woman in front of him smiles. The resemblance to her brother couldn’t be more clear, and though her demeanor is quite similar, she at least doesn’t have her feet on his desk.

Not that his desk is anything fancy, but the point stands. “I’m not technically the captain yet, you know.”

“Potato, potato.”

Davenport is fairly certain that’s not how that phrase is used. “You did research into the planes at Tredore, correct?”

“Quite a bit, yeah. I’m sure my brother told you?”

The slight tilt of her head and lit of her voice tells Davenport this is some sort of test, which is confusing and a bit disconcerting, considering he is the one conducting the interview. He checks a quick box on his papers. “He talked you up a bit, yes. But this is your own interview, and I wanted to discuss your own knowledge with you, personally.”

She smiles, a touch more warmth to it than her previous attitude. “Oh, of course. Did quite a bit of studying at Tredore. First real school we attended. Kinda boring at times, you know?”

“If you’re accepted into this program, it’s going to be four intense months of studying and teaching you the more complex workings of the ship. Plus the two months of actually being on the ship.”

“That’s the fun stuff. Not a third semester in a row of another language I already figured out most of years ago.”

“How many languages do you speak, Ms. Taaco?”

“Including common, five languages.”

“Impressive.” Davenport himself only speaks three. “Now, I would like to ask you about your criminal record, if you don’t mind?”

Her smile grew sharp as she laughs.

Honestly, he isn’t surprised. Her explanation is the same as her brothers. Grew up on the road, needed food and other items on occasion. Didn’t always run fast enough. Davenport can’t fault them, and certainly won’t hold it against them.

He glances down at her paperwork, about to ask another question about her education, when she speaks up. “I’ve got a question for you, Captain.”

“Oh?”

“The ship- we’re really going with the name ‘The Starblaster’?”

Davenport sighs. He knew this question was coming, but he was expecting it to come during a press conference from a reporter, not a potential shipmate. “Yes. To be fair, it was a communal name we put to a vote from everyone who worked on building the engine.”

Ms. Taaco smiles. “Dope.”

Barry J. Bluejeans. 37 years old. Human. Wizard; specialization in applied magic regarding bonds and planar research.

Previous experience: Current assistant professor at Duffman University of the Arcane, part-time employee at the Institute of Planer Research and Exploration.

Criminal Record: Previous altercations regarding necromancy; no crimes against the nature of life and death ever committed.

Mr. Bluejeans is an interesting man. By the look of him, you’d expect to see him fumbling his way through a PTA meeting for his two kids. Instead, Davenport is staring down the word ‘necromancy’ on his paperwork on an application regarding literal planar travel on a ship called 'the Starblaster.'

So far, the interview has been going well. He’d listened to the man explain his research into the arcane, and he’d understood planar travel as well as any of the current scientists and engineers at the Institute. He was called in often for conferences and meetings about the bond engine. He’d seen the man walking around on occasion. They’d never been in a meeting together before, but he’d seemed nice.

But he also had a history of necromancy.

Now, Davenport doesn’t like to judge people. However, being in an enclosed space with someone who needed to specify he had never technically committed “crimes against the nature of humanity” isn’t the most comforting.

But, he was a smart man. Easy to get along with, too. So far. Necromancy notwithstanding.

Best to get it over with, “so, Mr. Bluejeans. I do need to ask about your criminal record-”

“Oh! Yeah, I never killed anyone. Or un- killed anyone. Uh, resurrected, I mean. Just did lots of studying into the application of necromancy and necromantic spells. Got in trouble because I toed the line of ‘research’ and ‘bringing my cat back to life,’ but got a stern talking to. Didn’t try it again, and don’t plan on needing to deal with those types of authorities again.”

Okay, normal enough answer, far as the situation applies-

“My current research into it has stayed purely theoretical, and it won’t interfere with the mission at all.”

So the man is still into necromancy.

Davenport glances down at the man’s file, thick with it’s attached papers Bluejeans has done on planar research. He’s not even stuck up about his level of education, and that’s extremely rare for the field.

Holding back a sigh, Davenport asks, “Can you explain the paper you wrote on the outer planes interactions with the inner planes for me?”

It was a really good paper.

But the man is still into necromancy.

Lucretia. 20. Human. Chronicler; Specialization in journalism.

Previous experience: Due to multiple NDA, she is unable to give us the exact number and titles of books she has written, but she sent letters of recommendation from Duke Rensburg, Lady Norabelle, and Warren of the Seatree Clan.

Criminal Record: Acquisition and attempted use of a false ID.

“So, Ms. Lucretia, I understand you cannot provide us with most examples of your works, but from what you have provided, you seem to be very, very good.”

“I like to think so, yes.” The young woman in front of him seems polite. She’s quiet; he saw her waiting outside with a few others before her interview, and while most of them were engaged in some awkward small talk, she sat away from them. Likely partially due to her age- she is much younger than the people outside- but she also simply seems quiet.

Which wouldn’t be the worst quality in someone you would be sharing a small, enclosed space with for an extended period of time. But, if she couldn’t bond with the others sufficiently, the bond engine won’t work.

(Hell, the bond engine was already finicky, they figured out the tech only a month ago, and they only have four months to bond an entire crew to pilot it and-)

“Can you explain to me why you acquired a fake ID and tried to use it at a, uh,” Davenport glances down at the records in front of him, holding back a chuckle, “at the forbidden section of the Library of Runar?”

Lucretia looks uncomfortable for a second, and he’s sure if the lighting in the room were better he would be able to see her flush with embarrassment. She gives him a hesitant smile, “I can’t get into the explicit details, but I was working on a book for an older client whose memory was becoming patchy, and I wanted to confirm some details before I put their name to it. They wouldn’t allow me into the section without the proper documents, but my client refused to agree that I should double check his work, even though I was almost certain he was wrong, so I simply… found a way to get past their guard. I wasn’t going to steal anything and I was going to use the proper equipment to read through the documents.”

Davenport smiles, “pursuit of knowledge and truth is important to you, then?”

“I don’t think spreading lies, especially in that context, is very honorable, no.” Her hands are folded in her lap now, and she seems a bit more relaxed.

Considering the others he is planning on accepting, he may be wrong about her getting along with them. Anyone willing to break the law just to prove an old man wrong would at least get along with him. Davenport refuses to have any pushovers aboard his ship.

Magnus Burnsides. 19. Fighter; Specialization in protection fighting and mechanical engineering.

Previous experience: Current bouncer at Apex Club. Currently enrolled in Gallier’s Fighter Academy and College.

Criminal Record: One count of assault and battery, appealed for defense of another person present. One count of indecent exposure and public intoxication.

Davenport will be the first to admit it can be tricky to follow human aging patterns, but he knows he’s not mistaken in thinking the man in front of him is barely out of “child” territory. Nineteen is a very, very small amount of time to be alive. Also, a very, very small amount of time to learn important things, like how to run what is basically a ship right out of a science fiction novel- complete with breakthrough technology.

Despite this, it’s hard to not find the young man in front of him to be endearing, and mostly knowledgeable in the things they need him to be.

“Magnus. You’re very young, one of the youngest applicants we have. What makes you think you’re qualified as the head of security of the ship?”

The young man in front of him- Gods, he really is young- grins and lifts his arms to flex, a show of pride and ego almost unbefitting of an interview setting, “Have you seen my muscles? I’m very strong, and a very good fighter.”

Many of today’s interviews have been quite different than he was expecting.

“I was referring more to job experience.”

“Oh!” Magnus shifts in his seat, fingers drumming against the table as he thinks. “I worked as a bouncer for a club while I was in college and did, if I must toot my own horn, a very good job. You should have a letter of recommendation from the owner-” He leans forwards, reaching a hand out as if to look through his own files to show him the letter.

“Yes, I did read through it. She was very thorough in stating how eager you were to help.” Davenport glances down at the papers in front of him, holding back a sigh. It truly was a glowing review of this young man. While his grades from the aforementioned college weren’t the highest, especially in classes one might consider important for an institute of planar research, the two letter of recommendations he submitted from teachers of his explained how Burnsides was very persistent when he wanted to learn something he didn’t know. He also had taken quite a few classes regarding vehicles- not enough to claim the young man was an expert but enough to provide a solid basis to show him how things worked and could be repaired on the ship.

The kid’s attitude was something of a breath of fresh air in this place. However, there was one glaring concern.

“I was also a bit concerned about the criminal record we have on file for you. Assault and battery as well as the indecent exposure and public-”

“In my defense for the second one, I was drunk with some friends and maybe thought it’d be funny to streak in the lake. Who hasn’t been to a party that gets a little out of hand.” He holds his hands out as if to say “am I right?”

Off the record, Davenport is inclined to agree that he was right. On the record, he is choosing to ignore it. “And the assault and battery? The file says it was in defense of a young person.”

Burnsides grins, “that’s how I got hired as the bouncer!”

He waits a moment, expecting Magnus to continue. When it seems the young man is assuming that is enough explanation, he prompts, “by beating up a man outside the club?”

“Yeah! He was harassing someone outside, and I was walking home and passed by. I told him to step off, and he didn’t. So I decked him, and he was out right away.”

It lined up with the records he had, and honestly, seeing someone so ready to step up to the defense of a stranger was a good quality. Better than some of the older applicants who were much more… formal in their training. He wonders briefly how Burnsides would react to an altercation against someone with magic.

Glancing down at his records, he guesses he would run headfirst without thinking.

Stifling a small grin, Davenport continues, “Now, tell me. Assume we’re up in space, and something goes wrong with the bond engine. What would your course of action be, Mr. Burnsides?”

Merle Hitower Highchurch. 214. Cleric; Specialization in botany, religion, and medical treatment.

Previous experience: Current botanist at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration. Professor of botany at Narvick’s University for four years.

Criminal Record: Multiple counts of loitering.

The door is pushed all the way open before Davenport can even call out the next person.

A short dwarf slides into the room with a wide grin, “hey Dav!” A mug of tea is pressed into his hands.

“Hello, Merle. You do know this needs to be at least a little formal, yes?”

“Formal schmormal. Ask me your silly questions already, bud.” Merle Highchurch, resident botanist at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration, plops right down in the seat he’d taken to commandeering once a week, for the past three weeks.

Davenport had seen him around before, but a botanist in an institute designed for exploring other planes that had little capabilities to actually go to those places yet was rarely busy, and even more rarely called upon. He still barely knew the guy, but after the day they’d gotten stuck in the elevator for ten minutes when it broke down, the dwarf had come to his office for tea each Wednesday.

It was a bit strange, but the tea was good.

“Tell me about your work experience.”

Merle laughs heartily, “they barely have me do anything around here, ‘cept tend to the couple of plants they’ve grabbed from the ground plane.”

“It’s the Elemental Plane of Earth, and don’t sell yourself short, Merle. This is basically a job interview, you know.”

Merle slurps loudly at his own mug, “aren’t you planning on nepotism hiring me, because we’re buds?”

“That isn’t even what that word means, Merle.”

“Isn’t it?”

Davenport stares into the tea, “is this made from the Earth plant?”

“Maybe?”

Davenport. 276. Captain and navigator; Specialization in mechanical engineering and arcane components combined with contemporary technology.

Previous Experience: Crewmate on the Lady Blue for twenty years. Graduated from Grensville University. Current staff at the Institute of Planar Research and Exploration.

Criminal Record: Unlawful resistance of orders from captain, raising of commotion on board ship while employed.

Davenport handed the six files over to Selune, “These are them.”

The halfling woman flips through them, eyebrows raising higher with each one she sees. “You’re sure you grabbed the right ones? A few of these I understand, but you do know we had the Issaiah Broler apply.”

He folds his hand in front of him, nodding. “I also know that during the interview he made me want to pour my tea on his lap. There’s no chance of getting the bond engine going with him. These are the six I picked. They’re all qualified- and the ones that are less educated in the specifics in the field I’m sure will pick up on the important information quickly. The Taaco twins already will give the bond engine a huge boost. Ms. Lucretia will ensure we have everything chronicled, something I’m sure you can appreciate, Selune. Mr. Bluejeans previous work shows he will thrive given the opportunities awaiting us. Mr. Highchurch is an educated man, and I trust him to keep the crew healthy and provide ample information on anything botany related we encounter, and I’m certain Mr. Burnsides will provide ample help in any task we show him how to do.” He sighs, glancing out the window of her office. There were a few people lingering outside in the courtyard of the Institute. “We have been given a tremendous opportunity to explore beyond what we can imagine, Selune. The last thing I want is to be bogged down by people stuck in their ways, who have been working in this field long enough to have their preconceived notions about what to expect and who will react badly when they’re proven wrong. I trust my own judgement in picking a crew, and I hope you trust my abilities to get these people ready to set sail in four months.”

What he doesn’t say is that he doesn’t want a bunch of stuffy jackasses on his ship. He’s not even sure picking all the over-qualified people would pass through the higher-ups' inspection of the crew. The people he picked were qualified enough to get a quick sign-off, but not too much. Anyone “overqualified” would probably get rejected. The ship had been built in basically six months. It’d get them off the ground, sure. It wasn’t going to explode on them once they got up there, but it wasn’t safe. There was a reason Davenport was the captain at all.

The six candidates in those files didn’t have a name for themselves as “important” to any stuffy scientific group or noble family. These people he picked were just that- people. A group of people who he believed deserved this opportunity. If anyone was getting the chance to make a name for themselves- to have the chance to redefine everything they know about the planar systems, he wanted to make sure they deserved the chance. A dangerous chance, sure. But what was science if not a little risky.

She sighs, opening the file on top. Her hand reaches for her pen, “Davenport, I got the final say on the name of the ship, I suppose the least I can do is give you final say on the crew.” She begins to write ‘approved’ at the top of the file, flipping through each one before giving him a pointed look. “But when I get angry calls about how you approved a bunch of nobodies and two people not even old enough to drink, I’m transferring them straight to your crystal.”

“And I will not be answering a single one.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Captain.”

#davenport #taako #lup #magnus burnsides #lucretia #barry bluejeans #merle highchurch #taz balance #the stolen century #my works