#there it is and it's undoubtedly less funny than the first one

[wildestdreamsblog]

Might as well be drunk in love: 1 of 2

Pairing: OT7 x Reader (CEO AU)

Summary: In which your friend thought it would be funny to give you a love potion, and in which seven CEOs accidentally drank it.

Warnings: Love Potion, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: This idea came to me when I went to the mountain and saw a love potion wine thingy being sold there. I think it's just the name of the wine, anyway! I really, really tried so hard to finish this in one post but it's already almost 8kish and we aren't even near the end sksks Happy New Year, my loves! I hope you'll like my gift for you <3

“Am I that hopeless?”

“What?” your friend asked in faux innocence, blinking her eyes owlishly at you. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, sweetie-“

You glared at her as you pointed in an exaggerated manner at the expensive pink tumbler she handed you mere seconds ago. The tumbler was too fancy, something that you wouldn’t buy for yourself and something that a certain handsome but infuriating CEO of yours was fond of carrying around.

However, what was insulting was the content of the said tumbler.

“I just gifted you that because you mentioned that it was beautiful-“

“Do you really think I’d end up alone?!”

“I don’t understand-“

“You literally just said that you put the love potion you bought in the mountains here!” you hissed lowly, keeping your eyes around the conference room as your department waited for the seven CEOs to arrive. You attempted to smile which more or less came out as a grimace at one of your colleagues who looked at you weirdly because of your mini-outburst. You weren’t exactly meek in nature, nor were you shy. However, you weren’t really keen on letting anyone overhear that your close friend bought you a love potion just because she thought you would end up alone.

That was embarrassing, even for you. So nope, you would for sure keep this under wraps.

Her brows furrowed harmlessly, although you could see a hint of smile on her lips, “You’re welcome?”

“I’m not thanking you-“

Just then, all the seven CEOs walked in the conference room, their presence commanding and silence reigned through the whole room. The first to enter was Min Yoongi. He was strolling in the room with his hands in his pocket. He was said to be the ace of the group who could smell bullshit despite it being miles away. He honestly looked like he would rather be anywhere else than here right now, though. It was the complete opposite of Jung Hoseok, also known as the sunshine of the group. He was smiling widely as he greeted the department and some employees by their names, yet you weren’t fooled by his beautiful smile. He was the strictest of them all. He was perfectionist down to the core and he was the last to forgive any mistake. The last of the hyung line to enter was the Kim Seokjin, the most beautiful man you have ever seen. It was like the room literally lightened up when he stepped in, like the birds sang melodically the moment he opened his eyes. His tall form and his movement were precise as he confidently sauntered to his seat which just so happened to be beside yours. He placed his pink tumbler on the table, so eerily similar to yours sans the engraved of his name on his tumbler. The beautiful asshole didn’t even spare you a glance. Your back unconsciously straightened when the lead CEO, Kim Namjoon, locked eyes with you for a moment when he entered the room.  He was said to be one of the most intelligent man in the whole country. You didn’t even doubt it one bit. He was capable, and his leadership was on another level. Should he decide to run for a political seat, you would undoubtedly vote for him. He had what it took, you thought. He was charismatic, calm and he knew when to listen.

The CEOs were dubbed by the employees to be divided by two: the Maknae and the Hyung line.

Finally, the maknae line entered. The three of them could always be found together. Park Jimin, the eldest of the line, who had one of the most beautiful smiles you ever saw. In fact, you once overheard your colleague that he interacted with her once and it left her thinking of what they really were. He was followed by Kim Taehyung and also labelled as his soulmate. He was expressionless as he entered, only cracking a smile when he turned to Jimin. You always thought that he could be a model or an actor if he wanted to. He definitely had the looks for it. Last to enter was the muscular Jeon Jungkook, also known as the golden maknae of the group. There were no contracts, mergers or acquisitions that he couldn’t convince the other party of signing. Not only was he capable of everything, but he excelled in everything. Thus, his nickname. However, despite the way he held himself during the negotiations, you observed him to be shy and highly reserved. All of a sudden, he looked up from his seat as though he could feel your eyes on him, his doe eyes curious as he took you in. He held your eyes for a moment until he blinked owlishly and looked down at his hands in curiosity.

Kim Namjoon sat in the middle, the others sitting beside him as they regarded the room with a powerful look.

 “Shall we begin?” Kim Seokjin asked, his eyes focused on the slides reflecting in the projector. 

Several headaches, passive aggressiveness from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin, disappointed sighs from Jin and Yoongi, difficult revisions ‘suggested’ by Taehyung, and corrections of miniscule errors of calculations by Jungkook later, the meeting finally ended.

You were weary as you trudged out of the conference room the CEOs were still in. They dismissed the department, expecting revisions within the day after tomorrow before discussing among themselves. It was honestly not a lot of time and you could already feel the lack of sleep you and the department would further experience under their tyranny. You willed yourself not to fall asleep as you walked to your desk, your close friend who was equally tired as you sat down on her seat beside your desk.

“I’m so tired. It’s like my soul and all the happiness I was able to experience in my young life were sucked out of me,” she lamented, her head resting on her desk. “If only the pay isn’t so greaaaat. ”

You nodded at what she said, already likening the CEOs to dementors in Harry Potter. Interacting with them made you aged several years. Additionally, meetings with them made you reconsider whether you needed a roof over your head, whether you needed to eat at least twice a day, whether you needed to drink clean water-

Speaking of…this wasn’t your tumbler. 

The horrifying realization made you stood up abruptly. You lifted the pink tumbler to your widening eyes, and by that name there was no denying that this wasn’t yours. Your sudden movement awoke your friend from her own misery, yet you didn’t have the time to explain. Without any further thought, you ran back to the conference room, screaming and crying about how you were definitely going to get fired.

Of course, the elevator was under maintenance.

Of course, you had to run numerous flights of stairs.

Of course, it was just your luck that you ran into your manager just when you reached their floor.

And of course, the moment you opened the door, there they were, innocently drinking from a glass, the tumbler emptied as it sat in the middle of the table.

“Don’t drink that!”

Taehyung was the first to turn to you, his dark expressionless eyes meeting yours with intense stubbornness. He kept his eyes on yours as gulped the contents wholeheartedly.

Oh heavens, no.

He put the glass down with a resounding thud which felt like a nail to your coffin. You turned to look at the other CEOs with shaky eyes and it was apparent that they definitely drank their fair share of whatever was in the tumbler. You, on the other hand, weren’t sure if it was really safe for consumption. You were going to kill your friend for her prank!

Their eyes were focused on you. You couldn’t even blame them. You shouted at them all while looking like a lunatic with your disheveled hair and huffing breaths like you did a marathon. Oh wait, yes you probably did by the amount of running you did today. They were probably thinking that you were mentally unfit for this job and oh my God you were going to lose your job.

“May we help you, Ms. Y/N?” Hoseok asked you politely, his eyes never wavering from yours which was…unusual. Despite him being the image of kindness and approachability, he never looked at his employees for longer than necessary. He was a man that possessed such discipline when it came to his time. This… was absolutely an unnecessary length of time for eye contact.

“T-that’s my drink,” you finally said after tearing your eyes from Hoseok’s. You pointedly looked at the empty pink tumbler, not minding the intense look Namjoon was giving you.

“We apologize, little one,” Namjoon broke the silence, his deep voice awakening you from your stupor. “Yours looked like hyung’s.”

Little one???

 Jimin smirked before running his hand through his blonde locks. His eyes were on yours as he looked up at you. “Yours undeniably taste better, though.”

Before you could even blink, Yoongi pointed at you with a rare smile on his lips. “You looked thirsty. Would you like to go to my office and drink with me?”

Was that…an invitation?!

You felt a hand tugged your sleeve. You turned, only to find beautiful doe eyes looking up at you from his seated form. “Hi! What year were you born?”

“199x-,“ you answered absentmindedly, you eyes roaming around the room when he tugged your sleeve again for your attention.

“You’re older than me!” he gasped; his excitement palpable as he stood up. He towered over you, his grin pleasant and you thought at that moment that he looked a lot like a bunny, or a kangaroo with the way his chest muscles were bulging over his office clothes. “Then you’re my noona! I can call you ‘noona’, right? Come on, take a seat here!”

He pulled the chair closer and tapped on it eagerly.

This was wrong, you thought. Was that thing really effective?! You dreaded to think that it was and you had a certain someone to torture once you get out of this room.

You were shaking your head before he could even pull you and you watched as his expression fell. Suddenly, he looked like a child that lost his toy with the way he was pouting. And nope, you couldn’t deal with that today. You looked at the man who hadn’t spoken one bit before smiling sheepishly at him. You placed his pink tumbler in front of him.

“I apologize. I must have switched yours with mine-“

His jaw tightened as he leaned in. Heavens, he was even more handsome this close. Kim Seokjin looked up at you with his ethereal eyes before resting his chin on his hand. “I’ve been drinking yours since the meeting, my love. It’s absolutely not your fault. Mine was coffee. This-“ he lifted the empty tumbler, “-is, I presume, a juice.”

Confusion further painted on your face, “You knew? Then why did you keep on drinking-“

He shrugged his broad shoulders, “It’s…addicting.”

“O-okay, then I’ll just leave yours here-“

“Tell me, my love. Do you like your job?”

Welp, here it was. You were so going to get fired. Oh my God, how were you going to feed your cat? He had such an expensive taste!

“I-“

“Because there’s an opening in my office. Would you like to be my secretary-“

“But hyung, you already have one-“

“Shut up, Taehyung,” he hissed at the now pouting man before turning to smile at you as though he didn’t berate his co-CEO in front of you. Chaos ensued as the boys fought and bickered for who would be your direct boss as you inched closer to the door.

“I’m just gonna go,” you whispered and before you could even reach the door, Taehyung looked up at you with his sharp eyes.

“Where are you going!”

“I-I have to finish the report this week, right?”

Namjoon stood up before declaring that he would finish it for you. And when you shook your head, “I am officially moving the deadline to next month! No need to stress, my little love!”

You blinked owlishly before doing what was best for you and your sanity- you ran away.

“So, they drank it?”

“Are you even listening to me?!” you shrieked over the phone, walking back in forth in front of your cat that was now looking at you as though he wanted to be adopted by a sane person and not you. “I just told you. They all drank it. All seven of them!”

You could hear the laughter in her voice which was not helping your panic, “I thought you didn’t believe love potions?”

“I-I didn’t! You didn’t see how they were acting! It was so peculiar!”

“Well, honey, how did they act?”

“Kindly! And it’s so weird!”

She paused, her silence making your heart beat faster. “Holy shit. It’s definitely effective. I need to go back there and buy another one for myself-“

“Focus! Is there an antidote or anything?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask my grandmother that lives there. I’ll let you know, but for the meantime, hold on very tight, okay?”

“What do you mean?!”

“Uhm. She said it’s very potent? I thought she was kidding. We’ll observe them tomorrow, okay? I’ll fix this.“

You were only able to sleep for two hours last night for two reasons: your work that you accomplished at eleven in the evening, leaving you six ample hours to sleep, and second, them.

Your phone didn’t stop ringing last night. You didn’t know how they obtained your number, and you dreaded to think that they used their position to direct the Human Resources department to give your personal number (yup, they definitely did).

You were about to fall asleep when your phone wouldn’t stop, and when you opened your eyes, you wished to all that was holy that you threw away the tumbler as soon as she handed it to you. Or that you didn’t choose the sit next to Seokjin.

You wished to God that your phone wasn’t blowing up now, but it certainly was.

Kookie: Hi, noona! Welcome to the Bangtan groupchat!

You squinted your eyes as the glaring screen illuminated with several messages from them.

Jwehope: Darling, are you a sprite? Because you've got the right amount of fizz to make my heart pop!

Jiminie: That’s so corny. I, for one, think that little one is a magician.

Jiminie: Because everytime I look at her, everyone just disappears.

V: Do you want to disappear, Jimin? Because I can arrange that.

Joonie: Ms. Y/N-shi, do you have a moment? I asked because I would like to discuss something.

At that, your trepidation grew. Among five, the lead CEO definitely held a serious tone. Did they find it as weird as you did that they were paying you attention? Did they trace it to that drink? Were you now in an even bigger mess than you initially thought?

You replied tensely: Yes, I am available, Kim Daepyonim.

WWH Jin: Why are you still awake? Beauty sleep is essential, my love!

Joonie: Great! I’d like to discuss the exponential growth of my feelings for you.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Suga: You’re all so hopeless. My Y/N would never fall for that.

Suga: On the other hand, would you like some Samsung stocks?

And that was why you never got to sleep peacefully last night. You sighed as you got on the bus. You opted to leave at an earlier hour because you wanted some time to think without the noise of the world and the buzzling movement of people commuting. You could feel a headache coming, but you prayed that it wouldn’t come through.

You should have known your prayers were seldom heard.

A vacant seat on the backside of the bus greeted you, and you were only too elated to finally sit throughout your commute. Peace, finally, you thought. You had barely settled in, barely breathed a sigh of relief when the once empty chair beside you was filled in by none other than him

“Fancy running to you here!” Taehyung noted in a deep voice as though this was not part of his plan, as though he didn’t wake up at a godforsaken hour just to ‘run’ to you.

You blinked, astonished by his presence. This was the last place you expected him to be. Hell, you didn’t even sure he ever experienced riding a bus! What the fuck was he doing here? Where was now your peace?!

“You-You’re here…” you trailed off, your eyes widening in shock as your brows furrowed in disbelief. You had foolishly thought that maybe, once they slept it off, then it would slowly be flushed out of their system. Oh, how wrong could you be. “Why?”

Taehyung smirked at you, his dark eyes taking you in. His dark hair was gelled up, his suit impeccable and without any crease in sight. He was somehow manspreading and you weren’t stoic enough not to notice the way his thick thigh was touching the side of yours. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re so…honest.”

He didn’t even look embarrassed by his honesty. It didn’t displace him; what did was the annoying pain in his heart as the hours passed by and you weren’t in his arms nor his sight. He hated it. It felt wrong!

The other boys weren’t fairing any better but oh well, to each of his own. He may or may have also drained their cars of gas so they couldn’t leave. He thought that no one needed you as much as he did.

“I surmised that you wouldn’t believe if I say I frequent this path just for the hell of it, correct?”

You nodded dumbfoundedly as speech eluded you. His candor was definitely out of this world, and he seemed to not care as he only stared right at you.

“Now,” he whispered before tucking your hair behind your ear. “Now I feel at peace. The annoying pain finally stops.”

What pain?!

Before you could even ask him to elaborate, his head leaned on your shoulder.

“Daepyonim Kim-“

“Just stay like this for a while. I didn’t get to sleep, my love,” he answered in his hoarse voice, his eyes already closed as he dozed off. You didn’t know why you let him. It absolutely was not due to the fact that you felt your heart skipped a beat when he laid his head on your shoulder. Nope.

You managed to run away from Taehyung once the two of you arrived at the company, simply by practicing your non-existent ninja moves and awkwardly slipping out of the elevator just as the doors closed, his face an image of betrayal and panic. You breathed a sigh of relief before running out of the building. You still had an hour before you were needed, you for sure wouldn’t spend it inside that establishment or you would end up crying.

You were focused on your phone as you read real life stories of love potions. The sharing of stories kept on increasingly became more serious and scarier. You had yet to find a post about antidote. You weren’t 100% set on it being real, but the way Taehyung acted today was not right.

For heaven’s sake, the man barely said any word to you for the whole year you worked in their company. He had only looked at you before, and now he was outright going to you. But maybe, the other CEOs weren’t affected?

It was a hopeful thought, and you felt yourself smile a little- which of course vanished just as quickly when you looked up from your seat in the coffee shop to see Park Jimin sitting in front of you. You didn’t even know how he moved so smoothly and quietly. He was smiling at you, his head tilted to the side. His blonde hair stood out as the sunlight hit his hair perfectly.

“Good morning, beautiful!”

“Daepyonim Park,” you gasped both at shock and well, his beauty. His smile turned wider before he tried to hide it as he sipped from his coffee cup.

“Just Jimin, little one. I presume Taehyung- the bastard who will soon be six feet underground for what he did, by the way- already went to see you?”

You nodded, “He did…”

He scrunched his nose before resting his chin on his hand as he leaned into you. His pouty lips were protruding even more as he looked over his long lashes to you. My God, this man was so charming and his movements seemed so sensual. You didn’t know what it was about him, but you finally, finally understood your coworker who had a major crush on him for years based on one interaction.

“He’s so bad, my love. Did he tell you that he drained all our cars’ gas tank at two in the morning?” he asked in a conversational manner as though it didn’t faze him. His other hand reached to yours, slowly entangling them together and giggling a little at the slight size difference. He found them perfect and cute.

God, you were so endearing, he thought to himself.

“He did what?!”

He nodded slightly, holding your hand up to inspect further before quietly taking a picture of your clasped hands. You were so out of it that you just let it be.

“What Taehyung failed to account for was the existence of taxis. He only managed to anger six men, so good luck to him today. But enough about him,” he stated before looking into your eyes. Being the sole focus of Jimin was just too much, you thought. He was bigger than life, and his inherent appeal was palpable that even girls around the coffee shop kept on stealing glances on him. “I miss you so much today that my heart and head hurt so much, yeobo. I thought that I was going to die if I don’t see you.”

Your brows furrowed in concern before pulling your hand from him and you could have sworn you heard him whimpered. You laid the back of your hand on his forehead, trying to see whether he had fever today. He felt fine, you concluded, as you looked closer to see if he looked sick.

Maybe the ‘love potion’ caused these symptoms? Taehyung did mention experiencing pain.

You managed to escape from Park Jimin when he insisted on buying you pastries, and you in turn ran to the exit like your life depended on it. And perhaps, it did because you were running late. You only had fifteen minutes and the coffee shop you went to was not fifteen-minute away from the office. You were running like a lunatic, waving at the taxi that finally took pity on you. You were about to open the door when a large and tattooed hand slammed it shut.

You looked up in anger, ready to berate the man who did such a rude gesture when you recognized who it was.

Right then and there, and despite it being barely eight in the morning, you already met the entirety of maknae line. Jeon Jungkook looked like a badass with his all-black getup, his hands wrapped in motorcycle gloves, and his hair carelessly falling around his face. Despite all that, he looked innocent with the way he grinned at you, his nose all scrunched up when he greeted you.

“I’ll give you a ride, noona. Come on,” he stated as he gestured at the black motorcycle haphazardly parked on the side. You had never ridden one, and you didn’t want to start now. On the other hand, the taxi was already driving away and you could only look at it with longing.

You decided that you could afford being late just this once instead of riding with him. You were shaking your head.

“But you’re going to be late. I’m going there, too, so it’s no bother if that’s what you’re thinking-“

“No it’s just… I like to walk during the mornings…really.”

He frowned at you as he removed his gloves, “Didn’t you read the memo about tardiness, Y/N?”

“What memo?”

He was typing rapidly on his phone, “About how there would be 50% deduction of the salary should there be any tardiness this month…didn’t you know?” he asked innocently as he finished typing, his doe eyes trained on yours. Coincidentally, the moment he pocketed his phone was the moment your phone dinged.

“I don’t think that’s legal, though. I haven’t received the memo-“

You looked down at your phone, and there it was, an email about that. How could it only reach you now?!

You looked up in panic, and he looked at you with a hint of satisfaction before covering it with an innocent smile. “Shall we? I promise I don’t bite.” Yet.

He drove like a lunatic and you thought that you would really rather be late than experience a thrill such as this. Of course, it was only natural that you didn’t want to put your arms around him. You technically didn’t know him at a personal level and Jungkook did know that.

So, of course, like the intelligent man that he was, he only did the thing that made sense. He sped up, and he chuckled as your adorable screams reached his ears. Your equally lovely arms were now wrapped around him as they should always be and for once since yesterday, the ache in his heart eased. He felt at peace.

He giggled when you finally realized that this was not the path to the office, but in his mind, his other hyungs already got to spend time with you. Shouldn’t he too?

Jungkook helped you get off his bike, his eyes closely watching your expressions as you took the scenery around you. It was quiet despite the busy world below. The overlooking garden he brought you to was enchanting and it remained untouched by the quick-pacing world below. Jungkook couldn’t help but mirror your smile.

“It’s even more beautiful at night, noona. I come here when things get quite overwhelming.”

You turned to him as the two of you sat down. He had laid his leather jacket for you to sat on, a true gentleman you would think if only you weren’t aware that he drank the potion. “The golden maknae gets overwhelmed, too?”

He scrunched his nose at you before softly pinching your nose, “Of course, I do. I’m only human. I was trained when I was only thirteen…it gets too much sometimes. But it’s okay. I like it, and I like the hyungs, too. That’s why I cannot get mad at Tae.”

“He didn’t just empty the gas tank, but he also hid the keys. For added measure, he deflated my tire. He only did that to me. Should I be mad, little one?” he asked with the perpetual charming and shy smile on his face. “Ahh, but I cannot stay mad at him. I do understand him.”

“You do?”

He nodded eagerly, “I would have done the same thing if only he didn’t do it first. You do make us crazy, little one. Why is that?”

It was an eventful morning, and you weren’t foolish enough to think that the rest of your day would be any different. You friend was still yet to be found as she was preoccupied with researching for further information about that potion, which she should have done before giving it to you!

You sighed for the million time as you stared at your food. You were sitting alone in the company’s cafeteria as you were eating your late lunch. The workload was just too much today despite Kim Namjoon’s departmentwide directive that the revision would be presented the following month. Your superiors did find it peculiar and thought that the head CEO was simply playing with them and that he would cruelly demand the output the next day. See, even his reputation preceded him, you thought. It wasn’t in his nature to be lenient when it came to deadlines.

The sudden gentle thud of food a lunch box made you jumped from your seat, your eyes widening as you saw that it was none other than the eldest of the CEOs, Kim Seokjin. Disbelief held you captive. It was an unexpected sight – the CEO, whose tailored suits and polished demeanor spoke of boardroom authority, now standing before you with a container of something that smelled absolutely delicious.

He smiled at you as he took the empty seat in front of you. He busied himself with laying and opening the numerous food containers in front of you. Your eyes widened at all the homecooked meals in front of you.

“I got up at four in the morning to prepare all these. I still don’t know what your favorites are, but we’ll figure it out as we go, right?” he asked, busying himself with putting food on your plate. “Always eat on time, little one. It’s bad to skip meals.”

“W-why did you cook all these?”

He blinked owlishly at your question; surprise written on his face. “Well, my love, I couldn’t sleep and I felt this stabbing pain by the mere thought that you weren’t eating enough.”

“You don’t have to do that-“

“So from now on, I decided that I’ll always cook for you,” he declared strongly before lifting his chopsticks with vegetables to your mouth. Suddenly, you felt eyes on you.

How could you forget that you were in the company?! Your head turned, looking at the employees who were all watching your interaction with the unobtainable CEO. They were whispering and you knew by the end of the hour, everyone in the company would know of this. How could you live once they had the antidote? You could already hear the rumors about how you were just for their entertainment once they tossed you aside.

You were about to stand up when Seokjin gently gripped your chin. He turned you to him, his beautiful eyes willing you to listen to him. “Don’t mind them, little love. Pay attention to me only. Nothing and no one matter outside us, okay?”

It wasn’t okay because none of this was real. On the other hand, the meal tasted heavenly…

---

If they weren’t going to get sick, you definitely would. You felt like you would collapse any moment.

The amount of stress was taking a toll on you. You felt like you needed to be on your guard, lest another CEO would ambush you. You were just human! And they all looked like they stepped out of a photoshoot, or that they were ethereal beings that decided to go down on the mortal realms. The way they were showering you with attention and declaring their attraction to you and the way they said that not being with you felt like a stabbing pain in their hearts were all getting to you, damn it!

You were just a girl.

And once this all ended, you were dreading to think of what would be left of you now that you saw them on a closer and more personal level. You wanted to think that this couldn’t get any worse, but it did as you read the most elusive of the CEOs’ email to you.

Hi, my little one,

I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to request your presence at a meeting in my office to discuss my growing feelings for you today at 2:00 pm. Your insights and expertise on this matter would be highly valuable to the discussion, and I believe your input will contribute significantly to our objectives of being together forever and ever.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation, and I look forward to our discussion.

Best regards,

CEO Min Yoongi

He had this faraway look on his face when you were led by his secretary in his office. His hands were in his pocket as he looked at the bustling city from his floor to ceiling window. His black long hair was sleeked back, revealing his stoic face. The dark suit he was wearing did nothing but compliment his form. You had never noticed how broad his shoulders were until now.

He looked like he was not paying attention, yet he turned around the moment that the door closed behind you. Min Yoongi looked at you for a moment too long that you started to shift uncomfortably. His attention was just too much, and you couldn’t act like you were no longer affected by any of it.

And from the looks of it, the moment you blushed was the exact moment his face softened. He gestured for you to take the seat in front of his desk. He mirrored your movement, now sitting on his expensive swivel chair. He clasped his hands and rested them on the mahogany table.

“Daepyonim Min-“

He held his finger up, asking for your silence before spilling what you thought to be both outrageous and the most beautiful and heartfelt thing anyone had ever said to you in this life. “You’re beautiful, and not just in the way that you look. No. You’re beautiful in the way that the sun finally shines after a month of storms; you’re beautiful in the way that the waves keep on going back to the shore even after they were pushed away in the desire to kiss the sand; you’re beautiful in the way that flowers bloom after the unforgiving winter coldness. And that is why I’m giving you Samsung stocks.”

Confusion settled over you like a fog. You had almost melted from what felt like a poetry when he once again brought up his stocks idea from last night.

“I-I really don’t need Samsung stocks, Daepyonim Min…”

He looked aghast at your statement, before reaching over the table and holding your hand in his particularly large ones. “Call me Yoongi, my love. Or better yet, call me your other half,” he implored you and he only let go when you nodded in confusion.

“Also, nonsense! Everyone needs that stock, little one. Besides, nothing speaks more about my love for you than giving you all my Samsung stocks. And above and beyond, it filled me with this immense pain knowing that you’re just out there not owning any of their stocks. I couldn’t breathe with the mere thought of you going without.”

“Excuse me?”

And with a stoic face, he said, “Congratulations, little one. You’re now a millionaire."

At six in the evening, the head CEO finally made an appearance. You did find it peculiar that you had a fairly quiet afternoon after meeting with Yoongi. Your brows were pinched together as you were lost in thought when the elevator opened, revealing the head CEO. He had yet to notice you, his large and imposing form leaning against the side of the elevator. His eyes were close. You noticed that his white sleeves were already folded, his tie already loosened as his black suit laid on his thick forearms.

Kim Namjoon was the image of weariness, and you thought he looked quite pale. Your growing concern for him was what made you stepped inside the lift rather than running away yet again. The sound of your heels as you stepped in was the only sound in the elevator. You pressed for the ground floor and you saw that the floor for basement three was already pressed. Perhaps, the head CEO was going home now. Now that you were standing almost next to him, you only further affirmed how small you were next to him. He was already larger than life, and the way he always held himself exuded confidence made him more striking…and manly in your eyes.

The ride was fairly quiet, and through it all, he had his eyes closed. You kept on stealing glances, thinking that maybe among the other CEOs, he took in the least amount of potion. You felt lighter with that thought. At least you only had five men you needed to find the antidote for. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen the sunshine of the group, Jung Hoseok yet.

The elevator dinged, signifying your floor. You had taken merely a step when you felt a large hand completely encircling your wrist, effectively stopping you from leaving. You automatically turned, startled to find him with his eyes trained on you. He looked way too alert for someone who had his eyes closed for the past minute. You gasped when he pulled you closer to him as he pressed the close button.

“Daepyonim Kim,” you called him as you craned your neck to look at his draconic eyes.

“Leaving so soon?" he asked, his deep voice carrying a subtle mix of amusement and curiosity.

You hesitated, the words tumbling out of your mouth as he caught you off guard. “I... uh, yes. I was heading to the lobby. I’m about to leave for the night," you stammered, attempting to regain composure.

A playful smile curved his lips as he completely blocked the exit. leaned against the elevator frame, effectively blocking your exit, which sounded successful as the door closed. “I missed you,” he breathed as he took you in, his thumb gently running over the inside of your wrist as though touching you brought him immense comfort. “A lot. It was hell without seeing you the whole day.”

You blinked owlishly and you wanted nothing but to hide your face from the intensity of his gaze, but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he smiled so gently at you, the dents on his cheeks making an appearance which made him more charismatic that you couldn’t say no when he told you that he would take you home.

But he didn’t exactly say which home because you ended up in what turned out to be the CEOs’ huge ass mansion. Your eyes roamed around the mansion, the high ceilings and the fancy marble flooring all screamed wealth that you didn’t even dare of dreaming to have. He confidently led you to what appeared to be a grand dining room. The room bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candlelight, casting a warm and intimate ambiance. The delicate flames danced gracefully, creating patterns of light and shadow that played across the table. The air carried the subtle fragrance of the candles, a mix of vanilla and subtle hints of lavender.

The dining table was adorned with crisp, white linen, and the flickering candles were nestled in elegant holders, their glow reflecting off polished silverware and crystal glasses. Each flame seemed to dance in harmony with the gentle melody playing in the background, creating a soothing symphony that enveloped the space.

He pulled a chair for you, and instead of sitting across from you, he sat beside you. He chuckled lowly when he caught your questioning eyes, “I have been apart from you for so long today, little one. I need this to feel alive.”

You straightened up in vigilance that the other CEOs would show up. “Are the others here, too?”

He looked at you like you said something funny. The chef he hired today gently laid all the dishes he made, explaining about each dish before wishing the two of you an enjoyable night. Namjoon told you that he wouldn’t feed you any of the food he made unless he enrolled himself in a culinary school first, hence the chef. He waited for the chef to leave before turning his full attention to you.

“I shipped them off to Antartica.”

“You what?!”

“I simply said we were flying to Japan for a quick meeting. They believed. I lied. End of. So anyway, how many children do you think we should have?”

My God, you wanted so bad to lay on your bed and sleep the whole night. You though about filing for sick leave tomorrow, you were long overdue for a leave, anyway. Kim Namjoon was kind enough to drop you off. However, it was only after you promised him that you would talk about possible schools for your future children that he let you go.

On the other hand, your friend finally called and you were sorely disappointed to know more about what she gathered today. Her grandmother had to ask the other folks that lived in the mountain about your situation and it somehow appalled you that you weren’t the first to experience this.

It was, at the same time, sad to see people resort to this from loneliness.

Was an artificial, forced love and companionship better than being alone?

There were both an instant and quite a long-term effect of the potion, she said. The instant was mostly upon ingesting the liquid. Once they locked eyes with the owner of the potion which so happened to be you since she technically gifted it to you, then the immense attraction would start. You thought that this explained why the seven of them all acted that way in the conference room.

The long-term effects were what caused you to groan all the way up to your apartment. And right then and there, you saw what the long-term effects were. As you trudged up to your apartment, you felt the exhaustion to your very bones. You were looking forward to a hot shower in an effort to wash away the problems that stemmed from a simple prank when you saw who was leaning against your front door.

The last of the CEO, Jung Hoseok, was leaning against the door, his head bowed down as he clutched his heart. He looked like he was in unfathomable pain, his lips almost the shade of white. And your friend’s words echoed in your mind.

‘Prolonged non-contact with the object of their desires will cause them to be physically ill.’

You hurried up to him, holding his shoulders as you looked at him. You were crouched down in front of him, peeking up at his pained face.

“S-sir, are you okay?”

His chest tightened, his face contorted, a mask of agony etched with lines of distress. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, evidence of the intense effort to draw in even the smallest amount of air. The hallway fell silent, save for the raspy, labored breaths that escaped him.

‘They may try to fight the unexplainable feelings they have, and this will only cause them harm. In fact, if they go without you for a long period of time, their body will suffer for a long time.’

“Hoseok? Can you hear me? I’ll call for help, okay?” you tried to make yourself sound calm for his sake, but seeing him struggling, desperate to gasp for air was making you panic. Your negligence did this, you thought. You should have made sure that you were holding the right tumbler that day.

You were about to turn to call for help when you felt a hand pulled you closer, and before you knew it, he had his arms around you. He was still breathing hard, but you noticed that the shallow breathings were farther and apart as though he could finally breath. The moment you touched him, the moment you looked into his eyes was the exact moment that a wave of relief swept over him as the oppressive grip on his chest began to loosen. The moment that you called his name was the moment that the torment that had shackled his every breath gradually lifted, replaced by the sweet release of a deep, calming respiration.

“Don’t leave me.”

‘However, every interaction with you would only make their attraction grow further.’

You placed a glass of water in front of the man who now looked perfectly fine as though he wasn’t fighting for his very life outside your apartment. He was offering you reassuring smiles as he gently watched you. He was surrounded by sacks of expensive cat food, toys, and vitamins. And of course, your cat was only too happy with them, evident by the excessive purring he was emitting as he climbed on the CEO’s lap.

“I did hear that you have an adorable son int the form of a cat,” he started as he petted your spoiled cat. “As his future daddy, I would like to provide for him as early as now.”

You didn’t pay attention to whatever he was saying, and instead, you sat next to him to see if he was really fine. The paleness was now exchanged by a healthy look on skin. It was as though that didn’t happen.

“Hoseok, listen…the reason that you are all acting this way to me, the girl you didn’t even notice before this, was because-“

“Because of that drink, right?” he interrupted you, wearing a soft smile that conveyed he harbored no anger.

“Y-you know…”

He nodded before tilting his head, “I do. It’s weird, as you said. The thing is, all of us suspects the same thing. You, little one, only confirmed it.”

“I didn’t mean for any of these to happen-“

The soft look he had was now dropped, revealing the strict CEO that everyone knew him to be. “Regardless, little one. You need to take responsibility over your actions.”

“H-how?”

“You’re going to live with us until all of this fades. You’re going to take responsibility over us, my love.”

Part 2

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts yandere #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #yandere min yoongi #kim seokjin fic #ot7 x reader #kim seokjin x you #kim namjon fic #jung hoseok fic #kim taehyung fic #park jimin fic #jeon jungkook fic #kim seokjin x reader #bts x reader #park jimin x you #kim taehyung x you #jeon jungkook x you #bts x you #jeon jungkook x reader #kim taehyug x reader #park jimin x reader

[rizsu]

fuck my life; hold me tight. model!gojo satoru ⭒ fem-reader.

satoru came back after his two-week long trip for his modeling gigs. he's the same, but who's this ‘saori’ lady with a thorny stick up her ass? wc : 6.2k · usage of y/n.

+ love ‘su: thou shall not lie, thou shall not cheat! 😝 i left this without the small font bc it's lowkey a lot tbh

one › who's this?

undoubtedly, today’s the most important. you’ve been impatiently crossing off the days on the calendar until satoru returns. familiar with your excitement, he called you prior to hold you back from coming to the airport. it was strange, but nevertheless you thought less of it.

with your day now free, you spent it preparing for satoru. his favorite dishes were made, charcuterie board prepared, and the series you both watched together can be resumed. every time the thought of seeing satoru with your eyes again comes about, you get goosebumps. it’s almost sickening how he’s plagued your mind, becoming the balance-shifting object for your moods.

your eyes shift to the clock, realizing that there’s only an hour until he walks through the door. 4:00 p.m it reads, you’ve yet to shower — let alone choose an outfit. some may say your actions are too much, but nothing is ever “too much” when it comes to satoru. have you lost your marbles? not all, but perhaps you’ve become slightly boy crazy (with justifying reasons!)

4:58 p.m: you’re anxiously switching between apps on your phone, trying your best to not stare at the clock on the top of the screen. it’s insanely tempting, but you won’t give in. there’s no better distraction than window shopping on websites for items you’ll never set free with your credit card.

the door slams open, and soon a cheerful voice follows. they both jerk you out of your trance, leaving you with the pair of a palpitating heart and widened eyes.

“BABY!” a disheveled satoru shouts, recklessly dropping his luggage at the front of the door.

he walk-runs past the furniture, dodging the table corners until he’s nearing the sofa you’re situated on.

“sa-SATORU?!” you’re shocked even though you expected his arrival.

you unconsciously stood up, abandoning your phone as you moved to him. satoru mirrors you, being the first of the two to engulf you into a heartfelt hug. he squeezes you hard, burying his head into the junction between your neck and shoulder. his hand cups the back of your head, pressing softly into your hair.

“i missed you,” he whispers, letting out a shaky breath. “it took an entire week to sleep properly without you.”

“you’re addicted,” you joked, lifting a hand to ruffle his already-ruffled hair.

“not funny.”

“okay, okay, sorry. i missed you too.” you pull away from satoru, smiling at his pouting expression.

your hands move to his shoulders, gripping his puffed jacket to pull them down. he helps you by moving his arms out of it. once it’s off, he rolls his shoulders back, rolling his neck around to stretch his muscles. he’s been cooped up in a sitting position for twelve hours; the last thing he needs are stiff muscles and a sore body.

content with the new, relaxed feeling, satoru looks around. everything’s the same, as expected. nothing changed other than the charcuterie board on the coffee table and the dishes on the dining table. immediately, he recognizes the food. how could he not? it’s the food he labeled as his favorite even when it wasn’t.

in multiple attempts to please your mother on the first meeting, he went along with her words.

the soap opera she’s caught up in? oh, he’s been watching it too!

short videos she found on social media that are painfully unfunny? actually, it’s hilarious!

the lunch she cooked? it’s now something he’s been craving for weeks.

the salad? to you, he hates greens since they’re ‘flavorless’. to your mother? golly! put more on his plate!

he spent the week at your parents’ gaslighting himself until it became the truth. he became a new man after the meeting. lemon water was his new go-to (influenced by your mother) and card games are his forte (influenced by your father).

ever since then the main dish your mother cooked up became his true favorite. maybe it’s because of the warmth that came with it, or maybe it’s because he’s still gaslighting himself. nonetheless, he’ll always eat it.

“did you make all this yourself?” he questions, stealing a bite before you could’ve plated his food.

“hands off,” you slapped his hand, “i didn’t, though. i asked my mother.”

“ah, my mother-in-law. i miss your parents, too. we should visit,” he suggests, rubbing his hand that you heartlessly slapped.

“mhm, soon,” you agreed, sliding his plate to him. “let’s sit and eat.”

──

the plates are cleared, the charcuterie board’s three-quarters finished, and you’re on the final episode of season one of the show. satoru’s head is on your lap, busying his hands by poking at your thigh’s skin. your hand’s following suit, busying itself by playing with his hair strands.

the show was long forgotten, being demoted to background noise the moment you asked satoru to tell you all about the trip. you’ve heard the details beforehand during your calls, but it’s different to hear it face-to-face.

you intently listened as he talked, giving him mhms and yeahs to let him know you’re listening.

“oh, and i met a new co-worker? friend? i dunno but we’re acquainted now,” he speaks, looking up to you.

“really? i’m glad. is he a model too?”

“yeah, but it’s a she.”

you paused for a second. a she? that’s new. you’re not the type to anger yourself over your boyfriend befriending the opposite gender, but you’d still like to see her.

“i’d like to meet her,” you said, looking down at him with a soft smile.

“are you free in two days? i have a meeting that day. she’ll probably be there — no chances though, i never asked about her schedule...” his voice trails off as he ponders, trying to remember if she mentioned anything about being in a meeting after the trip.

“of course i’m free. i took a sick leave on purpose for this week.”

satoru laughs at the new information. you took a sick leave just for him? at your position of head assistant? he’ll never find someone who loves him like you do.

— two days after : the meeting.

you’re walking hand-in-hand with satoru through the hallway. you’re a little — no, incredibly nervous. it’s your first time officially meeting satoru’s business buddies. they know of you, you know of them, but that’s about it.

you dressed yourself up professionally, trying to match the classy rich vibes. it’s times like these you appreciate satoru’s over-the-top, multiple-zeros gifts. you’ll have to remember to give him special thanks for this.

“okay, we’re here,” he says, knocking you out of the nervousness.

“if you start feeling uncomfortable, squeeze my hand, okay? i’ll take you out of there,” reassuring you, he gifts you a peck on your forehead, topping it off with his genuine smile that’s only for you.

his hand turns the door knob, walking in with his model smile as he greets the members. you’re tailing behind him, trying to hide. the sudden energy shift didn’t match yours, so your instinct to hide behind satoru kicked in. unluckily for you, your boyfriend was set to formally introduce you. he uses a hand to hold your wrist, pulling you to the side of him.

“you brought a plus one with you i see,” a guy notes the obvious, smiling at your shyness. he already has an idea of who you are.

his words catch the attention of others. within seconds every pair of eyes landed on you. unfamiliar with the amount of attention, you squeezed satoru’s hand, placing a fake smile to mask your uncomfort.

“nuh uh, get your own. that’s too much staring,” satoru complains, squeezing back your hand. he steps in front of you, leading you both to two reserved seats at the table.

“i’m assuming that lady must be the one you talked everyone’s ears off about,” a lady suggests this time, stretching out her arm to you as she’s on the opposite side, but directly in front of you.

you stretched your arm out to her, accepting her handshake.

“i’m (y/n), pleasure to meet you.”

“it’s a pleasure to meet you too. call me mia,” she introduces herself, ignoring the heated glare of a man who doesn’t like sharing.

similarly, you’re ignoring the gut feeling of someone glaring through your soul. the situation feels similar to your teacher staring at you during an exam when you secretly have cheating materials with you.

the meeting continues on. you were introduced to everyone and met with questions. some complained about satoru to you, and others asked how you’re able to tolerate him. of course, satoru took offense. he flipped them off with the finger that has your matching rings on.

an hour later, you’re in the building’s cafeteria with satoru. it was okay; the atmosphere was friendly — minus that one person who glared at you. you don’t know who they are, nor what they look like as you avoided that corner. your social battery is drained, and you’re hungry for a light snack.

“baby, can you order for us? i gotta let it go. real bad,” satoru says, balling his fingers into a fist to hold back the feeling.

“uh, sure, but what do you mean let it go?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“piss, baby. piss. love you, bye!”

with that, satoru speeds off, almost colliding with another worker in the process.

gathering your order, you looked around for an unoccupied table to sit at. unfortunately, they’re all unoccupied. it’s a little awkward, but you’re left with no other option than to ask someone if satoru has his own office.

“ah, mia!” you called out, spotting her outside the smoking room.

“(y/n)! need anything before i smoke?” she smiles, pointing at the door.

“um, do you know if satoru has his own office?” contrary to your nervousness, your voice came out perfectly.

“take the elevator and press number ten. turn left and stop until you’re at the third room; that’s his office.”

“thanks much, mia!” you gave her a bright smile, turning around to find your new destination.

“no problem, (y/n),” she waves you off, entering the smoking room.

you followed mia’s directions, taking the elevator to floor ten and entering the third room on the left. it’s no doubt that the office is satoru’s. the pineapple-framed mirror confirmed it all. that mirror is the same mirror satoru try to convince you that it’s “in style”.

settling down in his office, you can finally be at rest. placing the food his desk, you plopped yourself down on his chair.

‘it’s comfortable, but surely it doesn’t take that long to pee,’ you think, suspecting that satoru may have gotten caught up in a conversation.

the door clicks, opening to reveal someone. your mind thought of satoru, but it was indeed not. it wasn’t even the right gender. a beautiful girl entered; her aura was a cool, mysterious, “i’m better than you” feel. confusion poured down on you. who is she and why is she here?

you don’t strike a conversation. instead, you simply watch her walk into the office until she’s in front of the desk.

“do you need some—”

“you must be gojo satoru’s bitch.”

“excuse me?” not only were you cut off, you were called a bitch. clearly, she’s not on friendly terms, and who does she think she is?

she looks down at you, placing a taunting smile on her lips. you don’t care since you’re the one on his chair, but who is she calling a bitch?!

“compared to satoru, you’re… low, to put it kindly!”

“okay, but who asked you that?” you questioned her, rolling your eyes.

if you were in a fantasy novel, she’d be the main villainess who’s engaged to the male lead for political reasons. you’re the female lead who’ll become victim to the villainess’ antics as the male lead, satoru, fell for you.

flustered at your sentence, she scoffs. compared to the shy persona you displayed at the meeting, you’re all bitchy now.

“i don’t need someone to ask me something in order to speak my mind.”

“oh my god. i didn’t ask you that, nor do i want your input.” you rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink.

“i don’t like you. you’re not good enough for satoru,” she voices her (unwanted) opinions, scanning you up and down.

“it’s gojo to you, missy. who’s the girlfriend here?” you noted her mistakes while making your position obvious.

she rolls her eyes, offended at being called ‘missy.’

“and it’s saori, not missy. get it right.”

“why must you disturb my tranquility with your nonsense ? please exit, missy.”

“i said it’s—”

“saori? why are you here?” satoru enters, removing his coat in the process.

“that’s what i asked her,” you said, looking at her up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“i wanted to meet your girl-friend, satoru!” suddenly her tone changed. the space she put between the word girlfriend didn’t go unnoticed by you either.

this is ridiculous.

he slowly nods, thinking that the deliberate pause between girlfriend might’ve been his imagination.

“oh, i was gonna introduce you guys. you beat me to it,” he pouts, walking over next to you to give you another kiss.

you smiled at satoru but smirked at saori.

irritated, she huffs, “i’ve seen enough, call me when you’re free from that, satoru.”

both of you watch her walk out in silence. satoru’s now confused.

“what’s that about?” he asks, scratching his head.

“is she the friend you talked about?” you answered his question with your question.

“yeah, but i don’t know why she has such an attitude all of a sudden. did her boyfriend argue with her?”

“pfft— she has a boyfriend?” you scoffed, learning that she’s not only the bitch, but potentially unloyal. why else would she bother you, who’s satoru’s girlfriend, if it wasn’t because she likes him?

he nods, shrugging off the curiosity to know what’s with her shift in behavior.

“whatever, let’s eat, baby.”

──

it’s way past your bedtime, and you’ve just arrived home. the day was eventful, minus the missy encounter, but nonetheless you had fun.

although you’re glad to be acquainted with satoru’s peers, you couldn’t shake off the suspicion that sao-whatever-her-name-is has been making advances to satoru while your presence was absent.

you can tell that satoru holds no affection to her, but you’re still worried. satoru’s loyal, yes, but he’s an oblivious idiot. if he nor you isn’t the one flirting, he wouldn’t notice anything. that’s why her behavior change whenever he’s around is seen as “friendly” and not “i want you so bad” to him.

you sighed, shaking your head to rid it of her. what’s important is that satoru isn’t interested in her. you can sleep with that comforting image in mind.

now that satoru’s home, you’ve been attached to each other like the north and south pole of two magnets. inseparable. it’s been like this for a week, but something changed.

two › is it just you or…?

the sao-still-don’t-remember-her-name missy has been ringing satoru’s phone down whether it’s by messages, voice messages, or calls. at this point, it’s annoying. satoru himself was one call away from blocking her, but he couldn’t.

aside from satoru himself, she’s the other key member in the new project. if he suddenly draws a line between them it can become what kills the project. thankfully, the conversations have been limited to work-related topics… or so you believe.

you’re on the sofa, indulging in a new show as you peeled an apple. the show’s plot became so intense that your eyes are glued to the television instead of the apple.

satoru jugs down the stairs, grabbing his car keys and running over behind you. he bends over to place a kiss on your cheek, notifying you that he’ll be meeting up with saori. not paying any mind to him, you bid him goodbye without thinking.

it’s only after he exits the door you register what he said. ‘meeting up with saori? that bitch? ew,’ you shuddered at the thought of her. she’s not scary, definitely not ugly, but sure as hell is a bitch. at least you remember her name now.

──

after that day, satoru’s free time has been occupied with her. you’re now sure it’s not “just work” that’s been going on. you trust satoru, but you don’t trust her.

there’s no reason for someone to meet up with their co-worker every day for work. work is never that interesting. it’s not like they’re in charge of the project either; the project is within the authority of mia and some other guy.

everything about the situation at hand has been bothering you. was she attached to satoru like this during the trip? were they always within arms length of each other? not even you were that clingy to satoru.

the idea to raise alarm bells to satoru crossed you, but the potential argument that may follow is what has you hesitating. you don’t want to suspect satoru’s friend, but her behavior needs to be discussed.

you waited until satoru’s home, showered, and comfortable in bed to bring forth the question. your palms are sweating, but it needs to be done.

“say satoru, can i ask you something?” you hesitated, looking at him.

“yeah, why not?” he replies, eyes stuck on his phone.

“what do you think of that girl?”

“who’s that— do you mean saori?” he laughs, “she’s cool, if i were to be honest. she’s fun to hang around with.”

“has it ever crossed your mind that she likes you?” you cold sweat, worried that he’ll take offense.

“who wouldn’t like me? i’m sexy,” he jokes, winking at you.

you playfully slap his chest. “i’m being serious here!”

“i don’t think she does— or at least i hope she doesn’t. i don’t want to be her boyfriend’s archenemy,” satoru truthfully responds, feeling his pores raise at the thought of a taken man’s enemy.

if you were to like another man satoru would honestly write a will and erase himself from history. so, it’s only natural that he hopes saori doesn’t become her boyfriend’s pain.

you hum, satisfied with his answer. it’s clear as day now. satoru doesn’t view her in any romantic way, but you know she has a thing or two for him.

not wanting to push your luck, you end it there. pulling satoru’s phone away to throw your body on his.

three › wicked witch of the west.

it’s almost as if the conversation with satoru triggered a chain reaction. for whatever the reason may be, you’ve now seen this woman more than your own parents. she invites herself over almost every day.

every time you open the door it’s her snobby face. it sickens you. you ordered a package recently and whenever someone knocks on the door, you think it’s the delivery guy, but nope! it’s the wicked witch of the west!

today it happened again. someone knocked, you opened, missy appears, satoru unwillingly follows her for the sake of the project, you’re left with murderous intent.

it’s time you talk about this with someone. that’s right, you’ve kept your worries inside you but this is just too much! there’s no reason for a taken lady to follow another man like she’s his shadow — far less for a taken man!

frustrated, you phoned your friend.

“hey, utahime.”

“(y/n), my baby! how are you?”

“i’m okay-ish, how about you?”

“i’m good, but what’s up?”

“well… can i come over? i’ll tell you there. i just need to get out.”

“of course you can! you were always here before that thing of a man took you over.”

“all right, i’ll be there in ten!”

──

utahime’s home always brought you comfort; it’s where you go when you needed to escape. due to her dislike for people outside her circle, not everyone knows of her address— especially not satoru.

she engulfed you in a hug the moment she opened the door. you can’t hide anything from utahime, she knew you were out of it from your face.

“i’ll put ramen on the stove, go make yourself comfortable,” she ordered, closing the door behind you.

you followed her words, throwing yourself face first on her sofa. you loudly groaned, annoyed at the idea of saori getting all touchy-touchy with your satoru.

“let’s talk about it,” utahime speaks, pausing the television before she sits on the floor next to you.

you lift your head to look at her, open your mouth, and close it back. ‘let’s not question it,’ you think, knowing that utahime prefers the floor at home ever since you knew her.

“so… there’s this girl named saori—”

“i knew i should’ve ran over satoru yesterday.”

“and then— wait— HUH???” you sputtered, shocked at utahime’s words.

“i saw him crossing the street by himself yesterday. it took a lot of convincing to not floor the gas pedal,” she sighed, knowing she missed the jackpot. “anyway, continue.”

your mouth hangs open for a few more seconds before you regain yourself.

“right… anyway. she’s satoru’s new co-worker and i don’t like her. on our first meeting she called me ‘satoru’s bitch’ and after that she’s been occupying his free time every-fucking-day. she has a BOYFRIEND! like damn bitch! move away from my boyfriend,” you dumped the information on utahime, shoving your head back into the cushion.

“my baby, just said the word,” utahime faces you, moving her hand to pat your back.

“for what?” your voice comes out muffled.

“to put a bounty on their heads.”

a groan leaves you. there’s no hope.

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding. we can devise a plan, however.”

your head perks up. your attention has been successfully gained. utahime stands up, a bright smile adorns her face. you have a major feeling that something mischievous is going to play out real, real soon. utahime never smiles so brightly unless she’s plotting something despicable.

you squint your eyes at her, watching her back as she walks to the kitchen.

“‘hime…”

“don’t worry; just trust me.”

6:43 p.m: you’re now being a sack of potatoes on utahime’s bed. the day flew by and you haven’t heard from satoru ever since he left. no way it won’t leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you couldn’t find the energy to care at this moment.

you're preoccupied on utahime’s laptop, carefully choosing the perfect inner-walls design for the house game you stumbled upon. interior design might just be your new job.

deep into the game, your phone rings. you groan in annoyance, picking your phone up to see who decided it’ll be a good time to bother you.

satoru is calling you.

clicking your tongue, you slid on the green button.

“satoru, what’s up?”

“babe, are you home?”

“i’m not, why?”

“whyyyyy? i brought food for you.”

“i’ll have it when i’m home. sorry i’m not there right now, satoru.”

“oh, i almost forgot. saori’s here too.”

“ew— i mean, okay. don’t let her near my stuff nor our room.”

“yeah, bye baby. i love you.”

“i love you too.”

“that’s so disgusting. get out of my house,” utahime voices her feelings, screwing her face up at the sight of you being lovey-dovey with satoru.

you laughed at her, returning your attention to the game. utahime walks to her closet, choosing an outfit for the night. she’s fresh out of the shower, wet hair wrapped up in a towel. you can hear her grumbling something along the lines of “i hate couples” as she threw clothes on the floor to look for “that one black pajama shorts.”

once successful, utahime threw herself onto the bed. she took over your phone, going into your messages for her chat to send herself photos you’ve long forgotten to send. never will she ever ask you for photos after the hangout.

“by the way,” she says, “what did that man call for?”

you sigh, looking at her with a blank expression, “saori’s gonna be there.”

“does she even have her own life? that saowhore or whatever you said her name is.” utahime rolls her eyes, her mood immediately soured.

shrugging, you click your tongue, “it is what it is. this game is more important.”

──

it took not one, not two, not three, but five attempts to convince utahime to let you go home. she was completely against the idea of letting you drive home alone when it’s 10 p.m.

you would’ve given in if it wasn’t for the dreadful feeling that you need to be home. you basically sped through the roads, and most definitely ran a red light accidentally. nevertheless, you arrived safely.

suddenly, your heartbeat races. a heat creeps up the back of your head; you can feel a headache in the making. something’s telling you that you’ll need to confront a certain someone.

opening the door as quietly as you can, you stepped in, removing your shoes and tiptoeing inside.

maybe you should’ve let utahime go through with her plans.

the sight before you disgusts you as much as satoru disgusts utahime. why, just why, is this woman still here? is she crazy? why are her legs on satoru, and why is he allowing it?

“goodness, if i didn’t know better i’d ask you if you’re homeless,” you sarcastically spoke, taking the remote to turn the television off.

“get,” you took hold of one of her legs, shoving it off satoru. “off my fucking boyfriend.”

satoru watches, shocked at the scene. his eyes are unfocused; it’s evident that he zoned out a long time ago.

saori scoffs, moving her leg back on satoru’s lap. “why should i?”

you tilt your head, smiling angelically. the smile lasted milliseconds before it dropped. you’ve had quite enough and she’ll be subjected to your anger.

grabbing her arm, you roughly dragged her off the sofa. saori wasn’t one to accept such treatment. she retaliated, shuffling her arm around until she’s off your grip.

“are you fucking crazy?!” saori yelled, eyes wide with heavy breaths.

“not quite!” you pointed towards the door. “get out before i drag you myself.”

satoru’s silent. afraid of angering you, he stays put and watches from a distance.

“fuck off,” saori speaks, “satoru, text me when you’re off your dog collar.”

your anger reached its peak. grabbing the closest thing, which happened to be a mug, you threw it in her direction, aiming to miss her but hit close enough to her.

“ARE YOU INSANE!?” saori’s stumbles to the side, clenching her jaw, looking down at the broken pieces of the ceramic mug.

the scene alarms satoru, he decides to do something. standing up, he reaches for your wrist, pulling you to him.

“i think it’s time you leave, saori. i didn’t even know you were still here,” satoru’s voice is calm, but filled with authority. his words hold truth to them, he zoned out a while ago, unaware that saori’s still around.

clicking her tongue, her eyes twitch. she couldn’t muster up anything to say. being left with no choice but to listen to satoru, she saw herself out.

the quietness settles in. you were right about the headache, it’s definitely coming in.

“baby—”

“save it,” you stopped him, “but who the fuck is she to think i have you on a dog collar? i’ll put her on a collar.”

guilt settles in satoru, he shouldn’t have brought her in.

“i don’t why she said that. you don’t have me ‘on a dog collar’ i swear,” he rambles, placing a hand on his chest.

your gaze settled on satoru. you’re tired, a headache is there, and you probably went overboard. you’re not in the mood to hear him.

“satoru, i trust you. but i don’t trust her.”

“i’ll make her apologize.”

“ew, no.” you shivered at the thought of her apologizing. “i don’t want you near her anymore. her intentions are too fucking obvious.”

satoru physically hesitates. swallowing a gulp, his words come out quietly, “i can’t ignore her just like that..”

just as you were about to walk away, your head whipped to satoru as if you were slapped in that direction.

“what?”

“the project’s still ongoing, baby. i can’t ignore her just because you want me too.”

“fucking hell. kiss my ass, satoru. kiss her ass too while you’re at it,” you spat, flipping him off as you walked away.

if he can’t ignore her “just because you said so” then he can be ignored by you. maybe he did said something to make her think he’s on a dog collar.

you hear satoru calling for you, but you gave him no attention. you’ll deal with it tomorrow.

four › satoru’s new piercing idea: a bullet through his head.

satoru fucked up. he knows he fucked up. he should’ve said that after you calmed down. it couldn’t have gotten worse than this. the night flew by with you facing your back to him, the morning came with you acting as if he’s invisible.

sure, he fucked up, but at least reply to his good morning?!

he doesn’t know what to do. this is the first time you were angered to this point. usually, he’d be the one to better your mood, but he’s apart of the reason you’re as mad as you are.

your behavior went on for three days. far longer than satoru had anticipated. he’s given you your space, but now he can’t focus on his job.

his co-workers knew something was off with satoru. he’s not his usual self. they knew something happened the moment he declined a free meal. secretly, they gathered around, holding a confidential meeting to discuss satoru’s behavior.

everyone gave their opinions until an agreement was made: a couple’s argument had occurred.

evidence to support? satoru refrained from mentioning you, gave awkward answers when someone asked about you, and sulked when he looked at his lockscreen which was you.

saori, however, advanced her advancements to satoru. today was another day of her throwing her cleavage at him.

the photoshoot theme included two persons, but they weren’t meant to touch. they needed to act like enemies, but saori’s touching satoru as if he’s an all-you-can-touch event.

her hands slid down his chest, stopping at his abs. satoru doesn’t react— his eyes are empty, it’s clear that he wants the photoshoot to be over.

mia observed the two ever since the business trip, and she came to the conclusion that saori’s craving a place she was never meant to have.

“well aren’t you a little handsy, miss saori,” mia calls out, stopping the cameraman. “had i not known your boyfriend, i would've thought you were single.”

“who asked?” saori gives an attitude, but she moves her hand from satoru. the mention of her boyfriend bothered her.

the staff goes silent. a tension forms in the atmosphere. the calm before the storm, as they call it.

mia walks towards the two, placing a hand on saori’s shoulder when she nears her.

squeezing her shoulder, she leans down to saori’s level, “who’s the boss here? you’re chatty for a little girl who wants others’ belongings.” mia taunts, her voice cold.

saori gulps, slapping mia’s hand off her.

the action doesn’t bother mia in the slightest. instead, she leans to saori’s ears, whispering the unfortunate truth to her, “satoru will never want you, saori. remember that.”

straightening her posture, mia turns around to walk back to her designated position.

“back to work, everyone!”

with her order, everyone returns back to their previous doings. the tension is still heavy, and satoru’s still holds his empty gaze.

──

a thirty-minute break was called. at this moment, to each their own. the staff scrambled around, but satoru stayed put.

“saori,” his voice drags, “let’s talk alone.”

her expression brightens, feeling the butterflies tingle in her stomach. but little does she know, satoru’s about to act out of the character she knows him to be.

“s-sure! let’s do it in your dressing room,” she suggests, pulling satoru there.

once they’re in, she locks the door behind them. satoru sighs at the sight, but he doesn’t say anything about it. there’s something else he came here for.

“saori, do you like me? romantically?” he asks, leaning on the wall with crossed arms.

“i do,” she boldly confirms.

“then stop. you’re getting in between my relationship with (y/n),” he glares at saori, deciding it’s time to draw the line.

“ha, you’re still on that leash i see,” she scoffs, walking towards satoru until they’re face-to-face. “i’m better, satoru. you should choose me.”

satoru unfolds his arms, using one to push her away.

“saori, i’ve thought of you as nothing but a co-worker, a friend. you cannot be (y/n). so please, stop.”

clenching her jaw, saori tugs at satoru’s shirt’s collar, “i don’t give a flying fuck! you should be mine.”

satoru feels disgusted, a chain of chills cover his body. has saori always been like this?

“you have a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake!” he slaps her hand away, moving towards the door.

before he unlocks the door, he stops, turning around to clarify something before he forgets to, “oh, and if anything, the truth is that i’m the one who placed a dog collar on myself. so watch your mouth.”

with that, he leaves her alone, walking to where mia’s positioned.

“mia,” he calls for her.

mia turns to him, eyes wide for a second before she returns to her usual expression.

“need something, lovesick boy?” she teases, raising her eyebrows at him.

“if saori isn’t withdrawn from this project, then i’ll withdraw myself,” he threatens, running a hand through his hair exposing his forehead.

‘i’m not sure if this is unexpected or expected,’ mia thinks, not surprised at satoru’s request. it was only a matter of time.

“i’ll withdraw her. she pissed me off, too,” giving satoru her answer she pauses, and then continues, “but you really need to learn how to tell apart platonic actions from romantic.”

satoru cringes at her words, “ugh, leave me alone. i’m leaving.”

“you’ll be penalized for leaving during working hours!”

“blah blah blah.”

──

satoru’s destination was obvious. it’s your shared home. he would make his business to break the ice first.

messily unlocking the door, he kicks his shoes off, immediately looking for you. you’re not on the sofa, not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, where the fuck are you?!

checking off your usual spots, he’s left with one: the bedroom.

quietly opening the door, he peeks in, observing the room for you. once he found you, he tiptoed in.

your back was turned to the door. whether you were sleeping or not was the least of his problems. he’ll wake you up if he has to.

“baby,” he carefully speaks, sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand on your blanketed figure.

you don’t answer him, but you do turn around to face him.

“i talked to saori. we won’t be in contact any time soon.”

“oh wow,” you said.

he clears his throat at your sarcasm, “ahem— anyway, i told her off, and asked for her to be removed from the project.”

“what made this sudden change? i thought you were glued to her.”

“she was glued to me!” he clarifies.

“tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.”

ignoring your snarky remarks, he continues, “i told her about the ‘dog collar’ comment. i even told her to watch her mouth. i’ll cut contact with her on my phone, too.”

“so she’s gone? completely?” you questioned, removing a hand from under the blanket.

“yeah, i received a divine revelation and came to my senses. really, i thought she saw me as platonic as i saw her. i swear!” he confirms his innocence, staring at you with sadden eyes.

“you’re still a bitch,” you said, “i almost allowed utahime to go through with her bounty plan.”

sitting up, you took one of satoru’s fingers in your hand, “i’m glad you did that, but i’m still mad. you made me want to tell you to go fuck her and done with it.”

satoru’s mouth hangs open at the newly gained information.

“i didn’t, as you can see. i still love you so such words would never be spoken.”

“‘still’ she said.”

“don’t push it.”

a laugh escapes him. not listening to your warning, he pulls you into a hug. this time, it was a hug of desperation and relief. his head’s buried in your neck, breathing in the body mist you always wear at home.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“dear god, fuck that bitch i hope she dies,” you comforted satoru, returning his hug and patting his back.

do you have an issue with satoru? no, but he did set you off when he refused to cut contact with her when you asked.

it took him quite some days to see the vision, and you’re glad he did.

hey guys 😣 if anyone’s confused about this part:

“what made this sudden change? i thought you were glued to her.”

“she was glued to me!” he clarifies.

“tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.”

it simply means “what’s the difference?”

when (y/n) said she thought satoru was glued to saori, satoru responded with “she’s glued to me!”

(y/n) says “tomato, tomahto. potato, potahto.” because it doesn’t matter how you pronounce it since it’s the same word. there’s no difference.

satoru was glued to saori and vice versa so what’s the difference fr

hope this helped 😜

#+ rizsu: jujutsu kaisen. #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x fem!reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #gojo oneshot #jjk oneshot #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fluff

[canyourfavesurvivecastledracula]

aziraphale from good omens :)

Bahahahaha! Oh my.

Okay, for the sake of sportsmanship, let's be as fair as we can and give Dracula every fighting chance.

The first big question is holiness - Aziraphale is undoubtedly very very holy. But he's an angel of God, not literally God, and that makes a difference. If we take the demons of Good Omens as a test case, we can see that they share some traditional weaknesses with vampires, the most prominent one being Holy Water - (although NB Dracula never interacts with Holy Water in novel, just as none of the demons in Good Omens, book or series, never interact with the Host). It seems reasonable to presume that Crowley for instance would have a bad time with a crucifix. So we can perhaps say that the two are repulsed by the divine in much the same way. But. No one would ever suggest that Crowley cannot physically touch Aziraphale. Right? Apart from it being demonstrably untrue, whole pillars of fandom would collapse. It's a non-starter. So Aziraphale is not prima facie the kind of divine that is repulsive to the demoniac... except perhaps aesthetically.

The next thing to get out of way is that Aziraphale is not strictly speaking the kind of thing that can die. But he can be discorporated, and the waiting list on bodies is such a bother, so I am going to say that if his physical body gets destroyed by any means that counts as not surviving Castle Dracula, though I love the idea of him possessing people later in the novel (I'm thinking either Renfield or Van Helsing, because Renfield is basically a medium already and like real weird about angels, and Van Helsing has that one scene where Jonathan is like .... so I'm like 90% sure he was possessed and speaking with literal divine authority just then. Weird.) The question then becomes what it takes it discorporate an angel and whether Dracula in fact possesses those means. The one thing that actually accomplishes it in universe is that summoning circle, which is a pretty extreme example. BUT if we include actual biblical canon in our angelology, then, while while that doesn't bring us any closer to what, if anything, can kill an angel, we do at least have examples of angels being beaten in fistfights. So, for the purposes of this exercise, Aziraphale can in principle be killed, and he can also in principle be beaten in a fistfight.

It might make some difference if we are talking about the Book or the Series. Book!Aziraphale is a little bit more of a bastard, a little less naive, a little less distractactable, and (as is Crowley) a whole lot more terrifyingly competent than his televised counterpart.

...okay enough of this. Aziraphale outclasses Dracula so hard it's not even funny. Angels and Demons are set up to be evenly matched because they are fundamentally the same type of thing and that's the whole point - but Dracula isn't that type of Demon. He's a human person who's mildly demoniac because he majored in it in college. It's very impressive to other humans, sure, but like, the ravings of his solicitor aside, he's really not on the level of actual Demons of the Pit. And the things that humans are better at - creativity, growth, love - he's traded for vampirism. He's got the disadvantages of both without really the advantages of either.

Aziraphale's fatal flaw, if you want to call it that, is that he really likes humans. He would be delighted by Dracula's cooking and by his library. He would never stand for the baby eating. He would he more insufferable about the paprika than our baby lawyer. But he's also had 6000 years of learning to be unassuming and letting people underestimate him, and perfecting the Reverse Customer Service voice. He would do that Disapproving Bookseller thing and make Dracula uncomfortable in his own home. He's not the kind of thing that can be hypnotized. He's not going to waste time looking for the key, the doors will just open for him when he tells them to. And if all else fails he has wings, he can literally just leave whenever.

So um, yes. Aziraphale can survive Castle Dracula. And he will probably mess with Dracula non-trivially while he's there.

#aziraphale #good omens #divine entities

[sassydefendorflower]

In case of their death, each Bat has a dedicated spot where they keep their will/private messages to different members of their family/their friends.

It makes sense in their line of work.

Tim's is a hard drive, no surprise there, but he made sure the code to access it was just stupid enough that most of the family would have to come together to crack it (and even then, they still have to call Bart for the final clue) - it’s something stupid and sentimental, something Bruce would never have guessed Tim would choose as a password. Maybe Quadruple Summersault. Or Short Pants. Or Second Mask. Or Always Be Prepared. Or maybe just I Love You.

Babs has a lot of video messages just in case. She wrote code that would automatically send her last words to everyone she cherished (her dad, the Bats, the Birds of Prey, her co-workers at the library) should she forget to enter the I'm Still Alive Code. (she has to stay at the hospital once without her phone and accidentally sends her last words to everyone - Gotham is chaos for a day until people manage to check in on her).

Cass has already hidden all her goodbyes in the rooms of those she thinks deserve it. Once she is gone, she hopes Bruce will find the letter in her nightstand. The one that says "my words are still here, you just have to look for it" - which is a bit ironic, considering most of her letters consist of funny cartoons and nice memories captured in the chicken scratch of someone who might never be a portrait artist but can undoubtedly catch a moment in time with just a few strokes of a pencil.

Dick updates his will every couple of months, just to be safe. And his letters? His final words? Those are usually stored with a civilian friend or two. One batch is definitely kept at Titans Tower. All of these people have instructions to send them once the news of his death has hit the public. His letters are unusually long, filled with jokes and anecdotes, and a lot of things he never quite managed to say before. For someone who likes to talk, Dick is awfully good at saying nothing. But that's not how he wants to die - at least not this time, so long letters it is.

Jason doesn't have a lot of letters, or a lot of anything really. He just has a very detailed will. A binding legal paper that explains exactly what the family is supposed to do with his body. He's not gonna take any more chances with this. At the end of his will, there is only one addendum: I love you. Please let me be dead. Nothing more - nothing less.

Steph is a bit obsessed with the details of her death, maybe because her first close encounter resulted in a complete loss of agency. She wants to plan it down to the smallest bit, and since she knows she cant do that, she plans everything else. Where she wants to be buried, what songs should be played, what kind of food should be offered... and in each of these instructions there is a personal message hidden just within. She wants Bruce and Tim to carry her coffin, carry her one last time. She wants Cass to dance at her funeral, and Babs and her mom to write the speeches. Small love letters hidden in a search for control.

Damian is needlessly good at compartmentalizing, or maybe its because he's just twelve. He should think of himself as immortal, and nothing is crueler than the fact that he doesn't. He has a will, hidden underneath his mattress because he's too young to actually request legally binding documents. And he has letters and paintings and notebooks - in the hopes that when they find them they'll remember him as a boy and not a weapon. For someone so desperately striving for the title of Robin, Damian mostly wants to be remembered as a son.

For a long time Duke didn't partake in this "family tradition". Because he saw himself as outside of them, as someone with parents, as someone with a home. But a dozen close calls, and suddenly mortality becomes something else. So he saves his will on the Batcomputer, addressed to his parents but protected by Bruce. And he writes small notes. Thoughts. Ideas. Things he thinks they will appreciate should he be gone one day. And he leaves them lying around. Maybe the mark he makes is hidden in the small things. The post-it notes and exploded overhead lights. Duke would be fine with that.

And then there is Bruce, who - in a way - cannot die. His legacy is the Cave, his brain a part of the mainframe they use to fight crime. And he knows that. He knows that no matter where he goes, he will never be really gone. So he makes sure that one day - long after he has passed - the Batcomputer destroys itself. To set them free. To leave them with the physical memorabilia of Bruce Wayne, and no longer with the desperation of the Bat. It's the biggest love letter Bruce can imagine writing - the possibility of being free.

#batfamily #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #dc #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #barbara gordon #batman #death tw #grief #mortality #headcanon

[max-levchin]

Shamir Secret Sharing

It’s 3am. Paul, the head of PayPal database administration carefully enters his elaborate passphrase at a keyboard in a darkened cubicle of 1840 Embarcadero Road in East Palo Alto, for the fifth time. He hits Return. The green-on-black console window instantly displays one line of text: “Sorry, one or more wrong passphrases. Can’t reconstruct the key. Goodbye.” 

There is nerd pandemonium all around us. James, our recently promoted VP of Engineering, just climbed the desk at a nearby cubicle, screaming: “Guys, if we can’t get this key the right way, we gotta start brute-forcing it ASAP!” It’s gallows humor – he knows very well that brute-forcing such a key will take millions of years, and it’s already 6am on the East Coast – the first of many “Why is PayPal down today?” articles is undoubtedly going to hit CNET shortly. Our single-story cubicle-maze office is buzzing with nervous activity of PayPalians who know they can’t help but want to do something anyway. I poke my head up above the cubicle wall to catch a glimpse of someone trying to stay inside a giant otherwise empty recycling bin on wheels while a couple of Senior Software Engineers are attempting to accelerate the bin up to dangerous speeds in the front lobby. I lower my head and try to stay focused. “Let’s try it again, this time with three different people” is the best idea I can come up with, even though I am quite sure it will not work. 

It doesn’t. 

The key in question decrypts PayPal’s master payment credential table – also known as the giant store of credit card and bank account numbers. Without access to payment credentials, PayPal doesn’t really have a business per se, seeing how we are supposed to facilitate payments, and that’s really hard to do if we no longer have access to the 100+ million credit card numbers our users added over the last year of insane growth. 

This is the story of a catastrophic software bug I briefly introduced into the PayPal codebase that almost cost us the company (or so it seemed, in the moment.) I’ve told this story a handful of times, always swearing the listeners to secrecy, and surprisingly it does not appear to have ever been written down before. 20+ years since the incident, it now appears instructive and a little funny, rather than merely extremely embarrassing. 

Before we get back to that fateful night, we have to go back another decade. In the summer of 1991, my family and I moved to Chicago from Kyiv, Ukraine. While we had just a few hundred dollars between the five of us, we did have one secret advantage: science fiction fans. 

My dad was a highly active member of Zoryaniy Shlyah – Kyiv’s possibly first (and possibly only, at the time) sci-fi fan club – the name means “Star Trek” in Ukrainian, unsurprisingly. He translated some Stansilaw Lem (of Solaris and Futurological Congress fame) from Polish to Russian in the early 80s and was generally considered a coryphaeus at ZSh. 

While USSR was more or less informationally isolated behind the digital Iron Curtain until the late ‘80s, by 1990 or so, things like FidoNet wriggled their way into the Soviet computing world, and some members of ZSh were now exchanging electronic mail with sci-fi fans of the free world.

The vaguely exotic news of two Soviet refugee sci-fi fans arriving in Chicago was transmitted to the local fandom before we had even boarded the PanAm flight that took us across the Atlantic [1]. My dad (and I, by extension) was soon adopted by some kind Chicago science fiction geeks, a few of whom became close friends over the years, though that’s a story for another time. 

A year or so after the move to Chicago, our new sci-fi friends invited my dad to a birthday party for a rising star of the local fandom, one Bruce Schneier. We certainly did not know Bruce or really anyone at the party, but it promised good food, friendly people, and probably filk. My role was to translate, as my dad spoke limited English at the time. 

I had fallen desperately in love with secret codes and cryptography about a year before we left Ukraine. Walking into Bruce’s library during the house tour (this was a couple years before Applied Cryptography was published and he must have been deep in research) felt like walking into Narnia. 

I promptly abandoned my dad to fend for himself as far as small talk and canapés were concerned, and proceeded to make a complete ass out of myself by brazenly asking the host for a few sheets of paper and a pencil. Having been obliged, I pulled a half dozen cryptography books from the shelves and went to work trying to copy down some answers to a few long-held questions on the library floor. After about two hours of scribbling alone like a man possessed, I ran out of paper and decided to temporarily rejoin the party. 

On the living room table, Bruce had stacks of copies of his fanzine Ramblings. Thinking I could use the blank sides of the pages to take more notes, I grabbed a printout and was about to quietly return to copying the original S-box values for DES when my dad spotted me from across the room and demanded I help him socialize. The party wrapped soon, and our friends drove us home. 

The printout I grabbed was not a Ramblings issue. It was a short essay by Bruce titled Sharing Secrets Among Friends, essentially a humorous explanation of Shamir Secret Sharing. 

Say you want to make sure that something really really important and secret (a nuclear weapon launch code, a database encryption key, etc) cannot be known or used by a single (friendly) actor, but becomes available, if at least n people from a group of m choose to do it. Think two on-duty officers (from a cadre of say 5) turning keys together to get ready for a nuke launch. 

The idea (proposed by Adi Shamir – the S of RSA! – in 1979) is as simple as it is beautiful. 

Let’s call the secret we are trying to split among m people K. 

First, create a totally random polynomial that looks like: y(x) = C0 * x^(n-1) + C1 * x^(n-2) + C2 * x^(n-3) ….+ K. “Create” here just means generate random coefficients C. Now, for every person in your trusted group of m, evaluate the polynomial for some randomly chosen Xm and hand them their corresponding (Xm,Ym) each. 

If we have n of these points together, we can use Lagrange interpolating polynomial to reconstruct the coefficients – and evaluate the original polynomial at x=0, which conveniently gives us y(0) = K, the secret. Beautiful. I still had the printout with me, years later, in Palo Alto. 

It should come as no surprise that during my time as CTO PayPal engineering had an absolute obsession with security. No firewall was one too many, no multi-factor authentication scheme too onerous, etc. Anything that was worth anything at all was encrypted at rest. 

To decrypt, a service would get the needed data from its database table, transmit it to a special service named cryptoserv (an original SUN hardware running Solaris sitting on its own, especially tightly locked-down network) and a special service running only there would perform the decryption and send back the result. 

Decryption request rate was monitored externally and on cryptoserv, and if there were too many requests, the whole thing was to shut down and purge any sensitive data and keys from its memory until manually restarted. 

It was this manual restart that gnawed at me. At launch, a bunch of configuration files containing various critical decryption keys were read (decrypted by another key derived from one manually-entered passphrase) and loaded into the memory to perform future cryptographic services.

Four or five of us on the engineering team knew the passphrase and could restart cryptoserv if it crashed or simply had to have an upgrade. What if someone performed a little old-fashioned rubber-hose cryptanalysis and literally beat the passphrase out of one of us? The attacker could theoretically get access to these all-important master keys. Then stealing the encrypted-at-rest database of all our users’ secrets could prove useful – they could decrypt them in the comfort of their underground supervillain lair. 

I needed to eliminate this threat.

Shamir Secret Sharing was the obvious choice – beautiful, simple, perfect (you can in fact prove that if done right, it offers perfect secrecy.) I decided on a 3-of-8 scheme and implemented it in pure POSIX C for portability over a few days, and tested it for several weeks on my Linux desktop with other engineers. 

Step 1: generate the polynomial coefficients for 8 shard-holders.

Step 2: compute the key shards (x0, y0)  through (x7, y7)

Step 3: get each shard-holder to enter a long, secure passphrase to encrypt the shard

Step 4: write out the 8 shard files, encrypted with their respective passphrases.

And to reconstruct: 

Step 1: pick any 3 shard files. 

Step 2: ask each of the respective owners to enter their passphrases. 

Step 3: decrypt the shard files.

Step 4: reconstruct the polynomial, evaluate it for x=0 to get the key.

Step 5: launch cryptoserv with the key. 

One design detail here is that each shard file also stored a message authentication code (a keyed hash) of its passphrase to make sure we could identify when someone mistyped their passphrase. These tests ran hundreds and hundreds of times, on both Linux and Solaris, to make sure I did not screw up some big/little-endianness issue, etc. It all worked perfectly. 

A month or so later, the night of the key splitting party was upon us. We were finally going to close out the last vulnerability and be secure. Feeling as if I was about to turn my fellow shard-holders into cymeks, I gathered them around my desktop as PayPal’s front page began sporting the “We are down for maintenance and will be back soon” message around midnight.

The night before, I solemnly generated the new master key and securely copied it to cryptoserv. Now, while “Push It” by Salt-n-Pepa blared from someone’s desktop speakers, the automated deployment script copied shard files to their destination. 

While each of us took turns carefully entering our elaborate passphrases at a specially selected keyboard, Paul shut down the main database and decrypted the payment credentials table, then ran the script to re-encrypt with the new key. Some minutes later, the database was running smoothly again, with the newly encrypted table, without incident. 

All that was left was to restore the master key from its shards and launch the new, even more secure cryptographic service. 

The three of us entered our passphrases… to be met with the error message I haven’t seen in weeks: “Sorry, one or more wrong passphrases. Can’t reconstruct the key. Goodbye.” Surely one of us screwed up typing, no big deal, we’ll do it again. No dice. No dice – again and again, even after we tried numerous combinations of the three people necessary to decrypt. 

Minutes passed, confusion grew, tension rose rapidly. 

There was nothing to do, except to hit rewind – to grab the master key from the file still sitting on cryptoserv, split it again, generate new shards, choose passphrases, and get it done. Not a great feeling to have your first launch go wrong, but not a huge deal either. It will all be OK in a minute or two.

A cursory look at the master key file date told me that no, it wouldn’t be OK at all. The file sitting on cryptoserv wasn’t from last night, it was created just a few minutes ago. During the Salt-n-Pepa-themed push from stage, we overwrote the master key file with the stage version. Whatever key that was, it wasn’t the one I generated the day before: only one copy existed, the one I copied to cryptoserv from my computer the night before. Zero copies existed now. Not only that, the push script appears to have also wiped out the backup of the old key, so the database backups we have encrypted with the old key are likely useless. 

Sitrep: we have 8 shard files that we apparently cannot use to restore the master key and zero master key backups. The database is running but its secret data cannot be accessed. 

I will leave it to your imagination to conjure up what was going through my head that night as I stared into the black screen willing the shards to work. After half a decade of trying to make something of myself (instead of just going to work for Microsoft or IBM after graduation) I had just destroyed my first successful startup in the most spectacular fashion. 

Still, the idea of “what if we all just continuously screwed up our passphrases” swirled around my brain. It was an easy check to perform, thanks to the included MACs. I added a single printf() debug statement into the shard reconstruction code and instead of printing out a summary error of “one or more…” the code now showed if the passphrase entered matched the authentication code stored in the shard file. 

I compiled the new code directly on cryptoserv in direct contravention of all reasonable security practices – what did I have to lose? Entering my own passphrase, I promptly got “bad passphrase” error I just added to the code. Well, that’s just great – I knew my passphrase was correct, I had it written down on a post-it note I had planned to rip up hours ago. 

Another person, same error. Finally, the last person, JK, entered his passphrase. No error. The key still did not reconstruct correctly, I got the “Goodbye”, but something worked. I turned to the engineer and said, “what did you just type in that worked?”

After a second of embarrassed mumbling, he admitted to choosing “a$$word” as his passphrase. The gall! I asked everyone entrusted with the grave task of relaunching crytposerv to pick really hard to guess passphrases, and this guy…?! Still, this was something -- it worked. But why?!

I sprinted around the half-lit office grabbing the rest of the shard-holders demanding they tell me their passphrases. Everyone else had picked much lengthier passages of text and numbers. I manually tested each and none decrypted correctly. Except for the a$$word. What was it…

A lightning bolt hit me and I sprinted back to my own cubicle in the far corner, unlocked the screen and typed in “man getpass” on the command line, while logging into cryptoserv in another window and doing exactly the same thing there. I saw exactly what I needed to see. 

Today, should you try to read up the programmer’s manual (AKA the man page) on getpass, you will find it has been long declared obsolete and replaced with a more intelligent alternative in nearly all flavors of modern Unix.  

But back then, if you wanted to collect some information from the keyboard without printing what is being typed in onto the screen and remain POSIX-compliant, getpass did the trick. Other than a few standard file manipulation system calls, getpass was the only operating system service call I used, to ensure clean portability between Linux and Solaris. 

Except it wasn’t completely clean. 

Plain as day, there it was: the manual pages were identical, except Solaris had a “special feature”: any passphrase entered that was longer than 8 characters long was automatically reduced to that length anyway. (Who needs long passwords, amiright?!)

I screamed like a wounded animal. We generated the key on my Linux desktop and entered our novel-length passphrases right here. Attempting to restore them on a Solaris machine where they were being clipped down to 8 characters long would never work. Except, of course, for a$$word. That one was fine.

The rest was an exercise in high-speed coding and some entirely off-protocol file moving. We reconstructed the master key on my machine (all of our passphrases worked fine), copied the file to the Solaris-running cryptoserv, re-split it there (with very short passphrases), reconstructed it successfully, and PayPal was up and running again like nothing ever happened. 

By the time our unsuspecting colleagues rolled back into the office I was starting to doze on the floor of my cubicle and that was that. When someone asked me later that day why we took so long to bring the site back up, I’d simply respond with “eh, shoulda RTFM.” 

RTFM indeed. 

P.S. A few hours later, John, our General Counsel, stopped by my cubicle to ask me something. The day before I apparently gave him a sealed envelope and asked him to store it in his safe for 24 hours without explaining myself. He wanted to know what to do with it now that 24 hours have passed. 

Ha. I forgot all about it, but in a bout of “what if it doesn’t work” paranoia, I printed out the base64-encoded master key when we had generated it the night before, stuffed it into an envelope, and gave it to John for safekeeping. We shredded it together without opening and laughed about what would have never actually been a company-ending event. 

P.P.S. If you are thinking of all the ways this whole SSS design is horribly insecure (it had some real flaws for sure) and plan to poke around PayPal to see if it might still be there, don’t. While it served us well for a few years, this was the very first thing eBay required us to turn off after the acquisition. Pretty sure it’s back to a single passphrase now. 

Notes:

1: a member of Chicagoland sci-fi fan community let me know that the original news of our move to the US was delivered to them via a posted letter, snail mail, not FidoNet email! 

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I thought of another 1K fic request for you if you have the time. For a while, I've had this missing scene in my head from Calypso's Birthday where Stede is the one who untied Ed from the stretching device he was tied to. Stede undoubtedly heard Ed screaming in pain and from the angle we're shown, he probably couldn't see him that well, if at all, so he had to be worried sick over hearing his love in pain but not being able to see what was happening. I just imagine him rushing over as soon as the situation is under control and untying him and whispering to him and making sure he's okay. Ed probably has a hard time moving at first because his joints were just popped, so maybe he just lays there for a minute while he adjusts and Stede comforts him.

I really enjoyed this one! It works so well with some thoughts I'd had bouncing around about what I wish we'd seen in this episode.

(Always taking prompts for 1k word fics!)

--

The world had narrowed down to a singular goal and what Stede had to do to see it through.

There was clarity, in moments like this, and Stede was glad for it. Everything he could see, from the rope around his wrists to the knives within eyeshot, became nothing more or less than potential tools. He was, himself, little more than the need to get to Ed. To touch him and kiss him and make sure he was okay, yes, but at times like these his mind could only hold one thing, and there wasn’t even space to think of what could come after.

Stede wondered if the way Ned had positioned them on deck, so he and Ed couldn’t see each other, was another intentional way of hurting them or if it was just a casual cruelty. Stede didn’t even know what was happening to Ed, how badly he was being hurt and in what way, and if he thought about it for too long he thought he might just go mad with worry.

Time went funny, at moments like these, every second sort of melting into the next. Stede knew he’d dream about it for years, probably - picking out Ed’s cries from the crowd, the little broken noises of pain as he tried to keep himself quiet. A shouted threat at the end of one of Stede’s own yelps. A scream that morphed into a cry of Stede’s name and back again, like Ed just loved Stede so much, trusted him so much, that he was hurting and unconsciously thought of Stede as the person who might be able to make it stop -

He couldn’t even deny it to himself, later. Ned Low’s death warrant was written when he’d mocked and hurt Ed in the cabin; it was sealed with the pain and fear and humiliation of having to listen to Ed be hurt and be powerless to do anything about it or offer comfort.

It was all very clever, slipping his bonds and getting Ned’s crew turned against him, and Stede was sure he’d find time to brag about it later. But the instant tides shifted, it all faded into the background.

Stede’s legs wobbled as he ran to Ed.

“They put you on a fucking rack,” he said indignantly, looking Ed over, checking for blood or bruises.

“Bit medieval, yeah,” Ed agreed. His voice sounded alright; little hoarse, but nothing indicating he was in excessive pain, circumstances considered. “Respect the chutzpah, at least?”

“I do not respect the chutzpah, frankly,” Stede muttered, getting to work on grabbing one of the torturer’s knives and sawing through the bonds on Ed’s wrists. 

“Oh, oh fuck,” Ed groaned, starting to pull his arms back by his side and stopping immediately, his face twisted in pain.

“Are you okay?” Stede laid a gentle hand on Ed’s elbow, and Ed flinched.

“Nothing broken, nothing dislocated.” Ed let his eyes slip closed for just a moment. “I’m alright. I’m okay.”

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“Gonna help you,” Stede said, carefully taking Ed’s forearms in his hands. “On three, okay?”

They moved Ed’s arms back down to his side, Stede guiding them back very slowly, trying to minimize Ed’s pain. As he’d said, it was nothing time and rest wouldn’t fix, but his muscles and joints were incredibly sore and weak, and his arms trembled with exertion as they brought them down.

“More comfortable?” Stede asked, undoing the bonds around his ankles next. “How do you feel?”

“I’m alright.” Ed shifted a bit, grimacing. “Just…hurts.”

He’d lowered his voice to a whisper as he admitted it. Stede rested his hand on Ed’s thigh as he worked, rubbing soothing circles through the leather.

“For a second there, it actually felt really nice,” Ed joked. “Gave my back this satisfying pop like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I bet.” Stede sat at his side, taking note of how reluctant Ed was to move. “Right now, on my pain scale, I’d say I’m at about…a four. They mostly just poked me and hit me with a stick. Very impermanent.”

He raised his eyebrows, then, in obvious question. He’d shared. It was a safe space to talk about it.

“I’m at…” Ed considered. “Maybe a seven.”

“Oh, Ed.” Very slowly, so Ed had plenty of time to object if he didn’t want it, Stede took Ed’s hand, giving his fingers what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, and with the other he cupped Ed’s cheek. “You poor thing.”

“I’m alright,” Ed mumbled. “Just need to lie still for a bit.”

Stede’s own wrists were red from the chafing of the rope, he’d noticed, and he confirmed grimly that Ed’s looked just as sore and painful. Slowly, being sure not to move too quickly and hurt him, Stede lifted Ed’s hand to his mouth so he could kiss the scrapes on his wrist.

“Thank you,” Ed whispered.

“Of course.” Stede scritched his fingers lightly through Ed’s beard, making him hum happily. “You just take a breather. You’re doing so well. I’m here, now, and you’re safe, and I’m never going to let you get hurt again. I’m with you.”

He hoped Ed heard between the words. I love you, I love you.

Stede held Ed’s hand and kept a soothing hand on his face, smiling down at him as Ed nuzzled his cheek into his palm. Occasionally, he glanced up to supervise how things were going, making a mental checklist of the crew, making sure they were all okay, keeping an eye on Ned Low as his own former crew tied him up.

He ran his thumb gently over Ed’s cheekbone.

The crisis had shifted. Ed was safe and alright, and Stede had a new priority. He watched Ned with narrowed eyes.

Oh, yes. He wasn’t sure how, yet, or exactly when. But he looked at Ned Low and there was one, singular goal in his mind:

Ned Low was a dead man walking.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics

[aviivix]

Soooo... I’ve been dead for a while and that’s because I’ve been fixated entirely on Splatoon 3 basically since it launched and all this time I’ve been working on an AU/HC/Fanfic/Something Like That called Culture Shock.

Given this has been something I’ve been working on for a LONG time, and given it’s entirely tied to Octarians, I figure I might as well make a big post about it before Side Order totally invalidates it! (Though I’ll keep working on this as an AU even if I don’t like how it interacts with Side Order.)

Details and more art under the break! (Though the quality will vary greatly as, again, I’ve been doing stuff with this since Splatoon 3 came out.) This is an extremely long story concept and if you read the whole thing I officially owe you my soul

There's a LOT to this (as there is with any hyperfixation concept like this) but I'll try to keep it somewhat light on details. Of course, it’s subject to change, and the exact plot progression is still kind of in the air. A big part is whether the climax of Act II should actually happen at the end of Act I... But here’s what I’ve developed so far.

The Story

Prologue

Culture Shock is designed as a DLC story mode set a year after the end of Splatoon 3's main story. The Squid Sisters have disappeared at some point in that time (a familiar situation), and ol' Cuttlefish has called in all of the agents-- plus Pearl and Marina-- to join forces against the Octarians that are undoubtedly behind it. Rather than going into stages alone, the levels are designed for you to do them with CPU teammates.

It's pretty quickly made certain that Octarians were involved, and thus the group is airlifted by Off the Hook into Octo Valley to find Callie and Marie. Upon landing, the player is ambushed by a group of Octolings -- that is, until one member in the backline pulls down her mask and excitedly calls out. It’s Callie? And though she doesn’t immediately unmask, Marie is definitely next to her.

After some confusion and accusations from both sides, the Squid Sisters assure the Squidbeak Splatoon that they’re not brainwashed, and offer to explain everything. Though Marie warns that it’s a long story, so the group settle down by ol’ Cuttlefish’s shack for a massive flashback played from the perspective of the Squid Sisters.

(Gameplay-wise, this whole setup is to allow the player to interrupt the Squid Sisters’ sequence at any time, and then pick up where they left off. It being a flashback also means it’s easy to replay missions or go for 100% by just asking Callie to repeat something.)

Funny title card, and the real story officially starts. I’m gonna skip through things a lot more, since at this pace it would take WAY too long to summarize every little scene and there are a lot of things not really settled on. I’ll be keeping detail for the introduction, as well as some key scenes, but for any less important/in-between type stuff, I’ll be summarizing what happens. Even doing this it will be extremely long, though Act I is far bigger than Acts II and III because it’s primarily setting up the world and motivations.

Act I

Introductory cutscene, in which the Squid Sisters find themselves stuck in purple ink, locked in an Octarian vault. The Octarians who squidnapped them keep their distance, though one particular Octoling does try to chat (to the annoyance of the others).

She claims that the Octarians will let them go in time, and that they won’t be hurt - though the Squid Sisters are suspicious at best. And, after noticing their discomfort in the Octarian ink, she offers them her Octoshot to paint the ground their own color. As the Octoling goes back to standing guard, Callie inks the floor and the two slump over, one of them idly singing the Calamari Inkantation under her breath.

Fade to when the Octoling swaps guard duty with another Octoling, who leans up against the wall and, after the first Octoling leaves, promptly falls asleep. Callie realizes she still has the Octoshot from before, and suggests slipping through the keyhole in squid form. With help from Marie, she’s able to get out on her own, and sets out to find the key to the vault. (This serves as a tutorial for stealth missions - though the guard will not wake up even if you fail.)

After freeing Marie, the two of them head towards the door, whispering about how crazy it was that the guard slept through all of that. The guard then dully tells them that he wasn’t asleep. The Squid Sisters prepare for a fight, but the guard barely has his eyes open and has not moved. After some back and forth with Callie, this Wendy’s employee of an Octoling just assures them that if he could beat them, it wouldn’t have even gotten to this point, and tells them to do whatever they want - just warning them that the other Octarians wouldn’t be so lenient.

An Octoling watches them come out, but just looks around frantically before running up to meet them. Marie declares that they’re breaking out, and prepares for a fight... but the Octoling starts freaking out instead, first worrying that they’ll get hurt trying to escape, and then worrying about what the rest of the Octarians are going to do with the Squid Sisters gone.

Before either Inkling can interject, a much more stern Octoling calls out while angrily marching up to the group. Through this conversation the Squid Sisters learn that the worried Octoling is named Aris, the tired Octoling is named Oregil, and this new more angry Octoling is named Cy. What originally seemed to be a jailbreak quickly turns into some (rather silly) negotiations with Cy, the Squid Sisters trying to convince her that Aris didn’t do anything wrong, and that Oregil totally did all he could to stop them.

Though Cy clearly doesn’t buy it, she lets it go, returning Aris’s Octoshot but also warning the Squid Sisters that their squadron’s mission is of utmost importance, and if the rest of them won’t do their jobs properly, she will. That said, the two of them just broke out of the only vault they had. So now, the Squid Sisters have to just stay in camp under Cy’s supervision.

With no more weapon to brandish and a clearly blown cover, the two of them kind of have no choice but to agree. Though Marie alludes to how dysfunctional this squad appears to be, and how easy it will probably be to escape.

Though before the conversation ends, Aris asks if “Tetra” will be okay with this. There’s a sort of tension in the air immediately upon mention of the name, immediately pierced by an intimidating voice asking what was going on. This was an Elite Octoling, apparently Tetra. After a recap from Cy, Tetra turns to the surrounded Squid Sisters, and tells them in no uncertain terms to always remember that they are prisoners - they are not one of them.

From here on out, the rest of Act I is a sort of slow burn. At the start, it’s purely the Squid Sisters looking for ways to escape. But as time goes on, they learn more about these Octarians by sort of living their life, and through learning about the octo squad themselves.

Aris is kind, possibly to a fault. While she’s committed to the squadron and their goals, she’s also the most both-sides-ist of the bunch. She wants to think that everyone is trying their best, and does everything she can to avoid conflict, but as a result she doesn’t speak up as much when the Squid Sisters make faulty assumptions about them, and she uninentionally hinders their growth at the start by letting them hide behind her leniency. Over the course of Act I, she eventually has to realize she can’t just hold everyone’s opinion equally - the Squid Sisters are making judgements off of bad information, and she realizes that her enabling that is making it harder for everyone.

Cy is the opposite. Cy is deeply passionate about their situation, and takes any opportunity to show the Squid Sisters what they get wrong. She especially butts heads with Marie, having little patience for the various non-solutions to their problems, or for the ignorance about Octarian culture. She’s extremely well connected among Octarians, even having worked with Octavio himself, although she doesn’t seem thrilled about it. Thus, despite coming across as very headstrong and aggressive, she also is the source of a lot of information about Octarian life.

Oregil is a self-proclaimed realist - in actuality, a doomer. He doesn’t say much, but what he does say is not particularly hopeful. When put in charge of something, he doesn’t tend to have a lot of energy behind it, as he’s become convinced that, in the end, Octarians cannot be saved. That said, it would be wrong to call him fully complacent. He still sticks with the team, even if he doesn’t have much energy to contribute, and would rather go down with his sinking ship than abandon his friends and family. Though he always seems to be napping on the job, he never actually does, though not for lack of trying. He has insomnia, and it’s rare to find him asleep at all even when laying in bed.

The Elite Octoling Tetra rarely shows herself. The only things the Squid Sisters have seen of her is that she’s intimidating, and not to be reckoned with. But the way the others talk about her and interact with her betray a different story. Oregil is flippant about her commands and doesn’t actually give anything his all. Cy goes along with Tetra’s commands, but seemingly only due to her own reasons aligning with Tetra’s rather than out of any respect for her authority. Aris obeys, but the way she acts and talks about it makes it almost feel like she’s obeying out of pity.

Lastly, there is also a fifth mysterious Octoling that the Squid Sisters will occasionally grab a passing glimpse of. They don’t know who this Octoling is, and whenever she’s mentioned, the others assure them that “she’s nobody”.

As the act goes on, Callie especially pries deeply into the hows and whys of a lot of Octo stuff. She had been in Octarian territory before in Splatoon 2, sure, but she was being brainwashed by DJ Octavio himself and held up as a superstar. This time, she was fully aware of herself, and living the life of the average Octoling soldier in the time between Octavio’s Zapfish heists.

The two of them wonder why the sun hasn’t come up, and learn that without the Great Zapfish, the kettle’s “sun” cannot shine. It’s a land of eternal night. The Octolings seem to live on a diet of mostly power eggs and salmon, which they learn is because without light, most crops don’t grow. Many little things like this illustrating just how resource-starved this nation is.

There are a lot of assumptions made and corrected. A lot of complaints put into perspective when the things they find uncomfortable or annoying are things these Octarians have had to deal with every day. But one of the biggest things is their ideas of resolution. An early question being, “Why don’t you just leave? Inkopolis is a stone’s throw away.”

There are a lot of answers that are given to this, but to some effect, they all boil down to “culture”. Inkopolis isn’t the same as Octaria. It has different people, different history, different fashion, different food, different expectations... it’s just a totally different place.

Oregil’s lived in Octarian society his whole life - it’s his home. Cy is an artist, she makes distinctly Octarian music and sees firsthand how it connects those in Octarian communities. Aris knows Octolings are “accepted”, but only insofaras they appeal to Inkling expectations. It’s hard to express their culture without being seen as weird or other. Even little things like how they look - Octolings in Inkopolis tending to make their hair slimmer, straighter, adding patterns and minimizing the amount of visible suckers. Plus, how many non-Octoling Octarians do you see in Inkopolis and beyond? Maybe an Octoling can fit in, but what about an Octotrooper?

The most impactful realization for the Squid Sisters as well, is just how few Octarians are even there anymore. Between the exodus in Octo Valley, the bigger exodus in Octo Canyon, the horrors of Octo Expansion, and just recently the similar horrors of Alterna... all stacked on top of the nation itself being less and less hospitable year by year? Since the events of Splatoon 1, so many Octarians have been lost. Within the squad they’re in, pictures and murmurings from the rest of them tell the stories of at least four other Octolings that were previously in their squadron.

So then the other aspect of the Squid Sisters’ arc is... if they don’t think Octarians should be stealing the Great Zapfish or dealing with Salmonids or anything like that... what should they be doing?

Because so far, nothing has worked for them. Negotiations fail, because Inklings don’t know enough about Octarian society to understand why they need so much support. They don’t know enough about the history of Inklings and Octolings to realize that Inkadia is largely the reason they’re suffering. The average Inkling doesn’t know enough to realize there’s a problem, and the average Octarian doesn’t have a loud enough voice.

All this compounded onto the fact that now, the only Octolings Inkadia sees are the ones who decided that Octarians were oppressing themselves, to the point where they abandoned everything they knew to live in the nation that started this in the first place.

Though, it’s hard to blame them when life in Octaria is practically nonexistent. Losing so many people, living in such horrible conditions, led by an egomaniac whose awareness of his people is performative at best... but most Octolings can’t let that take away from who they are as a people. They don’t let it tear their communities apart, or sever the bonds they have with people. Their lived experiences show them that it’s worth fighting for. Well... except in one scenario we’ll get into later.

The final important thing that comes to light over this period... This whole time Octavio has barely come up, because he doesn’t even know the Squid Sisters are there. The squadron are a real squadron in the Octarian army, but this whole mysterious operation involving the Squid Sisters is entirely outside Octavio’s control. In fact, it becomes apparent that the Octarians at least in this squadron or associated with this squadron, hate Octavio and everything he’s been doing to their society as a whole.

They’ve always seen the Zapfish heists as a horrible, horrible ego trip. An extremely hollow, expensive move that only plants targets on the backs of Octarians. But even in feeling that way, Aris and Oregil both admit that there isn’t much else offering them hope. If not for Octavio stealing the Zapfish for those couple days of “sun”light, what would they be doing? Though Cy has a much more strong opinion there, asserting that doing nothing would have put those resources into survival rather than gambling it all on a fool’s errand.

Needless to say, the Squid Sisters get a bit wrapped up in this stuff. Talking to these Octolings, learning about their life, living it, offering to help (gameplay sections), and all around having a lot of beliefs challenged. It’s a lot of stuff that they are only able to wrap their mind around from actually knowing what it’s like to live through it, without the option to just leave when it gets too rough.

While at the beginning they were just looking for an opening to escape, by the halfway point they aren’t even really being watched anymore, let alone trying to break out. Tetra may call them prisoners, but by that point they’ve had so many opportunities to just walk away. The only thing keeping them there is the fact that if they leave, what will happen? And can they confidently say that it’s the Octarians’ fault for it happening?

By the end, their primary objective is to find something they can do to actually give them a shot. And for that... they’ll need more than just the two of them. The idea of bringing in the Squidbeak Splatoon is immediately dismissed as insane by Cy - especially the idea of bringing in THE Agent 3. But after a little while, with Oregil indifferent as always and Aris on board, she comes around, though warning that Tetra will not like it, and they could be accidentally luring Agent 3 into a death trap. But it’s a risk they decide to let the Captain decide for themself.

Act II

Acts II and III are far less elaborate, because this is after all the characters have been established, and the world has been largely explored.

Act II kicks off with there being a lot of reactions. (As a note, the Octolings with the Squid Sisters at the present time are Oregil, Aris, and Cy. In their own ways, they’re uncomfortable in the presence of Captain 3. Cy and Oregil also seem to have an attitude with how they look at Marina.) A lot of disbelief, but also, to some degree, understanding. Naturally, Captain 3 is skeptical, taking a moment to contemplate what they’re being asked to do.

But around this time, Marina cuts in, asserting that regardless of the cause, Octarian society is inherently a problem. That’s why she left. She accuses the squadron of perpetuating DJ Octavio’s oppressive rule, and that they could have their cake and eat it too just by moving to Inkopolis.

The group go back and forth, with escalating emotions and accusations, until Pearl declares that, whatever they’re plotting, Off the Hook and the Squidbeak Splatoon will put a stop to it. Silence falls over the group, until Marie retaliates saying that she doesn’t think she can in good conscience fight against people who are only trying to exist.

The other agents start taking the Octarians’ side, even Agent 8 who, despite hesitating given their trust in Off the Hook, still resonates too strongly with the plight of the Octarians to turn their back on them fully. Pearl is taken aback, but after a glance at a very betrayed Marina, declares the Squidbeak Splatoon their enemy too, Marina locking eyes with Agent 8 before Off the Hook take their leave.

Cy remarks that it’s a shame, but she understands exactly why Marina is acting this way. Callie asks why, but Cy just assures her that Marina isn’t stupid, so if everything goes right, she’ll come around. Aris tells the player where the kettle’s entrance is, and at their leisure, they can join the Octarians there.

Upon entering the kettle as the player Cy assumes you know how things work, and there are a few filler travel stages to break the story up a little, before eventually the group return to see Tetra emerge for the first time, locking eyes with Captain 3, removing her goggles for the first time, and immediately going on the attack. Captain 3 drops their weapon and holds up their hands, but Tetra still rushes them down, holding both Dark Tetra Dualies up to their face.

After a long moment of them staring each other down, Tetra narrows her eyes, throws her arms down in a burst of anger, and leaves without saying anything else. After a few sighs of relief across the group, the tone lightens up, and Cy guesses that Tetra won’t be bothering them - which is a relief.

The bulk of Act II itself is actually fairly underdeveloped story-wise and is a lot more gameplay focused. It reinforces a lot of the character stuff from Act I, but a big ongoing theme is repeatedly clashing with Off the Hook in various places, and getting more glimpses of the strange fifth Octoling and getting more hints as to what it really is that the squadron is planning, and why they’ve kept it hidden.

While their convictions are still the same, there is a growing level of uncertainty among the group as they feel less okay with being kept in the dark. Eventually, the Squid Sisters, Cap 3, and Agent 8 catch a glimpse of the mystery Octoling leaving, and watch them enter a building off the edge of the camp alongside the other Octolings. The Squid Sisters take the opportunity to snoop around the building, which appears to be a laboratory of some sort.

As the group search deeper within for answers, strange, distorted music can be heard - with oddly familiar vocals. It turns into a full stealth mission, until eventually towards the end you’re spotted and confronted by all four of the squadron members. Tetra warns that they were not supposed to come here, Cy is quiet for once, Aris is quiet as usual, and Oregil... actually looks motivated to stop you.

Of course this is a video game and you win that horrible 4v4, breaking through into the room ahead to find that fifth Octoling in a room full of synthesizers, speakers and computers. She calls for Cy, before turning around and realizing who it actually is.

Marie asks the obvious question, of what the hell this is, and the fifth Octoling who introduces herself as Sock, answers that this is a studio, actually. Well, a lab and a studio. Maybe it should be called a studyo. Weirdly lighthearted for what the group was expecting.

Cy, having respawned and entered behind them, is audibly defeated as she guesses an explanation can’t be avoided.

The studio was used over this entire period to study the effects of a song whose influence is as potent as it is destructive... the Calamari Inkantation. It’s the song that spawned not one, but two mass exoduses. It has an undeniable impact on the cephaling psyche. And, as they know, it’s one of the most important songs to not only the Squid Sisters, but Inkadia as a whole.

The fact that the Inkantation can grab the mind so easily when it isn’t being actively fought, and cause such extremely psychological changes... it was, and still is, one of the biggest problems Octaria has had to deal with. And up until recently, there was little you could do about the Inkantation besides actively study its influence.

What they found, was that it was able to simply cloud out your own lived experience. It would walk you down mental shortcuts, take advantage of the simplicity of certain ideas, and corrupt experiences that contradicted it. Causing Octolings to simply leave their struggling communities, their memories twisted with the idea that they’ve somehow invented their own struggle, corrupted only to enable the Octoling to gravitate towards assimilation without dissonance.

The only Octolings welcome in Inkadia are those who have listened to and internalized the Inkantation... those who, consciously or not, allow it to twist their memories and reshape who they are as people.

It’s a lot. Some Octolings are more resistant than others, and some, like Sock here, have managed to reverse engineer it and escape that way. Sock, an Octoling raised in Inkopolis, raised with the Inkantation, and only later exposed to its flaws - without memories of Octaria to have been twisted by it, she was only able to create new ones, to learn from those who live Octaria every day, rather than being stuck behind a layer of cognitive dissonance.

Of course, other Octolings simply could not leave. The new experiences formed after the Inkantation constantly falsify the old, corrupted memories, and reinforce the reality. But many Octolings, upon being swayed by the Inkantation, simply left and assimilated into Inkling societies.

The idea that the Inkantation is not only not good, but actively a corrupting force, was not something Cy nor any of the squadron were confident the Squid Sisters or anyone else exposed to the Inkantation would be able to process. And without that, how else would they understand the importance of their mission - to reverse the effects of the Inkantation using the strange, distorted song the group have been hearing.

Taking a lot of voice samples from the Squid Sisters was the only way they would be able to relpicate the sound that originally entranced those under the Inkantation’s effects. That’s why they needed to go for broke and resort to squidnapping. The Inkantation being a strong corrupting force meant that it was unpredictable how they would react to learning the truth behind the song, while still at least partially under the effects of it.

And that’s also why Cy said of Marina that she understands why she’s so hostile - Marina is one of the most deeply Inkantationed Octolings.

A lot of the breakdowns of how the Inkantation affects Octolings also resonates extremely strongly with Agent 8 - who, despite how prominent and overpowering the Inkantation was, was still able to hold onto friendly feelings around Octarians, and frustrations around their place in Inkling society. So many weird, dissonant feelings, are starting to make sense. But also, a lot of really awful feelings are starting to surface as well - traumatic feelings, now that they’re starting to think back on their life, and counterbalancing that to the horrors they witnessed in the Deepsea Metro. Horrifying, but... real. So, so, horribly real.

This is their last shot. If they can reverse the Inkantation across Inkopolis... who knows what it would achieve. But the plan, at the very least, is unity and community. Cy admits that in all likelihood, most Octolings will stay in Inkopolis even after the Inkantation is cleared. That��s their home now - they have new friends, new commitments, a new life... and there’s not much of a home to return to in Octaria.

But, maybe, some Octolings come to visit. Maybe some Octolings come back. Maybe those that don’t, can at least use their new life in Inkopolis to raise the voices of those suffering back home, and create a real partnership - no egotistical DJ required. And not just turning Octolings into Inklings with funny hair.

Act III

Well, once this whole reveal happens, there is a lot of internal conflict, but on the face of it, there’s really nothing to argue. There’s the disgust and to a degree personal insult felt at the idea that this song that was so important to them, that became a cornerstone of Inkadia, was harmful. That they the Squid Sisters enacted that harm onto tens of thousands of Octolings.

But it’s all there. Their minds want to deny it, but there’s nothing to stand on.

At the very least, they have a rare opportunity to set things almost entirely right. And so, they take it.

The plan is simple: Do what the Inkantation did. Blast the song out to as many Octolings as possible, and then... maybe overthrow Octavio for fun just as a bonus lol

The Squid Sisters are already popstars - they can just take the song into the Inkopolis News Station, perform it live, and get it playing all over, such is how Inkopolis is with its new music. Or well, that’s how it COULD work...  if there wasn’t a sudden “NEVER GONNA HAPPEN” and muffled “Pearl--!!” coming from Agent 8′s earpiece, that they forgot to take out.

So... the easy walk-in walk-out strategy just turned into a big climactic final battle for the station. The specifics of which........ are still being ironed out, sORRY!

But generally, Pearl and Marina get backup in on the situation, and it’s a lot of small missions in one building, split across multiple teams, some stealth, some just battle, some objectives, and the final battle being a survival section over the Squid Sisters performing the song (playing as the squid sisters is cool but its not quite a Splatoon Final Boss if the Squid Sisters aren’t singing some variant of the Calamari Inkantation over it except that one time) including Pearl and Marina themselves getting in on the battle.

I’m not musical enough to think of how this would work, but it would be kinda crazy for it to sort of be objective-based by whether the Squid Sisters’ reverse-Inkantation or perhaps even Off the Hook singing the normal Inkantation is playing for more time - like a dueling song of some sort

After it’s over and you win, there’s this sort of both relief and confusion since it feels like not much happened - but it affects Marina. Like, god, does it affect Marina after everything that happened to her after the Inkantation. A lot of what she knew, the people she was close to, her life in general, all just flooding back. Suddenly realizing that these were not shadowy monsters that were out to get her, they weren’t evil clones trying to destroy the world. They were people she knew, old friends, family even, that were just trying to get by as best they could without leaving their friends and family in the dust. And then she let herself be swayed by a song, and then suddenly... how could she have just left them like that? What did she do to them? What did she do to herself?

But cutting through it all is Pearl’s voice, asking if she’s okay. Despite what she was worried about... it’s still Pearl. It didn’t make her hate Pearl or not recognize Pearl or change anything about how she felt about Pearl. It just, cleared the fog around the other people she cared about, that she had been convinced she didn’t.

So.... yeah!! Once all is said and done, Marina assures Pearl that she’s still her, that all these fears she had, didn’t happen. Plus, some minor panic over how close she got to keeping these thoughts down forever. But she didn’t, and now that it’s all over, she can let it out to Pearl and the rest of them.

Epologue

Other Octolings throughout Inkopolis start feeling similar things, though minus the Deepsea Metro trauma, and as anticipated, some of them do return. Some come back temporarily, some just have a lot to think about. Many who come back in some form or another will also sadly realize how close Octaria is to just crumbling to the ground. But over the following days, weeks, months, and years, both Octolings and Inklings work together to both raise awareness and to help reconstruction efforts.

It’s the start of a much, much, much larger social shift - that kind of also passively involves removing Octavio from power, but that’s easy enough at this point. And of course, Pearl and Marina come up with some shenanigans to get the squadron and the Squid Sisters... off the hook.

And that’s Culture Shock, the entire story exists for that one throwaway pun at the end thank you for listening you’ve been a great audience and even if this FINDS its target audience NOBODY will be able to read this before the direct that will inevitably have Side Order content which means NOBODY except ME will have the knowledge of this before their expectations are shfited by the existence of Side Order

Okay but seriously if you somehow finished all of this like, DM me on Discord @aviivix or something because we will become best friends

Also... if you can believe it... this is like maybe HALF of like all the story stuff I’ve got in Culture Shock - each member of the Octo Squad has an arc (especially Tetra she has the biggest arc but I barely mention Tetra here) and there’s big ass history with the dead Octos and a lot of specifics I didn’t touch... if you ask me about any of it I will be your best friend no questions asked.

TYSM!!!!!!!!!

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #squid sisters #octoling #agent 3 #culture shock au

[elf-osamu]

“WOW, I REALLY CAN’T SPEAK, HUH? MUST BE BECAUSE OF HOW PRETTY YOU LOOK”

[ masterlist ] [ event ] [ reblogs are v v v appreciated ]

fluff, romantic relationship, lucifer, mammon, barbatos x gn!reader

warning(s) : mammon’s one is kinda sad at first ?? mostly bc he’s overthinking things ☹️ probably he’s a bit ooc but idc he’s gorgeous regardless (let’s say you two are at the start of your relationship in this one-shot).

words count : 2587 words

request: “howdy may i rq an obey me scenario with this prompt —> “wow i really can’t speak, huh? must be because of how pretty you look.” gn! mc says it ! would like it to be with lucifer, mammon and barbatos. maybe something like them rambling and asking if mc is listening and they drop that line ^ thank youu”

a/n : AA FINALLY AN OBEY ME REQUEST 🫶🏻 i love those characters with all of my heart, aND THIS PROMPT IS SO GOOD, it’s one of my favorites !! thank you for requesting btw <33 and i apologize for the long wait :( i had no time to write between school and personal matters. anyway, just so you know, lucifer’s and mammon’s ones are soooo long while barbato’s is auite short, i kinda rushed it because i felt bad since i’ve been neglecting requests lately 😭😭 (yeah this is the second time i’m posting this)

LUCIFER :

as the student council vice president, lucifer is well known among the royal academy of diavolo’s demons and angels: although being a composed individual most of the time, he has also an intimidating and almost cruel side to him because of his status, hence why many demons fear him. his fierce, self-assured demeanour is somewhat entrancing, capturing everyone’s gaze in an unbreakable trance, plus his aura of pride is something inevitable in everyday life.

this is not to mention his complicated past and the authority he possesses thanks to lord diavolo, which — according to many demons and a few angels — give more might to his persona.

although sometimes you were the main cause of many troubles in the past, now you can consider yourself quite privileged to be in his good graces. as his partner you have access to a vulnerable part of him that not everyone has a chance to see, where his pride comes off and his insecurities and annoyances emerge, and you can afford to be bold with him.

this very day, he is complaining about a bunch of ‘inferior’ demons who have caused a rather bothersome fuss during curses and hexes class, knocking out a student, giving a headache to your beloved: lucifer knows perfectly well how to put someone in their place, even forcefully if necessary, however it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel pressured and tired after doing his duty.

the stress derived from all of his responsibilities, and from the piles of paperwork stubbornly sitting on his desk nearly every day, highly increases over time.

now the two of you are in his study, lucifer is rereading the report about today’s incident he just finished to write while you intently watch him work, helping him here and there. frowing in displeasure, he keeps changing a few sentences, wondering how the hell he’s going to survive this afternoon.

however, you can’t help but admire his handsome features: his black eyes shine with a reddish light, they are a little jaded but also alive; his rosy lips form a straight line, emphasizing his concentration, but no less beautiful; his cheeks are covered with a slight sheen of blush, probably due to his weariness; what to say, his demonic beauty is undoubtedly striking.

being too busy with your thoughts, you don’t realize he’s trying to get your attention to what he has been saying for the past few minutes.

“[name], are you listening to me?” he asks, lips slightly parted at your silence.

it’s almost funny, the fact that he completely ignores the reason of your quietness.

“[name].” at this point, lucifer’s voice is filled more with worry than irritation. why aren’t you responding to him? is something the matter?

as he’s about to ask another question, you snap back to reality, slowly turning to your senses.

you try to say something to seem completely nonchalant, but your voice — hoarse from nervousness — betrays you, and you can’t help but observe again your partner, who is frowing even more than before. if that’s possible.

you sigh, in defeat with yourself, and a genuine grin makes its way onto your face. “wow, i really can’t speak, huh? must be because of how pretty you look”.

at first, he doesn’t really process those words.

although his gaze is fixed on your figure, his mind is fuzzy from all the work he’s currently doing, almost as if he were in a dream-like state, not at all focused on the present world. there’s silence for a few seconds in the room you two are in, and you’re asking yourself if you need to bring lucifer back to reality. but when you’re about to talk to him, you shift slightly on your sit, and his brain registers the movement.

so, suddenly, realization hits him. perhaps, too suddenly.

if it weren’t for his majestic pride, he’d cover his face, now completely red — but, doing so would be admitting his confused (but contented) mood derived from the sound of your words, which is inadmissible to him. so, all he can do is pretend that he’s not impressed by what you have said, even if his body is betraying him: in addition to the blush on his face and neck, his eyes are filled with astonishment and his lips, slightly parted again, form a small circle, defining his astonishment.

finally, he glares at you — taking back a part of his self-control — and seems to be lost in thought, probably wondering how he should face the situation without feeling too embarrassed; you can almost see the gears of his brain working wildly, desperately trying to find a simple solution.

and then, his eyes sparkle.

never underestimate a demon, especially if it’s lucifer. have you flustered him? well, be prepared, because he’ll pay you back in the same coin.

he adjusts himself on his scarlet armchair, which highlights his shimmering eyes, and leans towards you, over his desk. you can tell by his look that, if you let him speak, his words will be the death of you. and there’s no way you’ll allow it.

“too bad i need to be in another a class in, like, five minutes,” you blatantly lie, checking your wristwatch, and getting up. you lean just a little to give lucifer a quick peck on the lips. “well, see you later, pretty boy”, you wink at him and leave the room in a hurry, without giving him enough time to process what has happened.

yet again, he’s stunned by how you’ve called him.

the avatar of pride may be confident and assertive, but his heart can only flutter when someone is genuinely complimenting him. especially if it’s you.

MAMMON :

“… and so he blamed me! me, do ya understand? he, without hesitation, cursed the great mammon in front of the whole class! what an outrageous thing to do, don’t ya think!?”.

one interesting thing about the avatar of greed is that, despite his attempts to play it cool, he’s not confident about himself. thinking about it, it can’t but make sense: he’s driven by his multiple desires — money, for example — and craves them every time there’s a minimal absence of those, including external approval; he needs to be seen and accepted by everyone.

admitting it out loud would probably never be an option, considering his stubborn nature, but mammon would do anything to make you smile or laugh at his jokes — anything. he wants to be worthy of your attention — because in his mind he’s not deserving of love, particularly yours. of course, if you asked him something about this matter, he’d say the opposite — he’s everything but good at communicating his needs.

getting to know the demon hasn’t been an easy task, but with time you’ve managed to discover that there’s a soft side to him — a kind, warm heart behind his usual carefree mask.

despite all these thoughts spinning in your head, in this moment you are still fascinated by mammon’s temper and gestures: his hands, shaken, are moving quickly in the air, a slight pout is adorning his face, and his eyes are glimmering in bitter frustration — the sky of the devildom is reaching his darkest shade of colour while he looks vigorous yet ethereal.

“… handsome”, you murmur, as if talking to yourself.

mammon suddenly stops in his tracks, a slight embarassed expression appearing on his face.

“oh? what did ya say?” he asks, confused yet hopeful, thinking that maybe he has misheard you — because how could someone like you view him as nothing but that? sure, you’re his partner, however the fear of not being seen and loved for who he really is… is always present.

you sigh and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder. “wow, i really can’t speak, huh? ah, must be because of how pretty you look…”.

the noises of the night fill the atmosphere between you two in this moment; mammon’s brain has stopped working and, honestly, you can’t blame him: saying that he’s taken aback by your remark would be a great understatement to describe the current situation.

the avatar of greed is feeling so many emotions in so little time — his heart is pounding stronger than ever, you can almost hear its soft sound, and a reassurance which he has never felt so intensely is hugging his chest. these sensations are something he would gladly immerse himself into, a new type of greed to add to his long and interminable list, a new need.

unfortunately, the clock is ticking and mammon doesn’t want you to see his true self, not in a moment so embarassing for him, not like this — though he would love to indulge in this sweet pleasure for a while longer.

“you— human! what are ya thinking, speaking like that to your first demon? ya sure are bold! i’ll close one eye for this time, so consider yourself lucky tonight, because the great mammon won’t be so gentle in the future!”

a quick laugh escapes from your lips and, before he can question it, you grab his jaw with one of your hands, so his eyes can only be directed towards you.

“mammon, sweetheart, drop the act. you are making a fool of yourself and, although you’d be so entertaining to watch right now, you need to realise that i love you, truly.”, your gaze softens and you smile at him, making his heart melt. “it’s okay to not understand why you are cared about — but i want you to know that you are important to me, so, so fcking much. we’re in this together — aren’t we? then, will you allow me to show why and how i’m going to love and take care of you, mh?”.

mammon remains still as you finish your speech; his unsteady breath, however, betrays him.

“[name], i… thank you”, he says, unsure on how to continue his response.

“talk your feelings out, if you feel like it. i’m not a judge here,” you reassure him.

his gaze shifts for a moment, symbolising his indecision, but then it returns to yours. “i’m… i am glad to have ya in my life, [name]. but, well, i suppose i have one request to make”.

your smile turns suddenly into a smirk, finally happy to see your boyfriend taking courage to express his feelings.

“yes, dear?”.

“be greedy with me,” he pauses, slowly breathing in and out to not mess up his next words. “indulge in my sin whenever you can, day by day, and don’t leave anything behind. spare nothing, let the greed take control over you, like i’ll do with you from now on”.

“oh now, now, who is the bold one?” you murmur, getting closer to him. “you’re extremely covetous, mammon, and this is one of the many things which i appreciate about you. i already made a pact with you, so i don’t see a problem with your request. i accept it”, and you kiss him, as if you’re sealing the deal.

who would have thought that one of the greatest demons of all the realms could feel such things for a human?

BARBATOS :

despite being barbatos’s partner, it’s not quite often that you’re invited over lord diavolo’s castle to spend time with two of the most powerful demons in the devildom. the reason why is actually pretty simple: your lover’s life is full of events to attend and favors to give. his presence is requested by every kind of beings, alongside his trusted services to the devildom’s prince, resulting in little to no space left for your meetings. the same can be said for you, since your school life isn’t exactly giving you energy to talk to him either — so you could say you two are fair.

this evening is different from the usual, since you were invited for dinner — a rare, but pleasant occasion to find yourself in. the one who has arranged it all is, nevertheless, lord diavolo himself: though he often acts oblivious of his requests, he has a keen eye for his butler’s mental state — so it would have been only a matter of time before he found out about barbatos’ single desire to relieve his stress… you.

using the “celebration” of your school achievements as an excuse, diavolo set up these hours in his magnificent mansion just for the two of you — saying that he’s attended elsewhere and oh so unfortunately he won’t be able to remain with you even for a while longer.

this is the premise of the current moment — you are quite literally squeezing your boyfriend, hugging him from behind, while he prepares his nightly skincare routine. he’s looking at himself in the mirror, dark green eyes are inspecting his state: his hands are on both sides of the sink, slightly supporting his robust and elegant figure; his torso is covered by a black tank top — something you’d rarely have the chance to see, considering barbatos’ extreme care for a professional appearance; his cold but soft skin seems bright, almost shining, under the tender lamp’s light.

his lips are smartly moving, giving life to his thoughts, however you are too focused on him to pay attention to his words.

“[name]?”

the sudden call of your name wakes you up, but only for a second.

“mh?”

his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “are you listening to me?”.

“mmh mh”, you nod, not registering his question at all, and continue to admire him in silence.

obviously, he’s completely aware of it — after all, he’s the demon who can see through both the past and future.

with a swift movement of his body, he turns to face you, making you cling to his waist.

with his right hand, he gently holds your chin between his fingers. “would you like, my love, to share your thoughts on the matter? you seem rather unfocused tonight, wouldn’t you agree?”.

you swallow, waiting for your confidence to come back. then, you try to give back the same energy of his — since you wouldn’t like to lose to his antics, not again.

“damn, i really can’t speak right now, huh? must be because of how pretty you look, barbatos. it’s actually not fair”.

although you don’t look nearly as self-assured as him, you regain a bit of your control when you notice a hint of hesitation and bewilderment on his face.

he scoffs, looking away from your eyes — and doing so makes it evident that his ears are bright red. you catch the opportunity right away, moving his hair away from the sensitive skin.

“ah! if only the others saw you, the formidable barbatos, right now! you wouldn’t be feared so much,” you teasingly comment, preparing for his next move.

“i wouldn’t be so daring if i were in your place, [name]”, barbatos remarks jokingly — but you can never be so sure when it comes to him: as proof you have his piercing gaze fixated on your face, which conveys a message that you couldn’t otherwise pick up.

“well- i guess i’ll make it up tomorrow! aren’t you tired? it’s been an exhausting day — let’s watch a movie!” you suddenly suggest, not resisting to his towering yet fascinating aura.

he sighs as you quickly evade from his arms, though he’s suppressing a smile.

barbatos supposes he can let one person to make fun of him.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

#obey me #obey me fluff #obey me! shall we date? #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me barbatos #obey me x reader #gn!reader #x gn reader #x gn!reader #mammon x you #lucifer x gender neutral reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer #barbatos x reader

[autisticlancemcclain]

okay so you just put this in your most recent post so now i’m really curious, what are your thoughts on kuron? what specifically makes you say he’s a good iteration of shiro? /gen

oooou okay thank you for asking. i covered this a little bit in this essay here, but i'll sum up the most important bit from that essay (in relation to this topic):

"Lastly — and this turned out to be less relevant to the essay than I expected, but I do want to go over it a tad — is Shiro’s tie to humanity. I mentioned two important points: Shiro’s connection to mortality makes him the most intimate with his humanity out of all the characters, and he is undoubtedly the flattest character of them all. That is, if you don’t consider his clone to be part of his character.

But I’m begging you to reconsider. Reconsider, perhaps, who the clone is — Haggar had pure access to Shiro for a year, you remember. His thoughts, his dreams, his mannerisms, his priorities, his body. Even him at his most human, his most deranged, his most scared. She had Shiro then. She had Shiro when he had nothing to look forward to. She had Shiro when he hurt his crew to make sure they would live, at direct cost to himself.

She stripped him of his humanity — his connection to his own mortality. She took his illness from him. And who, then, did she return to the team? Who was clone? Shiro, mostly. The clone was happy to play with the team. The clone was clever. The clone believed, fully, that he was Shiro, only he was angrier and meaner, a little, and less capable of shoving down his own pain. Shiro, stripped of his tie to humanity and mortality, stripped of his compulsive need to be strained and stressed and the one everyone else can rely on, the Role rather than the Person, is emotional. He has flaws and outbursts. He can’t manage his own pain. He is is cruelest to the one person on the team — Lance — who canonically reminds him closest of himself.

Shiro, in the purest form that Haggar can make him, is flawed and self-hating. That is where our love for him comes. Not the man who pushes himself down at the same time as he sacrifices his personality to be someone for others, but the man who is struggling and can’t keep it locked down. That’s where it comes from."

so! what does this mean.

shiro, as a character, does not get to choose and form his own identity. first he is the Garrison Poster Boy -- and while he is a pilot, an explorer, and happy to do both of those things, he is uncomfortable with (largely lance's) hero worship. he both a) doesn't believe he deserves it, and b) is not happy in that role. we see it in the "blam blam blam" scene -- he is trapped in the 'hero' role because he is trapped in a role of Perfection, and he is not perfect, and it grates on him. second he is the Champion -- and while he did force himself to be the Champion by injuring the Holts, it is a sacrifice. being a sacrifice is not the same as choosing a role. third, he is the Paladin of the Black Lion (not the Black Paladin, for deeper analysis on my thoughts there please read this essay and maybe this one too honestly) -- he tries to escape that role from the very beginning. i know i keep pushing yall towards the essay but i genuinely do discuss shiro's role in it, but i'll reiterate:

"...from the very beginning, he set up a replacement for himself.

Doesn’t that strike anyone else as odd? I haven’t seen the show in five years, and I don’t plan on rewatching, but I do remember that every moment with Shiro almost had this underlying tension. The closest thing I have to canon off the top of my head is the Handbook (which I had to stop reading because they did everyone SO dirty there, even though some of it was honestly pretty funny), which was released in S2, and even that incredibly early canon talked about Keith replacing Shiro!

From the very beginning, Shiro was planning an out to his role. He knew it was not meant for him. He did the role well, but it was not his to do."

shiro does not want that fucking role. every single second we see him on screen, as Shiro Original, he is shouldering a burden. he is being someone he does not want to be. not to give voltron any credit, but don't you think it's interesting that he, as a character, comes out to the audience as queer when he is...free from those roles? when he is no longer the Garrison Poster Boy (i.e. lance stops the hero worship), no longer the Champion (haggar is defeated), no longer the Paladin of the Black Lion (keith is now the Black Paladin)...we see him come out. we see him, as it is often called, "be true to himself". to me, this signals that he is finally free from playing someone he is not, and interestingly, this came after kuron -- after he maybe got to be something he truly was.

aside from the more abstract analysis, shiro is deeply, deeply traumatized! it is inane to expect him to be the same person he was. why on earth would he have the same patience during/post war as pre-war? he knows now that hesitance gets people killed. if he had hesitated to hurt matt, matt would have died. if he hesitates out on the field, people die. patience yields focus, sure, but he hasn't had time for patience in god knows how long. any patience he has is, if it has not already torn, wearing thin. lance's lightheardness, although important, is bound to make him snap, especially because shiro used to be the lighthearted one -- if he was still the lighthearted one, people would die. on his conscious. his snappiness at lance, while inappropriate and damaging, makes total sense. it comes from a place of a) deep self-hatred/mistrust and b) trauma.

to quote myself again -- "shiro, in the purest form haggar can make him, is flawed and self-hating". take away shiro's roles, take away his masks, take away any of his responsibilities that have shaped his life for him -- who is he? would he be angry (like kuron)? would he be hurting (like kuron)? would he be vulnerable (like kuron)? would he, for the first time, reach out and ask for help (like kuron)?

i think he would.

#in my essay era again #anyways shiro i love you #vld #voltron #shiro #takashi shirogane #kuron #clone shiro #my writing #longpost

[genericpuff]

I've come to the stunning realization-

-that Lore Olympus is basically to the webtoons industry what Youtube Kids is to Youtube.

And I'm not talking about the general "Youtube Kids" label, I'm talking about those videos - Elsagate, Johny Johny, Cocomelon, Mickey Mouse tattooing Spongebob or whatever other weird example you can think of - which are explicitly designed to game the algorithm, turn views into money, and most of all, gain and keep the attention of the one demographic that won't question what they're consuming - children.

!!!!THIS POST HAS FAST PASS SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!

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I mean, this is undoubtedly just a tinfoil hat theory, but think about it:

Bright oversaturated colors that are attention-grabbing.

Meme faces and 'lol rAnDoM' humor even when it doesn't suit the situation at all.

Art that's all around ugly and cheap on a technical level but still stands out due to its color design and prioritized advertising.

Vapid surface level scene-to-scene writing that doesn't connect or have any meaning in any coherent way.

One-dimensional projection characters who are easy to manipulate and sway for audience sympathy or anger even if those opinions change on a dime based on actions in the moment.

Cliffhangers that are less like true cliffhangers and more like clickbait. Episodes nowadays tend to be filled with drawn out plotlines, vague hints that can be applied to just about any school of thought, and non-sequitur memes to fill the time until they can hook the reader with another cliffhanger to keep them coming back next week.

Coin prices have gone up but episode length, substance, and quality have noticeably gone down. Even if they reach the same panel count they usually have, dialogue is minimal and pacing is brutally inconsistent to the point that plot progression is often non-existent.

Banner ads that run constantly, often in the first or second (or both) slots, with push notifications and pop-up ads also becoming more frequent whether you're subscribed to the comic or not.

And underneath ALL of that, we've got blatant objectifying and sexualization of female characters regardless of context, misogyny that claims to be progressive, racist undertones, borderline fetish content that constantly toes the Terms of Services line, normalization of problematic/toxic relationship dynamics, a creator who's more interested in 'getting back' at critics than writing an actual story, and underlying messaging both from the characters' and the creator's behavior that encourage witch-hunting, rejection of accountability, and blind devotion.

All this is essentially why I've given up consuming LO entirely, beyond just on a critical level as of late. There was a time long ago when I stuck around in the hopes it was going to get better, that maybe it was just going through a "rough patch" as some stories do. After that I stuck around because I wanted to see how it could possibly pull off its ending. And then after that, I simply stuck around for the laughs and community banter. But now I don't even find it funny anymore, the punchline of how bad it is has gotten incredibly old. And at this rate, as much as we'd like to believe it's going to end in its third season as it's been mentioned in the past, we also were told it was going to end between 100-200 episodes prior to that - the way it's going, I can't even stick around "for the ending" because LO is going to be around for as long as WT tries to milk it, despite it no longer having a heartbeat.

As much as I've loved talking shit about this comic and it's undoubtedly the main reason so many of you followed me here in the first place, I'm not going to lock myself in some kind of purgatory hell just to be proven what I already know is going to happen - either the comic continues on forever, doomed to be a lifeless mascot for the zombie corporation that is WT, or RS eats shit while trying to stick the landing with a plane that has no functional parts.

There's a quote from Caddicarus that I couldn't help but think of as I typed this up, from his nearly-decade-old review of Dalmations 3 (oh god, it's nearly been a decade since that video came out what the actual fuck-)

"And this is where I officially lost all fucking care. I realized it wasn't going to end anytime soon. It's one of those rare instances where the novelty of how awful everything is actually gets really tiresome and unfunny." - Caddicarus

#this isn't me saying i'm not gonna talk about LO ever again #i'm just explaining why i haven't engaged with it directly for weeks now and why my LO essays are less often nowadays #i'm even slowly phasing out of the critical community for it #it's just exhausting #and bad for my mental health #i'd rather put my efforts into something positive like rekindled than continue to give this propaganda on a stick more attention #i still love all the pals in the community but it's more to do with the content itself that's being discussed than the people discussing it #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #antiloreolympus #lo critical

[babacontainsmultitudes]

As some of you already know, I am disheartened- though certainly not surprised- by the recent backlash against one Sparrow Oak Garcia for his recent transgression of *checks notes* having a mixed-to-negative opinion on zoos.

Part of me honestly feels a bit silly responding to any of this, but what are any of us here to do if not have opinions on fictional podcast characters. Anyways, I will get to the more important stuff, as obviously (if you've seen any of the criticisms I'm talking about) this ties back to Hero at the end of the day, but seeing as the first wave of hate I saw after the episode was largely to the effect of: "what the fuck does Sparrow have against zoos?", I would like to start by addressing that point briefly (and only briefly, as it's really not the sort of topic I care to discuss online), by saying that zoos and animal captivity more generally have a long history of being contested and criticized by animal rights activists, and that instances of animal abuse and neglect within zoos and other animal-based theme parks are anything but obscure. Furthermore, it feels worth noting that as of present less than 10% of zoos in the US are AZA-accredited. I say absolutely none of this with the intention of making any definitive statements on the nature of zoos, nor to judge people who do enjoy zoos, nor even to provide my own feelings on the matter. Rather, I offer this information only to explain that someone like Sparrow taking issue with something like zoos really isn't strange at all? And whether you agree with such a stance or not, it undoubtedly comes from a place of empathy. Moreover, I don't think we can honestly divorce Sparrow's take and compulsion to voice it from the metacontext that Sparrow is a character being played by Anthony Burch, you know, a vegan, who probably has his own views on the matter that may or may not differ from yours and mine.

Okay, on to more important matters. At the forefront of things I suppose is the assertion that Sparrow's behavior regarding Normal and the zoo and all that is hypocritical and perhaps even nonsensical in light of what Hero was going through at the time with her training. "He wouldn't take Normal to the zoo but he forced Hero to kill a deer with her bare hands?" Certainly the sort of statement that will elicit a strong emotive reaction from the fandom, but one that ultimately relies on a pretty major assumption, namely, that Sparrow acted as the primary organizer and perpetrator of Hero's training, one who supposedly felt no internal conflict towards the situation whatsoever, rather than instead serving as an enabler of it, who ultimately intervened but only after far too much damage was already done. Neither is a great thing to be, but there is absolutely a difference between both of these roles, and I think that Lark and Sparrow's respective behaviors over the course of the season point almost unanimously towards Sparrow being the latter and Lark the former.

(The above being a non-exhaustive list, of course)

The funny part about the whole zoo thing is that it only further corroborates the notion that Sparrow is someone who is sensitive to the suffering of others, and by extension only serves as more evidence that he most likely was not the one actively making Hero undergo the worst of what she had to do. Does this make him guiltless in the matter? Absolutely not, but it does point to Sparrow having issues that are fundamentally different from Lark's, and means that the instance with the zoo is not only consistent with Sparrow's characterization, but frankly not actually all that hypocritical if you look at it for more than a second. That is, there is a very important but simple difference between the situation with Normal and the zoo and that of Hero and the deer that accounts for the variances in Sparrow's behavior between both cases: Lark. Sparrow isn't okay with either situation, based on all the evidence we have so far of who he is as a person there is absolutely no reason to think that Hero's training is not something that deeply upset him- I mean for fuck's sake everything about how Sparrow raised Normal down to his name stems from not wanting his kids to have to live that kind of life. So why doesn't he put a stop to things sooner? Why does he let any of Hero's training happen at all? Again, very simply, because Sparrow cannot say no to his brother. I mean, he does eventually, given Hero's current status, and that change is an important and still ongoing facet of Sparrow's growth and his arc, but at the start of things it is something he struggles with even more than he does now, to his own suffering and detriment and of course even more so to Hero's. But did Sparrow himself "force Hero to kill a deer with her bare hands"? Almost certainly not, and I have to admit that I find it quite frustrating how quickly Lark vanishes from the collective conscious of the fandom when the time comes to assign accountability for matters concerning Hero. But then, who is Sparrow if not someone who takes the fall for his brother, apparently even in the fandom-space.

[Not that there isn't any nuance to Lark's utilitarianism, either. In general I feel as though discussion of the twins' biggest mistakes too often omits the acknowledgement of the fact that all of it has been to stop an eldritch horror responsible for the death and torture of millions of people, but anyways. Not what this post is about.]

I think that's mostly it lol. Got some thoughts on the family's policy on pets (and how it relates to the Hero thing but also to Beanie actually), as well as some remarks on Rebecca and how we really shouldn't be leaving her out of this discussion (I say, leaving her out of this discussion) but eeehhhhhhh y'all I'm especially low energy as of late eheh and mostly just wanted to speak my peace on a couple major things so let's cut it here for now I think :b

#dndads #meant to post this a bit sooner but sleep and anxiety have been very bad lately :( -not related to this stuff lol #dungeons and daddies #sparrow oak #sparrow oak garcia #also posting this at an awful time as I am one to do but eh what can you do #long post #dndads s2 ep 41 #baba babbles #<- remember when I said I would start using that talking tag then didn't???? #hero oak #hero oak swallows garcia #normal oak #normal oak swallows garcia #names lmao gosh #lark oak #lark oak garcia #ask to tag #<- just in case given certain topics

[mcytblr-archive]

Early MCYTblr Interviews: georgeeehd

today's interviewee is reese/georgeeehd/lmanburg/tommyofcolor! dreamlying member, mcytblr og, and the person who discovered that dream wasn't registered to vote. below is a transcript of questions and answers!

Q: What was your experience in wider MCYTblr?

A: I don’t have much experience with wider mcytblr. Maybe I used to reblog Grian stuff on my main blog, before all this DSMP shit. There wasn’t much of a Dream community when I started posting, much less one for DreamNotFound (surprisingly, Dreamnap was the popular ship of the two early on????? so bizarre to me), so I dug out my microcosm immediately. There was never a wider myctblr for me.

Q: What was your experience in critblr/dreamlying specifically?

A: The notion that dreamlying is the spawn of critblr is interesting to me, because I agree with you now, but I wouldn’t have at the time. Critblr was a tumblr community. Dreamlying was a friend group, predating critblr. I considered myself dteamblr for a really long time— I never felt aligned with the critblr movement because that was always Jason’s territory, really. I don’t mention it to nitpick or to scold, but like, I’m into this archiving thing, too, so I wanted to opine on how we label these groups. Maybe there should be a distinction made between what we considered ourselves vs. what we actually were.

My experience in proto-critblr was pretty cushy because it was all mine. Me and my contemporaries had a following, we were respected, we had smart things to say, we were funny, established, etc. Think, “The School of Athens.” I definitely grew a bit of an ego with how popular I was, which I’m sure will come across in this interview, haha.

At times I felt a little unchallenged, like people were only agreeing with me not because I was right, but because I was saying anything at all. At the same time, I was incredibly defensive and insecure, so the little pushback I might have gotten would bother me terribly. I was probably overreactive and mean. I was fifteen then, and I’m nineteen now, so there’s lots of things I would’ve handled differently, if I could.

In terms of my experience with dreamlying, I like what Ozzie had to say. We were all just very, very good friends. There’s not much else to it. In my first discord server, “dream lying” was a hidden messaging channel where we could critique Dream Team freely. “Dream lying” was supposed to parody the phrase “dream truthing.” So we were basically this tiny little secret society, at the start. There was no way we wouldn’t have hit it off.

Q: Are there any events that stand out to you?

A: A lot. Too many. Some are more personally relevant than historically relevant, and I don’t really know where to draw the line. The voter registration fiasco was a big one, but there were other smaller things… I was always in some fuckin’ controversy or another! The magic 8 ball says, Ask again later.

Q: Was being in MCYTblr an overall positive or negative experience for you?

A: Undoubtedly positive! I don’t even know where to start with this question. I met a lot of wonderful people that I still keep in contact with today, right? But beyond that, I feel like being in this community helped me grow a lot, like, personally. I was thinking and writing a lot. I learned so, so much, about people, about the internet, about fandom, about myself. It was such an expansive experience.

I guess I should mention that my time with mcytblr was incredibly stressful. My involvement in the fandom weighed heavily on my mental health. I felt very watched, and I still do. At my worst, I was hospitalized. (I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t mention my mcyt-induced mental hospital stint in my mcyt interview.) None of that really moves me, though, ‘cause it was all just part of the experience, and I find it all pretty funny, looking back.

Q: A few people have mentioned the account mcyttruth in relation to you, specifically around a callout post. What happened there? [I had misremembered-- I meant to ask this to Jason lmanburg, not Reese lmanburg.]

A: The mcyttruth callout wasn’t about me, but my discord server, dteamblr 2. I was not as involved here— at this point, critblr was in full bloom, and this server was like a rendezvous for people who liked dreamlying and modcord blogs (modcord was another friend group, like dreamlying, but critblr-based).

Regarding that callout specifically, I don’t know. Probably, there were too many r-slurs, too many jokes about hating Ranboo, the usual. There were a lot of callouts (for me or for people I was friends with), and I never really took them seriously. I mean, honestly, the url “mcyttruth” alone is derivative. Do you know how many times I’ve read the words “mcyt” and “truth”? Everything about this is a blur to me.

Q: I suppose I would ask-- given the current events surrounding many of the creators who were popular in 2020/2021, do you feel that dreamlying has been vindicated in their criticisms of creators?

A: Yes, but I would have said yes in 2020, because who these people are was as obvious to me then as it is now. Our criticisms weren’t like, headcanons that we made up to be mean, they were plain old observations. Wilbur was openly mentally ill, creepy, and generally dismissive of other people. Not to say that there aren’t good things about him either, but, of course this is the kind of guy to make his girlfriend clean up after him. There’s a million cautionary tales about guitar stringers with floppy hair under a beanie, whiny song lyrics, and a masturbatory approach to self-loathing.

Dream’s not this person anymore, so that’s not why I bring it up, but think back to when his old Reddit account was exposed for being active on r/The_Donald. That was everything we were ever talking about! That was Dream being exactly who he was— a young white man from Florida. I love Dream, always have, always will. Acknowledging that he is/was a whole person with flaws and unsavory politics, I think, is truer fanhood than the idolization everyone puts him through.

You use the word “vindicated” to acknowledge that we were heavily criticized ourselves. Most of that was on the basis of privacy— you know, whether or not it’s okay to speculate on people’s personal lives. It doesn’t matter that we were “right” so often, that we still are, and always will be, because people will focus more on the original sin of having speculated in the first place.

I used to love vindication because it made me feel smart, like I could see things that no one else could. Now it just makes me sad. I don’t think it has anything to do with smarts, nor would I care if it did. I think people just don’t let themselves think that far. You know, “I don’t want to make assumptions,” “It’s none of my business,” “It’s not that deep,” etc. Maybe there’s no instinct to look deeper at all. It really just makes me sad.

Q: Is there anything else you'd like to add/have archived?

A: I’d like to ask everybody to stay critical. The hivemind response to recent events have shown me that this fandom remains as shallow, unthinking, conformative, elementary… as it was four years ago.

Thank you for conducting these interviews in the first place. It's nice hearing everyone’s voices again.

#early mcytblr interviews #Volume 13 #georgeeehd

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Blurb 2.0

It wasn’t his fault. Not really.

How could one take responsibility for something they are unable to control?

It wasn’t as if he had said anything.

One might say that he could have made a different expression. Or no expression, at all. Which was something he was usually very good at, of course. A mask he donned when it suited him best, expressionless.

Of course, until today.

To be fair, Draco Malfoy didn’t know he was making any expression at all. Because he had been overwhelmed with the vibrant array of emotions in...wherever emotions are felt. He knew that emotions are the result of activated neurons that originate somewhere in the cerebral cortex. So, the brain, essentially is what he was saying. Which he thought was funny because all of his emotions seemed to radiate from somewhere below his neck. Depending on the emotion, it might originate from his stomach, or from the center of his chest. It most frequently radiated somewhere around his groin often enough that it caused him to think scientists in general were all full of shit. Regardless, all of the bodily areas seemed to be radiating with emotion.

He didn’t force Weasley to address him.

“Is there a problem, Malfoy?” The Weasel was facing him, now. Not the woman who used to be a girl.

A girl who had lived a thousand lives by the time she was nineteen years old. A girl, who was never just any girl. Not when he first met her. Not ever.

Always very sure of herself, that one. Even when he had tried his best to make her second guess that self assurance. The last time he had seen her, he had seen less of the girl he had known, her eyes haunted and a general harder exterior encasing her once vibrant aurora.

But she wasn’t a girl anymore. Hermione Granger had morphed into a woman.

He also didn’t tell his legs to move forward, to approach the oaf and look down his nose at the boy who had grown to be her man. “Other than being subjected to the sight of you man handling Granger, no. You do realize you paw at her like a dog, right?”

Weasley blushed a red angrier than the hair on his head. “Mind your own business, asshole.”

Brilliant. Clever, as always. Was what he thought. What he said was far more incriminating. It was the start, really, to this story. It could have technically started seven years ago, that day outside the courtroom. The courtroom where his father was destined to be sentenced to a life in prison. The same courtroom that had sentenced his mother to a year of house arrest.

It’s just that he had always assumed that he had ended that brief reprieve from reality. It was a quick glimpse into a maybe. An almost. A what could have been.

But it would have, undoubtedly, sent Granger into a world of danger and Draco would have been spending the entirety of his life looking over his shoulder. Looking after hers.

And so, he had not dived into that thread of fate that might have been. Instead, he had doomed himself to a life of obsessively watching after her from afar. Fucking and dating women he didn’t actually care about. It caused her anger for him to reignite into a hatred much more volatile than than the version she had for him back in school.

But he couldn’t help himself now. He had finally agreed to Dawlish’s offer of joining the DMLE and coincidentally had been assigned as Potters new partner after his former partner had left the DMLE.

His former partner was still staring at him with the kind of hate that spanned centuries, caused wars. And little did he know that the war had began ages ago and not because of blood status but for the reason most wars begin.

A girl.

The girl who was now a woman and was now peeking out from behind Weasley’s arm, big brown eyes trained on Draco. And he watched them widen as he finally responded to Weasley’s brilliantly uncreative response to Draco’s insult. Mind your own business [enter your typical mundane insult].

“She is my business.” Was the response that Draco should not have said. But he did. And really, like mentioned before, it was unrestrained. Unsanctioned! And therefore, not his fault.

He should have expected the fist that came for his cheek. He should have been watching Weasley and not Granger. But her pretty little lips had parted and formed a little O as she locked eyes with his. There was something fascinating about watching the way her eyes lit with fury. A fury he realized he had been missing, terribly, all these years.

Of course, the captivity that her face held him in, did distract him. Prevented him from realizing that the Weasel had launched himself forward. Stringy arms reached out and a fist clipped him across the face, sending heat and pain to spread and pulse.

And you know, once a man is swung at, what can one do but react instinctually. It was beyond his control, the way his own left arm had pulled back before landing heavily against his opponents mouth. None, whatsoever, when his legs launched him forward and his arms wrapped around the man’s abdomen, sending them both onto the floor.

And so there, in the middle of Harry Potter’s foyer, did Draco Malfoy finally declare his intentions while simultaneously destroying an old Black heirloom upon his first visit to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The orb, which resembled that of a Crystal ball ala Sybill Trelawney, was jostled from it’s perch on the entry table and rolled slowly down the length of the runner that was placed over the table.

Draco was oblivious to this, of course, as he was too busy rolling over, pressing Weasley onto the floor below him and then digging his elbow into the man’s clavicle.

“Oi!”

Potter was shouting at them and Granger might have been rolling her eyes into the back of her head as the men continued to throw each other around. It was impressive, really, that two men could hate each other so much and still result in things like fists rubbing furiously into the top of ones head.

“Is Ron giving him a noogie?” Harry murmured and Granger sighed the kind of sighed that should have been saved for a god being rudely awaken after a millennia of sleep.

In short, nobody seemed to pay much mind to the heirloom that was precariously perched on the edge of the table. Waiting for the next bump by a leg or a shoulder.

Incidentally, it was Draco’s ankle that caught and thwacked the leg of the table. It hurt more than Weasley’s right hook.

And it was the shattering of a crystal that caused the fight to come to a halt. The scattering of a hundred little shards spraying across the entirety of the foyer.

Both Draco and Weasley pulled apart to look over at the mess. Just in time to see a cloud vapor explode from the floor where the orb had landed and broken.

It billowed up into the air and hung momentarily before it pulled apart. All of the bits of gaseous particles together looked like a cloud of mist. Pulled apart, they became colorless and so miniscule and numerous that they disappeared as they all dispersed into the air, vaporizing into nothing.

The four of them remained frozen before one by one, they all looked at one another. It was Weasley who finally spoke first.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Harry frowned down at the remaining mess of broken crystals scattered about the floor. “I dunno. It came with the house. Some Black family heirloom, I would imagine.”

“That doesn’t make any of us feel better.” Weasley murmured, then sneered and looked to his right. “Except maybe for you.”

Ah, well technically, yes. He was a Black, but mostly, he was a Malfoy. Even more than all that, he didn’t care to be either.

“Does anyone feel ill?” Harry asked, apparently worried that it was some sort of airborne poison.

Granger remained quiet but all of them shook their heads.

Draco rose to his feet and glanced at Granger. Evidence of anger still echoed on her features, and she refused to meet his eyes. He shrugged and stepped toward Potter. The heel of his dragon hide Oxfords crunched into the tiny pieces of orb.

“Why did you keep all this garbage anyway, Potter?” He sneered over at the wall where a portrait was covered with a sheet.

“Cursed, besides it reminds me of Sirius, so I haven’t actually looked too deeply into removing it all.” Harry’s eyes widened just slightly at the confession before he refocused his attention to the mess with a sigh. “Clean this mess up, guys.” He then turned his back on them and disappeared into a door that led him back into the kitchen.

Weasley finally stood and held out a hand for Granger. “Hungry, ‘Mione?”

She shook her head and watched as Draco began to clean up the debris from the floor. From his clothes, his hair.

“Come with me, yeah?”

“I don’t want to.” She murmured before slapping a hand over her mouth.

Draco snickered and pocketed his wand.

“What are you even doing here, Malfoy?” Weasley rounded on him, projection obvious.

“Potter invited me over, not that it’s any of your business.” Draco dusted a miniscule bit of crystal from the lapel of his blazer. “Confidential, and all that, of course. What are you doing here?”

He watched as the man bristled, his lips pursing together before, “I came to see Hermione and see if she might hear me out.” His cheeks flared.

Pressing his mouth together, Draco flicked his gaze to Granger to find her heaving a great sigh. She only ever wore her emotions on display. It was something that he didn’t understand, and still, it was something he loved. He felt like setting a chair down and watching her react to every day things in her life. Like some sort show that he could attend daily. He’d probably never grow tired of the performance.

Right now she looked like several emotions were warring with one another as she stared at the scene, still pressed up against the wall beside the front door.

“Well, Granger? Care to hear him out?”

“I don’t know.” The words were pulled out slowly, as if she was expecting a reaction the second they left her mouth.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It means, opposing the idea that she does know, she clearly does not.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in what Hermione wants anyway, Malfoy?”

“I’ve always cared what she wants.” The words sprung forth without censor. Without his minds permission. Draco was not to blame for many of the things that had just transpired. The look, the declaration of her business being his, nor the first that flew into Weasley’s mouth. But this new declaration was different. It was true, surely, but it sprung forward before he was able to formulate a reply inside of his head.

“You’re such a liar!” Granger suddenly hissed. Weasley’s alarmed look shifted from Draco to Hermione.

“I am.” Draco admitted. Again, unintentionally. “But not right...now?” He was carefully forming his words, worried that one would fly forth, completely unsanctioned before he could finish pulling the well thought out ones from his mind.

“Convincing.” Weasley snorted before turning to her. “Look, we had a good time the other night, right? It was like we were back where we used to be.”

“Which is to either fight or fuck.” Granger said just before a hand clamped over her mouth. Her wide eyes moved to Draco before dipping to the floor where the orb had broken. “Blood Black heirloom.” The words spewed from her mouth like a curse as she pushed away from the wall and rushed into the kitchen.

Draco and Weasley exchanged looks of first, bewilderment, followed promptly by similar looks of disdain.

The men both entered the kitchen where Harry was still pouring over the files on the table. The files that Draco had brought with him for him and Potter to go over. Which they were, when he had excused himself to use the loo. It was a rouse, of course. He had heard the murmuring of voices in the hallway, immediately identifying Grangers through the heavy door.

Potter looked up at them, haunted eyes that once belonged to a boy who lived. Now he was a man who had died.

The current files strewn in front of him were some of the more gruesome crimes he had seen in his entire career as an Auror and Draco felt inclined to let him know that he had discovered a lot about this particular assailant.

Because it was Draco who had started to notice a pattern that the rest of the world had apparently been blind to.

Muggle women had been disappearing, only to re-emerge. Their lifeless bodies were typically found naked and discarded in a field or a riverbed somewhere deep in a forest. At first it was just the bodies sans life. No abrasions denoting strangulation, mutilation or internal damage.

And then one of the women — a beautiful young woman with brown hair, freckled skin, and frighteningly reminiscent of a girl from his past — had appeared in the middle of a wheat crop of some muggle farmer by the name of Buckley.

The woman, like the others, had no visible signs of damage to her body. Nothing to tell them how she had died. There were the typical signs of rape but no mortal injury marred her body.

There was, however, a mark burned into the center of her chest. Fresh, the investigators had said, and burned into her like she were cattle. A six petalled flower inside of a circle. The brand was performed before death, the medical examiner had said. Which meant the woman had been alive when her killer had burned her, seared away at her skin.

Draco knew he was seeing the work of an evil man. He knew it was a wizard that was snatching women. Torturing and raping them. And eventually, he would burn them.

Two more beautiful muggle women turned up dead before a witch disappeared. She was a half-blood witch who had married a muggle. Some bloke she had grown up down the street from, fallen in love with. He cried to the media, begged his wife’s captors to please return her safely. All he cared was that she be returned home safe and alive.

She didn’t.

The day a muggle found her body in the woods behind his home, naked and branded, was the day that Draco finally took the offer Dawlish had extended to him only weeks prior.

Draco looked over at Granger who was busy making herself a cup of coffee. Cream, one sugar.

He watched the lift of her brow as she took her first sip. Pleasantly content with the first touch of caffeine after a rather eventful morning.

She stood amid a window by the sink, and the soft rays of light bending through the glass formed a bit of a halo around the curls she had piled on the top of her head.

She was dressed in a pair of fuzzy pink slippers, a pair of thin pajama shorts and a white camisole. All snug and glorious against the subtle tan of her skin, the curves that caused him to go into temporary bouts of insanity and all beneath a fuzzy pink robe that hung open. Her body taunted him.

For years, her body taunted him. From afar. From memory.

It was a Saturday, which meant she didn’t have to work today. But what did Hermione Granger spend her weekends doing? Did she go for walks? Visit museums? Put herself at the mercy of a predator that might very well be stalking her?

Draco ran a hand over his face, unable to fight against the discomforting anxiety that bloomed in the center of his chest.

“Why wont you just talk with me, Hermione?”

Her words came out slowly, dragged out and punctuated by little pauses. “I am talking to you.” She nodded, as though satisfied with herself.

“I mean about the other night.” Weasley was moving toward her, ready to corner her against the sink.

Draco should have sat down, obviously. And he did, but not before his mouth moved.

“She’s confused, you idiot.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Can you guys take this upstairs?” Harry asked, irritably. “We’re trying to work.”

“What are you working on?” Grangers eyes brightened, eager for the distraction and pushed past Ron.

Draco tensed in his seat and his eyes met Harry’s. Neither wanted to tell her what exactly the threat to her life may be. But neither, apparently, could fight the urge to be honest.

“Serial killer.” Draco said the same time Harry said, “Killer targeting witches.” They both glared at each other.

“Oh.” Her voice was gentle. Deflated, as she approached the table. Her eyes scanned the photo on display in the file Harry was currently holding open.

“Oh, fuck me.” Ron was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. At the photo of the woman.

It was the woman who had first appeared with the mark on her chest. Her pale, almost blue skin on display as her blank and unseeing eyes stared back at the camera.

“How did you get ahold of all this, Malfoy?” Harry asked, closing the folder.

Draco rolled his eyes at the now obvious situation. Which was that the orb had, apparently, contained some vaporized dosing of Veritaserum. Which, of course a fucking Black wizard would create something so uselessly ruthless. He didn’t know if the entire house was now cursed to compel any occupant to speak truthfully, or if the spelled potion would eventually wear off. Or if they were forever cursed to speak in truths instead of the intricately woven lies that everyone used day to day.

“I polyjuiced my way into the investigative team that was first sent to respond to this one.” He nodded to the file. “That led me into a back trail that had possible links to this woman. No visible signs of trauma, all otherwise healthy women who appeared naked and dead in the middle of field or floating downstream.”

“You stole all of this, then?” Granger’s self righteousness was so hypocritical but he didn’t need to point that out. Instead, he scowled at her and said,

“Yes.” And then he was hit with a rather brilliant and rather cruel idea. He had had enough of this rather offensive display of interrelationship turmoil. “So, Granger.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

A hand went to her hip, shoving the robe behind her elbow. The flare of her hip pulled his eyes down, to the way her shorts tightened around her pelvis. In between her legs and at her thighs.

“Tell me,” He dragged his eyes back to meet hers. “Do you remember the day we kissed?”

“What?” Simultaneous yells of disbelief from both Potter and Weasley. “Get serious!”

But it was Granger who was staring bug eyed, hand clasped tight over her mouth that held his attention. She somehow managed to muffle her response, which was lost to the shouts of her best friends.

“You’re an ass.” She was seething, now.

“Do you still think about it?” He lowered his voice and purposefully slid his eyes to her mouth.

“Yes.” She whispered, a reflex due to the Veritaserum that had sunk into their pores. She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, and sighed.

“You’re telling me,” Weasley started. “That you kissed Malfoy?”

With her eyes still closed, she slowly nodded. “Yes.”

The entire room stilled. Everyone was watching her. The blush that burned into her skin, all the way from her chest up her neck and into her cheeks.

“When?”

“Seven years ago.” She was responded with the sense of detachment that only Veritaserum could cause.

“But we kissed seven years ago! Was this before or after?”

Draco watched her shift uncomfortably, the hand that had been perched onto her hip was now picking nervously at the tie of her robe. “After.”

“How could you!” Weasley looked devastated. So much so that Draco might have felt a flicker of remorse.

“We hadn’t actually started anything up, yet, Ron. We kissed during the battle but we hadn’t talked about what we were and we didn’t kiss until we did decide.” Her eyes flicked to Draco. “You kissed me.”

He nodded.

“And then you disappeared.” Her voice was calloused with an emotion he didn’t understand. Pain she didn’t deserve.

“I did.” He admitted.

“And now you’re here,” Her index finger pointed to the floor. “And you’re purposely injecting yourself into mine and Ron’s affairs. Why?”

Draco took a deep breath and tried to formulate an honest answer that wouldn’t, once again, confess his unyielding love.

“Why would you do that?” She pressed him.

Everyone was now staring at him. The words were bubbling up his throat, and he fought so hard he thought he might suffocate from the battle.

“Tell me, Malfoy.” She stepped up to him, looking down her curved little nose at him.

He tried to shake his head, clasping a hand over his mouth.

“What do you want!” She finally shouted.

Draco sprung to his feet and his body was no longer under his control. The potion was evil. It didn’t just cause your mouth to speak truths, it forced your body to.

Because now he was nearly pressing into her and he was glaring down at her stubborn little face and his eyes couldn’t stop moving around, gathering information. Like the way her fine hairs at her forehead and her temples were a lighter shade of brown. Almost golden against her skin. Or the fact that she had a little beauty mark just there, beside the corner of her left eye. It was faint, but gods, did it drive him mad.

“You, you insufferable witch!”

#my writing #fanfic #dramione fanfic #dramione #harry potter #draco malfoy #hermione granger #idiots in love #pining draco #childhood friends #love confessions

[kittiwittebane]

ANOTHER FIC FOR YALL!

Human, Babysitting AU.

Includes: Human AU, Babysitter AU, Willow’s uncannonical Family.

____

Hunter walked up to the door. What if they don’t like me? He wondered. He knocked on the door nervously. Two older men answered.

“Hello!” They both spoke. Hunter gulped.

“Hello Sirs!” he smiled awkwardly. He scratched his face.

“Come in, Ava is inside.” the men waved him inside. Hunter stepped through the door into a very nice house. Wow. he thought. Though the house was much less fancy than his, (and rightly so, his father was a very rich man) it was pretty aesthetic. Pictures of the family all over the walls, flower pots everywhere and-

Woah.

Hunter had to stop his mouth from dropping. There, next to who he assumed to be Ava was a stubby girl with emerald green eyes, who was undoubtedly very attractive to Hunter.

“So we hear your name is Hunter?” the first man, much stockier than the second with blue hair asked.

“Uhm, uckg.” Hunter failed to speak, still marvelling over the girl. “Yes!” he replied after a hot minute. “Hunter. That is my name.” he smiled, showing his tooth gap, before shutting his mouth again awkwardly.

“Right.” The second man stood, feeling the boy’s uncomfortable emotion. “I am Harvey, and this is my husband, Gilbert.”

Gilbert waved. Hunter waved back.

“This is our daughter, Willow.” Gilbert introduced.

Willow… pretty name. Hunter mused.

“Right,” Harvey continued. “And the one you will be taking care of is-”

“Hi! I’m Willow Park, And this is my little cousin Ava!” Willow grabbed his hand and shook him vigorously in a handshake where the ‘shake’ was way too emphasised.

“Nice- to- meet- you!” Hunter voiced between the aggressive shakes. She finally let go and he took his hand back. She bruised it… wow she’s strong.

“Hi!” The little girl exclaimed. “I’m Ava!”

Hunter instantly loved her. His mind flooded with thoughts of adorableness. Without thinking, he sat on the floor and Ava ran into his arms.

“Good!” Ava declared, turning to her Uncles and her cousin. It took Hunter only about half a second after that to realise what a fool he was making of himself. Harvey and Gilbert sighed in relief, not even caring about the fact he looked a bit stupid.

“Finally!” Willow wiped her forehead. “Ava is soooo picky with her Babysitter. She’s gone through… like six??”

“What can I say?” Hunter said stupidly. “I’m good with kids.” Hunter then cringed at his own words, wishing he had not said that. Good job, Hunter, you fricked it up.

Willow giggled airily, and it made Hunter feel lightheaded. He’d only known her for what?- five minutes? Why was she making him feel like this? What was this?

“Right so you will be staying with her tomorrow, from 8am to 9pm for 100 dollars, yes?” Gilbert continued. Hunter nodded.

“Good.”

___

Hunter breathed out again. He could do this! Just one small child. Hunter knocked on the door.

“Hello!” Willow opened the door very enthusiastically.

“Hi!” Hunter spluttered, attempting to lean against nothing impressively, then falling over.

Titan, kill me now. Hunter thought. He looked up and Willow had her hand out. He took it and she helped him up.

“Are you ok?” she asked worriedly.

“Just a bruised ego.” Hunter muttered. Willow giggled. She thought this was really funny. It wasn’t.

“Hellooooo!” Ava ran up to them, quite impulsively attaching herself to Hunter’s leg. Hunter looked down and then back up quickly, then smiling proudly.

“Well just maybe we won’t have to find a new babysitter.” Willow laughed.

“It would help if she didn’t mind staying at home with Willow.” Gilbert chuckled. “She says Willow isn’t cool enough. Way to down her own cousin.”

“She isn’t.” Ava huffed. “I want Hunter!” the little girl looked back up at Hunter.

“Oh and Hunter?” Harvey started.

“Yes?” Hunter asked.

“I hope you don’t mind but I did forget to mention that Willow will be staying with you.”

Hunter froze.

“What?” he choked.

“Willow can’t come with us, it’s an adults only event.” his voice dropped to a whisper. “And besides, I can’t trust her with the house. The last time I did that, she and her friend Augustus wrecked it.”

“Papaaaaa!” Willow complained. “I was fiiiive!”

Hunter made a small giggling sound.

“It’s not funny!” Willow whined playfully. “It’s not MY fault the babysitter was incompetent!” Harvey and Gilbert just chuckled heartily.

“Ok, Flower, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Anyways, the rules are on the fridge, and you can ask Willow if there is something we didn’t write. See you later!”

Both of them then left.

Oh, Titan. Of course it wasn’t just going to be a little girl. It’s a little girl and a teenager. A girl teenager. A very… attractive teenager.

“Right, so uh, let’s do this?” Hunter mumbled.

Willow nodded. “Let’s do this!”

#hunter toh #hunter deamonne #hunter noceda #hunter wittebane #the owl house #toh #dana terrace #huntlow #willow park #winter #winter TOH #the owl house au #Huntlow au #babysitter au #babysitting au #hunter x willow #willow x hunter #Huntlow the owl house

[usernamerenn]

DISAPPEARING ACT

character. sanzu haruchiyo, hitto kakucho, kokonoi “koko” hajime

summary. he loses his child at the mall

note. this is a reupload. f!reader. likes and reblogs are always appreciated

sanzu haruchiyo

with sanzu, he honestly wouldn’t even realize that his son was gone until he made his way back to the car and noticed that he was alone

it would take sanzu less than a second to process this before he quickly ran back toward the mall in a panic, not caring for the many confused looks that were now being directed at him

at that moment, he couldn’t help but wryly think how funny it was that his three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee this morning wouldn’t be what finally killed him, rather it would be you

though, admittedly, if sanzu was to die to anyone, he would more than happily die at the literal hands of his beautiful wife

after continuously failing to find his son anywhere, sanzu solemnly resigned himself to his fate, about to call your number when a sudden announcement on the mall’s speakerphones caused him to sigh in relief

“um, can akashi haruchiyo-san please make his way to the first floor information desk? your son is looking for you. again, that’s akashi haruchiyo-san to the first floor information desk. thank you”

“where have you been?!” sanzu questioned after he had arrived at the information desk and recognized the young boy standing there. “i was this close to getting murdered by your mom”

“dad, you were the one who left me,” his son answered with a blank stare. “you said that you were going to step away for a few minutes to answer a phone call, but then you just left”

“huh,” sanzu commented in response. “now that you mention it, i do kind of remember that”

“you’re funny, dad,” the younger akashi said with a laugh. “come on, let’s go home already. mom’s making katsu for lunch today!”

hitto kakucho

“stay close to me,” was what kakucho had told his son before the young boy unexpectedly disappeared without a sound

despite his perfectly calm expression and demeanour at the moment, kakucho could feel himself becoming more panicked and worried as time went on with no sign of his son anywhere

kakucho would have to remind himself to breath, and it was then when he suddenly remembered the advice that he had once told his son, which was to stay where he was until you or your husband could find him

and so, kakucho proceeded to revisit the many stores from this morning, and it was only once he reached the jewellery store from earlier did tears appear in his eyes

“hi, papa!” his son greeted cheerfully, a look of surprise on his face as kakucho immediately pulled him into a loving hug

“what are you doing here, buddy?” kakucho asked in concern

“the lady from the store said that mama’s necklace would be ready at twelve,” his son explained happily before pointing to one of the many clocks placed around the mall. “it’s twelve now!”

and after hearing this answer, kakucho couldn’t help but laugh at his son’s amusingly simple and lackadaisical response

“son, i know that you’re excited about getting mama her present, but please don’t do that again. i was so scared when i realized that you were gone”

“papa was scared?” his son questioned with a curious tilt of his head

“i’m always scared when it comes to you and your mom,” kakucho replied with an adoring smile. “the two of you are my world”

partially understanding his father’s sentiments and concerns, the young boy simply nodded his head in agreement before apologizing, though all was already forgiven

kokonoi “koko” hajime

as a father, koko undoubtedly spoiled his daughter too much

she was his little princess, so he often found it difficult to deny her of her whimsical requests, like having sweets before dinner or buying an entire closet full of new and expensive clothes

on this occasion to the mall, you had challenged your husband to be strict for once, reminding him that his little princess would more than likely grow up to be conceited and spoiled if he kept acting like this

so after some hesitation, your husband eventually agreed, though he had never thought that it would be this painful and heartbreaking to say no

“p-princess, you already have plenty of dresses at home”

“but, papa, i want this dress!” koko’s daughter explained with bright, shining eyes

and it took all of koko’s resolve to not change his mind as gently refused with a tired sigh, unable to even offer an apology before his daughter disheartenedly ran out of the store while screaming, “i hate you, papa!”

hastily following after her, koko was immediately confronted with a large crowd of shoppers, his daughter nowhere in sight as he began to panickingly shout her name while ignoring the curious glances of the people around him

this went on for another ten minutes before koko reached a quieter part of the mall, and he felt his heart skip a beat in absolute joy and relief once he noticed a familiar-looking young girl

with a shout of her name, koko fell to his knees and opened his arms as his daughter quickly ran toward him with tears in her eyes

“p-papa! i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” she cried as she hugged him. “i-i was so scared that you would leave me here”

“why would i ever do that?” koko asked in amusement, though there were also tears in his eyes

“b-because i was being s-spoiled. i-i thought that you wouldn’t love me anyone and leave me here”

“that would never happen, princess. no matter what, your mom and i will always love you,” koko reassured with a comforting kiss on the top of her head. “never run away from me again, okay? you don’t know how scared i was when i couldn’t find you”

“i’m sorry, papa. i’ll be better from now on. promise!”

tokyo revengers taglist. @crown5 @blacksun-judar @chloee0x0 @zuuki @chiaki3nanami​

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers reader insert #tokrev #tokrev x reader #tokrev x you #tokrev reader insert #tokrev headcanons #tokrev imagines #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu haruchiyo x reader #sanzu haruchiyo x you #sanzu haruchiyo reader insert #sanzu haruchiyo imagines #sanzu haruchiyo headcanons #hitto kakucho #hitto kakucho x reader #hitto kakucho x you #hitto kakucho headcanons #hitto kakucho imagines #hitto kakucho reader insert #kokonoi hajime #kokonoi hajime x reader #kokonoi hajime x you #kokonoi hajime reader insert #kokonoi hajime headcanons #kokonoi hajime imagines

[dropssofjupitter]

Hushed Whispers - Part Two

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: Your meetings with Tom have worn both your patience and your mental stability thin. You can’t get this language right. You can’t get your homework right. You can’t get anything right. With your frustrations growing, and Tom enabling every single self-depreciating doubt that comes to mind, you’re sure that you’re going to crack. And your breaking point might just be the vast cavern under the school that Tom claims is simply ‘a practice room’. 

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Tom uses manipulate, manwife, mansplain to the fullest extent possible, language, mentions of petrification

A/N: The long awaited and very delayed part two! (Holy shit it’s here). Thank you everyone for the huge amount of support on the first chapter I did not expect it to do as well as it did! Special thanks to the one and the only @lilmaymayy​ for being my absolute favorite person and Beta reader ever.  

Masterlist          Part One

You’d had the sneaking suspicion for weeks, but today confirmed it. Tom Riddle was undoubtedly trying to kill you. Or he was trying to get you to kill him. Either way, someone was dying. Merlin, you hoped it was you. 

Everyday for the past month Riddle had forced you to meet with him in the small hours of the morning to go over the basics of Parseltongue. He berated you when you slurred your pronunciation, still rubbing sleep out of your eyes at 3 am. He sneered at you when you were unable to pick up on the apparent “distinct differences” between words such as ‘toward’ and ‘towards’. And on top of everything, his lessons were causing a less than satisfactory performance in your classes. Something that your teachers noticed. 

You looked down at the detention slip in your hands, nearly burning with rage and frustration. You had fallen asleep in the middle of Potions class, causing your head to land with a resounding thunk on your desk, and your potion to overboil and release a noxious gas that filled the classroom in mere minutes. All of which could have been avoided if you hadn’t had to meet up with Riddle at three in the bloody morning. 

A hand grasped your shoulder just as the edges of the slip began to smoke, knocking you out of your mental debate over whether or not it would be acceptable to jinx Riddle considering the conditions. You turned your head, meeting the eyes of your incredibly concerned roommate. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, dropping her hand once she knew you were paying attention. “That wasn’t like you at all.” 

“Yeah I’m fine, just really tired.” You offered her a weak smile, deciding to shove the offensive piece of parchment into your pocket for now. “Thanks for asking though Katherine. I mean, especially considering your last Herbology score.” You pulled a face, scrunching up your nose slightly. “Honestly, I think I should be the one worried about you.” 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, lightly shoving your shoulder before crossing her arms. “How was I supposed to know that the Wiggentree would protect you from dark creatures, and not cause uncontrollable laughter?” 

It was your turn to laugh, turning backwards as you walked so that you could fully look at her. “By doing the homework?” 

“But it literally sounds like it would make you laugh! Even the name sounds funny!” 

You laughed again, tilting your head back and forcing yourself to swallow a quip about Katherine’s less than studious mannerisms. You’d bring up a reduction in lessons to Riddle tonight, for now you just needed to focus on helping Katherine pass Herbology. 

-

Quite unfortunately, three am rolled around quicker than you’d anticipated. The dark circles under your eyes had become bags, and you had to actively focus on walking, no longer able to trust your legs to carry you. No amount of caffeine or muggle heavy metal could fix this much sleep deprivation, and you should know. You’d already tried both solutions. 

“You’re late.” 

You had to physically hold back a groan of annoyance as Riddle’s perfectly grating voice cut through the air. 

“Kind of sucks for you, doesn’t it,” you replied with a huff, making your way over to the windowsill that had become your unofficial meeting place. 

“Need I remind you that I have nothing to gain from these lessons?” His voice turned cold as he picked an invisible piece of lint off of his shoulder. “You, however, have everything to lose.” 

“Thank you oh selfless one,” you replied with mock respect, clutching your hands over your heart to seal the drama you were hoping to convey. “I would be lost without you, left to wither and die on my own! How could I survive without being oh so sleep deprived?” 

His upper lip curled into a sneer, and you were reminded quite quickly as to just how terrifying Riddle could truly be. “You were the one who insisted on being discreet. If you have a problem with our lessons, you can find yourself another teacher.” His tone issued a sense of finality, and you realized that there would be no room for arguing. 

“ . . I’m sorry,” you replied softly, turning your head away from him and hugging your arms. For some reason, angering him made you feel small, incompetent. Like you were always the one in the wrong. “It’s just that these frequent meetings have affected my class work, not to mention my social life. I can barely keep up.” 

“That is none of my concern,” he said stiffly, holding up a hand to silence you as you opened your mouth to issue a retort. “We are behind schedule as it is. Come; today’s lesson includes a change in scenery.” 

And so you walked behind Riddle, silently fuming as you mulled over a list of jinxes in your head, and not for the first time. Arguing with him was like yelling at a brick wall. You could do everything in your power to make him see reason, and he would still find a way to push back and point out your flaws. It was meaningless to even attempt to go up against him; but still, you had persisted. Which, didn’t necessarily mean that you had ever won an argument. The two weren’t exactly correlated. 

Bringing yourself out of your musings, you realized that you had almost ran into the boy you were mentally cursing. He had stopped walking at some point, and you hurried to put some distance in-between yourself and him. Being too close to him felt dangerous, although you were just starting to realize that nearly every interaction with Riddle had left you with a curling sense of fear in your stomach. You hoped it was just your imagination. 

Peering over his shoulder, you drew your eyebrows together in confusion. “Is this . . the girls' lavatory?” Why on Earth would Riddle choose this as a new location for your lessons? 

He nodded his head, offering you no explanation as he pulled open the door and entered the room. 

Shrugging, you followed him, letting the door close behind you and hoping that Filch didn’t hear the slam that echoed the corridors. You watched, thoroughly weirded out, as Riddle examined the sinks that lay in the center of the room, dragging his fingers over the pipes in a way that let you know he was searching for something. 

“Look,” you started, hands raised in the air and poised to make calming motions as Tom would no doubt blow a fuse over your (only partially sarcastic) suggestion that for once the two of you just study in an empty classroom. Unfortunately, you were not permitted to continue, watching with barely concealed annoyance as he held up a finger to silence you. He gestured towards the pipe in front of him and uttered the most ridiculous sentence that you had ever heard the prefect say. 

“Tell it to open.” 

You froze, jaw hanging halfway open as your gaze bounced between the sinks pipe, to Riddle, and then back again. “Tell the pipe, to open?” 

“Yes.” 

“The pipe?” 

“Yes, the pipe.” 

“Riddle, do you need to go to the infirmary? Are you okay? Blink twice if you’re doing this against your will.” 

His gaze narrowed and your stomach turned to ice. “Do you want to learn control or not?” 

“This,” you replied, taking a few steps forward and gesturing towards the pipe in question. “Is not a snake. This is a pipe. This is plumbing.” 

Steadily, without lifting his gaze from yours, he pointed a finger towards the base of the pipe, pressing it against the smallest engraving of a snake that you had ever seen. It was almost as if he was saying “There’s your snake you twat.” In fact, you could almost hear his voice mimicking those exact words, clear as crystal. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” you muttered, rolling your eyes at the ceiling and dragging your hands down your face. “Fine. You want me to speak to the plumbing? I’ll speak to the plumbing.” With a huff, you placed yourself directly in front of the pipe, stooping down so that you were at eye-level with the snake. “Sewage,” you grumbled to yourself. “I am talking to sewage.” 

Regardless, you decided to at least try to do what Riddle asked. Closing your eyes, you concentrated on the word that you wanted to say, letting it come to you naturally and rolling it on your tongue before finally attempting to speak it. You wish that you could say you got it on the first try, and that the lessons were paying off after all. But the truth is that what came out was a jumbled mess of hisses with too many curves and no edges. It was indistinguishable. Even for you. You cringed as you heard a foot tapping impatiently behind you. 

“Again.” A pause. “And this time, make sure it’s actually a word.” 

You could do this. You took a deep breath before attempting the word again. Another mess of jargon. Too many edges this time. Not enough curves. Merlin, this language was going to be the death of you. A third try. A nice mix of everything, but it sounded more like ‘unlock’ with a heavy accent. Still, it was closer than the first two. 

“Again.” 

If Riddle kept interrupting you when you were doing your best to concentrate you were going to swing your fist right at his perfectly turned up nose with malicious intent that would make the prisoners in Azkaban swoon. On the fourth attempt you didn’t even try, letting the letters and vowels fall flat on your tongue. 

“That was pathetic.” 

You rounded on him, seething. “Your interruptions and constant distractions are not helping me. Either stay quiet or piss off.” 

His eyebrows lowered slightly, and you steeled yourself for a quick and concise comeback that would no doubt leave you wallowing in self-pity for weeks on end. Instead, he surprised you. Simply nodding his head before taking a step back. 

Nodding to him in turn, you faced the pipe once more, doing your best to ignore the fact that Tom had just done something very not Tom-like and focus on the infuriating task at hand. “Merlin, why is this language always easier to speak when I’m not thinking about it,” you whispered to yourself. 

“Might I suggest visualizing?” You glanced behind yourself to see Riddle with his hands clasped behind his back. “Unless you would like me to ‘piss off’, as you so eloquently put it.” He raised an eyebrow and your face flushed. 

You hadn’t meant it that way. It was supposed to come across as ‘if you have nothing nice to say, then don’t say anything at all’. Unfortunately, he had taken direct offense to it, and was now using it against you. And, despite your better judgment, you were letting him. “I’m sorry,” you replied softly, awkwardly turning to face him with your hands folded over one another in front of you. You felt like a child. “Would you mind elaborating?”

He let you sit in silence for a moment, and then three, before deciding to grace you with his reply. “As it is, you are looking at the snake as something stagnant, inanimate.” 

You drew your eyebrows together, confused. “Because it is?” 

He released a puff of air through his nose, an action that you decided to interpret as something akin to a groan or a sigh. “Reality is simply what we make of it. You see the snake as a carving, I see it as a living being. And only one of us,” he directed a pointed look at you, “can actually open the doorway.” 

You bit down a sarcastic reply, forcing yourself not to tell him that he could open the apparent bloody door himself if he was so proud of it, and instead chose to nod your head. Obedient as ever. 

This time, when you told the pipe to open, it obliged, pushing itself back into the wall before the wall itself rotated and turned. You stepped back, surprised, and watched as a gaping passageway opened on the floor where you once stood. You heard a hum of approval from behind you, and watched as Riddle stepped towards the edge of the passage, peering down it with a look of surprise that seemed too well practiced to be true.

“Where does this go?” You asked, hesitant to step any closer to the edge. It’s not that you were scared of heights, afterall you most commonly found solace in the towers that guarded the edges of the castle; it was just that some part of you screamed ‘danger’ when you stared down into the hole. If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost feel something staring back. 

“A practice room,” he offered, barely bothering to glance at you. “I came across it by accident, and decided that you might feel more comfortable if we studied somewhere . . secluded.” 

You nodded, accepting his answer even though it seemed rehearsed. “And how do we go about entering this practice room?” 

Riddle turned to you, raising an eyebrow in amusement before gesturing towards the hole. 

You stared at him for a moment longer before realization struck. “Oh fuck no.” 

A scream ripped itself from your mouth as you slid down the tunnel, hands pressing against the walls in a desperate attempt to slow yourself down as you took yet another corner at breakneck speed. The sound echoed, bouncing off the walls and back at you as you were finally deposited on the ground below, a curse escaping as you felt sharp rocks digging into your spine and legs. 

You managed to clumsily move from the rocks, scraping your hands and knees before finally dragging yourself onto blessedly smooth stone. Only then did you allow yourself to look at your surroundings. 

The cave itself was dimly lit by enchanted lanterns on the wall, casting a green glow over the entirety of the room. Attempting to peer down the corridor proved fruitless, and you decided that casting a lumos charm was the best course of action. Unfortunately, the light that the charm gave off also allowed you to see a few specific objects. Such as the pile of rocks that you had landed on that were definitely not rocks and were quite obviously bones. 

You sucked in a breath, quickly scampering away from the pile as you resisted the urge to throw up. Further investigation showed that more, neatly stacked bones existed near the edge cavern, and you did not want to dwell on whatever monstrosity had shucked them clean. This was not a study room. 

Riddle chose that moment to float effortlessly down the tunnel, arms crossed as he maneuvered around the bones that had acted as your landing pad and touched down on a clear section of the floor. 

Your eyes narrowed at him, and you did your best to convince yourself that it was because he had worked a way around sliding down the tunnel, and not because he had seemed to know about the location of the bones ahead of time. Maybe he had just come down here to investigate before he decided to bring you. Make sure that the area was safe and what he was looking for. Yeah, that had to be it. But still, doubt echoed in your mind as you watched him step over a hole in the floor without looking down at it. 

“This is not what you said it was,” you spoke, voice stronger than you thought it would be. 

“Of course it is,” he replied with a measured level of cool indifference that you had heard on many an occasion. “It’s a practice room, is it not?” 

“It looks like a mass grave,” you hissed, finally standing off of the no doubt filthy ground. Honestly you didn’t even want to look at it right now. Even the thought of seeing what bones and assorted trash that you had been sitting on was enough to send a shiver up your spine. “You lied to me.” 

Riddle took a moment to think, walking a few paces away from you, taking deep and measured breaths. “If I had said what this truly was, would you have come?” He cut you off before you could reply, continuing on as if he had never intended for you to answer, and maybe he hadn’t. “We are down here, because of you. Because you are too cowardly and too hysterical to fully trust yourself anywhere else. You want someone to complain to? Go look in a mirror. I am done being the object of your frustrations when I have to accommodate for your actions.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Weren’t even sure that the words would come to you if need be. He was right, you knew that he was. You probably didn’t even know a fraction of what Riddle may have sacrificed in order to teach you. It was just as possible that these early meetings were getting to him as much as they were getting to you. 

But as much as his words made sense, they hurt. They caused an ache to well up inside of you, to settle in the pit of your chest and weigh you down.  You don’t know how he did it. How he twisted words that seemed like they had come straight from your mind, how he made them seem like your own. 

“I . .” You struggled with yourself, turning your head away to look down at the floor once more in shame. “I’m sorry.” The apology was whispered, and one glance at your companion would be all that you needed in order to know how utterly unaffected he was by it. 

As if you needed any further confirmation, the way that he turned away from you and began walking further into the dark hallway without a second word cemented the thought in your head. Your apology was very much not accepted; but he would not hold it against you at this very moment. Most likely, he would find a way to warp it to his own whim later on in the day, or week, or month really. Riddle had a mind like a steel trap. 

As you obediently followed after him like the dog you were feeling like, you imagined all of the ways that his brain could be organized, and how you could throw it all into unbridled chaos. If anything, you assumed his thoughts were collected in something akin to a filing cabinet. A small smile found its way onto your face as you envisioned yourself setting it ablaze. 

After a few minutes, and many failed attempts at absolutely eating shit in the potholes that riddled the floor, you stopped behind Tom, staring at yet another dark cavern that lay ahead of you. “It might be due to invest in some sort of light fixture,” you mumbled under your breath. 

Tom turned his head towards you slightly and you stilled. You heard something then in the tunnels. Something big. 

A chill ran down your spine, raising the hairs on your arms and suddenly making you very alert. The same chill that frightened you in the library so long ago, had alerted you to Riddle’s presence back then. Except Riddle was right next to you. And the shiver along your back was not going away. 

Something rough scraped against the walls. A dry, itching sound that had you clutching your wand for dear life. You looked next to you, mouth suddenly turning to ash as you realized Tom was observing you. Watching you. Calm and collected. 

“Tom,” you whispered lowly, voice hitching in fright. “What the fuck is down here with us.” 

- 

When you woke up the next morning, your head pounding and your roommate throwing your uniform at you in a feeble attempt to get you to hurry the hell up because Bilborough does not like latecomers you thought nothing of it. 

When you walked to the Great Hall, legs a little wobbly and hands shaking as they clutched your books to your chest; you brushed it off as morning nerves. Afterall, the last essay that you had turned in to your Transfiguration professor had been shoddy work. You were right to be nervous before his eventual criticisms tore you down a few pegs. You could even chalk it up to being jumpy around the campus after the recent petrification's. Another girl had been found just last night for Godric’s sake. Anyone would be on edge after that. 

But when you sat down in class and stared blankly at the feather in front of you, not being able to remember the first step of a basic spell, you knew something was wrong. And when you realized that you couldn’t remember a thing from last night after that bone-gripping fear down in the tunnels had sunk its claws into you, it all clicked into place. 

The second you were dismissed, you ran from your class all the way to the Astronomy tower. Your hands were clutching your sides, you were admittedly out of breath, and yeah you may have thrown up in your mouth a little bit from the exertion that your body was most definitely not used to, but you made it. The Astronomy class was just being released and you could see Riddle’s prim and perfect head. 

Without a second thought you walked up to him, anger fueling you as you yanked him quite forcefully away from his group of asshole cronies and into a secluded alcove. 

He was looking at you like you were crazy for both grabbing him and for daring to do it infront of his friends. If looks could kill, you would be dead. “What, exactly, is the meaning of this.” His voice was cool, measured and even. And his face was flat. That’s how you knew that he was well and truly pissed. He couldn’t even bother to put on a mask. 

“How many times?” 

“Whatever are you asking?” 

“How. Many. Times.” 

He rolled his eyes and sighed, looking like he was simply going to walk away. You grabbed his arm and all but threw him back against the wall. 

“How many times have you brought me down to those caves and erased my bloody memory Riddle.” You were seething. Hallway lights were flickering near you, shadows were growing darker. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

There it was again. That impassiveness. God how you hated him. “How many times have you had me speak to that pipe? How many times have you watched me scatter at the sight of the bones? Grip your arm when I realized that we were not alone? How many times Riddle!” 

“Should I take you to go visit the nurse?” Anyone walking by would simply see a concerned prefect attempting to comfort a fellow classmate. Eyes full with concern, mouth morphed into a frown and eyebrows drawn together. But you knew better. Those eyes were cold. That mouth was 5 seconds away from morphing into a grimace. 

“You got sloppy.” You sniffed, stepping back from him, books clutched to your chest. “You got complacent. I don’t know what you had me doing in those tunnels, but I know that you don’t want anyone else to know.” 

His face was blank again, eyes slightly narrowed and hands clenching at his sides. 

“I wonder what Slughorn would think of his prized pupil lurking in tunnels under the school. I wonder what Dumbledore would think.” 

“I wonder what they would think if they knew that they had a Parseltongue in their midst.” His tone was sharp. He wasn’t bluffing. 

You stepped closer to him then, eyes narrowed in turn as you leaned in and positioned your mouth right by his ear. “I wonder what they would think if they knew they had two.” You whispered slowly, giving him a moment to truly hear what you were saying before leaning back. 

-

“Hey! Hey!” Katherine placed her hands on her knees, doubled over as she looked up at you. “Bloody hell you can run fast.” 

You blinked at her, feeling dizzy as you stepped closer. “Um . . Kat? Since when did we have Astronomy in second block?” 

A confused frown fell over her face as she straightened, hand still pressed over her cramping side as she stepped towards you. “You tell me. You ran all the way over here. Are you alright? Can you see me okay? And what in Merlin’s name were you talking about with Riddle? And do his eyes really pull you in like two warm pools?” 

You blinked. “I was talking with Riddle?” 

“Yes?” 

You took her arm, turning her back towards the way she had come as you shook your head. “Katherine, are you sure that you’re okay? I don’t even know Riddle, why would I be talking with him?” 

“But -” 

“Tell me the truth, are you just trying to get out of Herbology?” 

“No I swear you-”

“Kat, come on. Just because you accidentally called Professor Bulst ‘mom’ doesn’t mean that you get to bail on her class now. In fact, it means quite the opposite.” 

“Merlin’s beard that was one time!” 

“It’s okay! It’s probably flattering that you see her as a maternal figure!” 

~~~~~~~

Nagini found her way around the crook of his neck, resting her head on Tom’s outstretched hand. She blinked up at him with knowing eyes. 

“She served her purpose,” Tom said lightly, placing the Queen’s chess piece face down. “Memory loss charms can be easily undone if need be, and really all I needed was a scapegoat. Her control over the Basilisk was . . . undesirable. She seemed to get worse at it every time.” 

He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as Nagini wound her way onto the chess board, knocking over pieces left and right. “Tonight, we go for the kill. No petrification this time.” He slid his eyes over to the snake and glared. “And I mean that.” 

She nodded. 

“Make sure that the girl is in the washroom at the appropriate time. It’s time that Hogwarts truly sees just how much of a threat this can be.”

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