#there isn't even consistent spelling

[softgrungeprophet]

number one way to piss me off instantly is to trot out the wine dark sea as "evidence" that the ancient greeks "couldn't see blue"

first of all "wine dark" is not a literal translation, it's an interpretation of a metaphor that doesn't mention color at all and is comparing the choppiness of the sea to intoxication/drunkenness, not to the literal dark tone of red wine

second of all, if you think lacking a base word for blue is evidence of an inability to see blue, you don't understand how language works and are making ridiculous assumptions about people's biology and color vision from only a couple thousand years ago, based on a non-literal translation of one specific work

third of all they literally did have ways to discuss the color blue. but even if they didn't, not everything is identical to the american english language approach anyway, and there is generally no such thing as a universal trait in linguistics, so even something you take for granted being absent in another language isn't actually evidence for some kind of fundamental biological difference (frankly that veers too close to eugenics for my liking), and is just a different approach to contextualizing reality.

[funnygirlthatbelle]

i suspect that a huge factor in the defense of students using gen ai (and academic dishonesty in general tbh) comes from the fundamental misunderstanding of how school works.

to simplify thousands of educator's theories into the simplest terms, there are two types of stuff you're learning in school: content and skills. content is what we often think of as the material in school- spelling, times tables, names, dates, facts, etc.- whereas skills are usually more subtle. think phonics, mental math, reading comprehension, comparing and contrasting; though students do those things often, the how usually isn't deemed as important as the what.

this leads to a disconnect that's most obvious when students ask the infamous "when will we use this in the real world?" they have- often correctly- identified content that the content is niche, outdated, or not optimized but haven't considered the skills that this class/lesson/assignment will teach.

i can think of two shining examples from when i was a kid. one was in middle school when they announced that we were now gonna be studying latin, and we all wondered why on earth they would choose latin as our foreign language. every adult promised us it'd be helpful if we went into medicine, law, or religion (ignoring that most of us didn't want to go into medicine, law, or religion), but we didn't buy that and never took it seriously. the truth was that our new principal knew that learning languages gets harder as you get older, and so building the skills of learning a language while it was easy for us was more important than which language we learned, and that's an answer twelve year old me would've actually respected.

similarly, my geometry class all hated proofs. we couldn't think of a single situation where you'd have to convince someone a triangle was a triangle and "look at it, of course it's a triangle" wouldn't be an acceptable answer. it was actually the band director who pointed out that it wasn't literally about triangles; it was about being able to prove or disprove something, anything using facts.

and so, so, so many assignments that are annoying as hell in school make more sense when you think about the skills as well as the content. "why do i have to present information about something the teacher obviously already knows about?" because research, verifying sources, summarizing, and public speaking are all really important skills. "why does this have to be a group project?" because you will have to work with other people in your life, and learning how to be a team player (and deal with people who aren't) is an essential skill. "why do we have to read these scientific articles and learn about graphs?" because if you can understand them, people can't lie to you about them.

now, of course, there's a lot we could do better- especially we as in the american school system. the reason i have an education minor but am not teaching is because of those issues. there are plenty of assignments that are busywork and teachers that are assholes and ways that the system is failing us.

but that doesn't mean you should cut off your nose to spite your face!

the ability to learn and grow and think critically is one of our most powerful tools as people. our brains are capable of incredible things! however, the same way you can't lift a car unless you consistently lift and build up to that, your brain needs to train in order to do its best.

so yeah, maybe chatgpt can write a five paragraph essay for you on the differences between thomas jefferson and alexander hamilton's governing philosophies. and maybe it won't even fuck it up! congratulations, you got away with it. but by outright refusing to use your brain and practice these skills, who have you helped? you haven't learned anything. worse, you haven't even learned how to learn.

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

doctor doctor - s.r.

pairing: casual sex!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

summary: on the way to the hospital you call the only doctor you know (and the only person you want to see) - though you may have misunderstood what kind of doctor he is, exactly

word count: nearly 4k

masterlist // this is a continuation of 'the agreement'

series playlist if you're into that :)

contains: florist!reader, mugging, violence, allusions to potential SA attempt (no actual attempt made), allusions to smut, two cuties who are down bad for each other but refuse to admit it to themselves, they really don't know that much about each other's lives, mentions of no contact with family, reader refuses to put their own safety first and Spencer isn't living for it

Spencer has never known you to contact him during the day. 

In fact, he’s never known you to initiate contact, only ever reply to his texts. These messages consist only of logistics. Your place or mine? What time? That kind of thing.  

So at first, his expression is that of confusion as he reads your text.

BABY: What hospital do you work at ???

Spencer thought back over your first ever conversation. It was the only time you had ever discussed his work. He supposed he had only referred to it in an abstract sort of way. It wasn’t a leap that you would have assumed that Doctor Spencer Reid was in the medical field when he spoke of being unable to shake the memories of those he couldn’t save.

Beyond that first encounter, the point of your arrangement had been that it was an outlet for him to forget his work, so Spencer had never brought it up again and you had never pushed him to share. 

Spencer’s chest tightened. He considered the probability of you asking him this question innocuously. Given past instances of casual text conversation (zero), he knew the chances were not good. 

“Spencer, are you with us?” Hotch asked.

Not at all, he nearly said.

They were at the tail end of a case briefing, everyone’s eyes trained on Spencer as he stared at his phone. It didn’t take a profiler to know that a technophobe staring that intently at their phone spelled trouble.

“I need to step out for a sec.”

Spencer didn’t wait for a reply, already halfway out of his seat. He wouldn’t have even heard it if one came, his thoughts altogether consumed by you.

You picked up on the second ring. Spencer’s stomach dropped. He could hear the ambulance sirens loud and clear through the phone.

“Spencer?”

You sound slightly out of it. He ran through the potential reasons within a nanosecond. Pain, shock, blood loss, painkillers, a blow to the head.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you slurred slightly, unaware of the panic in his tone. “It’s just a scratch. They’re just being cautious.” If that were true, there would be no sirens for you to raise your voice over, but Spencer doesn’t say as much. “His knife was just very sharp. But I’m going to be okay, they told me so.”

The room tilted. His knife. 

“You’re going to be okay,” Spencer knew he was reassuring himself more than he was you, but he hoped you didn’t notice. “What hospital are they taking you to?”

“Um,” you thought for a long second, “I don’t know.

“What hospital?” you asked someone other than Spencer. You repeated what the paramedic told you, though Spencer had already heard.

“Okay, I’m going to be there really soon, okay baby?”

“That would be nice,” you hummed.

The team emerged from the conference room as he hung up the phone.

“Wheels up in thirty, Reid. You with us?” Hotch asked.

“I need to take some personal time. I’m not sure how long yet. All of today at least.”

Spencer’s feet itched to be on the move as he stood and explained himself to his boss. Every second spent not on the way to you was a waste. If he did not consider these people his family, he’s not sure he would have had the restraint to stand here and have this conversation.

“Of course,” Hotch nodded, understanding and unquestioning. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Spencer turned to leave, yelling a quick, I will, over his shoulder.

“Reid!” Garcia called as he left.

Spencer didn’t stop walking, heard her heels clacking and figured she would catch up.

“Is your mom okay?”

“She’s fine,” he didn’t look up as he grabbed his bag from his desk. A thought occurred to him. “I might need some information from you later,” he said, the words his knife echoing in his mind with every move he made.

“I’ll await your phone call,” she told him, earnest. 

Spencer didn’t even think to thank her, already running out of the office. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

It had been a rough morning for you. 

You were in the worst point between Spencer visits. The glow of the orgasms had faded, the memories of the sex becoming further from the front of your mind. More difficult to hold onto with clarity. It would be several days yet until you could expect a visit from him again, thus the thrill of anticipation seemed miles away. You were in the middle period, left with one thing and one thing only: frustration. 

You found yourself becoming crabby during this period. If you weren’t enjoying the sex so much, you would find it embarrassing. Your mood had become dependent on the frequency of visits from a guy you were seeing casually for sex. (You refused to acknowledge the fact that the influence was perhaps not exclusively the sex but the company you were enjoying and at this moment, missing).

You tried not to let your bad mood dominate your day, but it certainly infiltrated your enthusiasm for work, or rather created a lack thereof. You dragged your heels through your morning routine, spending more time than you should daydreaming about what (or who) you would rather be doing and found yourself running to make the train on time. 

Normally, you would never cut through that alley to get to the train station, but you did so out of sheer necessity to catch your train. 

It was broad daylight, you told yourself. It would be fine.

It was decidedly not fine. 

You heard them before you saw them. Her cries. His harsh and low, “Hurry up, bitch.”

His back was to you, so much larger than her that you couldn’t even see her behind him. 

You didn’t think, just reacted.

You don’t even remember running up, just the moment you yanked his shoulder away from her, towards you. He spun with the force of it. You hadn’t checked to see if he was wielding a weapon, barely even saw the flash of the knife as it sliced up your arm in the scuffle. 

He was young. Maybe nineteen. 

Luckily for you, your bold move was enough to spook him. He didn’t hesitate for a second before he took off running. 

Your damsel in distress was around your age, shaking and still with her open bag in hand.

“Are you okay?” you asked, not yet seeing the blood dripping down your own arm.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look in your direction. Just stared after her retreating assailant. Despite the mounting distance between herself and danger, her shaking took on a more ferocious edge as shock set in. The girl’s back hit the wall behind her, in a second she was on the ground and folding in on herself.

You bent down and reached for her hand. That was when you saw the blood. It had slid down your arm and covered your hand already. Your stomach lurched at the volume. You steeled yourself and looked beyond it, focused on the girl’s face.

“You’re okay. Don’t worry, lovely, it’s over now,” you gripped her hand as best you could as you plied her with assurances.

The throb of your wound registered like a kick in the gut as your adrenaline began to crash. Your butt hit the cement with a thud. Your vision started to swim but you tried not to think about it but rather the girl in front of you. She needed you to hold tight just a little bit longer. That much you could do.

“What’s your name, lovely?”

Her teeth clacked together but she managed to tell you, “Grace.”

“Grace, I need you to take a deep breath.” You led with an exaggerated inhale, and to your relief she followed your example. 

She settled some after three deep breaths together. Shakily, you used your good arm to pull your phone out of your pocket. You passed it to Grace and asked her to dial 911, unable to make out the numbers as your vision blurred. As you listened to her on the phone you couldn’t help but think again of the doctor who had been on your mind before your morning went to hell. Your doctor.

Despite everything, you huffed a laugh. You might see Spencer sooner than you thought.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Of course you hadn’t anticipated him dropping everything to come see you.

Just like you hadn’t anticipated the somewhat drunk, woozy feeling blood loss would create within you. Without it, you were sure you wouldn’t have texted him at all. 

You didn’t have anyone else to call, so you hoped you would just happen to be headed to the hospital where he worked. 

The paramedics on scene seemed very serious about your injury. You thought they would maybe just stitch you up on scene. They wouldn’t even let you walk to the ambulance, demanding you lie down (and remain) on a gurney. It overwhelmed you, and in a moment of weakness you reached out to Spencer.

But you were secretly glad you had done it. 

When you saw his face as he burst into your room (rather, your curtained off bed), you smiled despite the needle going into your arm. 

He was frazzled, hair an unkempt mess and slightly out of breath. There was relief in his eyes as they locked onto yours. Then he clocked the doctor stitching up your arm. In two quick strides he was there, eyeing both the injury and the doctor’s handiwork. 

Spencer could see the way the blade had swung out, slicing you first shallowly in your lower arm and catching some air above your elbow before slicing deeper into the flesh of your upper arm, creating a long broken line up your arm. 

“Did the laceration on the upper arm nick any arteries?” he asked the doctor, all business. 

“Luckily not, but your girl here was sitting in the cement bleeding for a while before the paramedics got there,” your doctor replied smoothly, unbothered by Reid’s probing. “Once I finish stitching her she’ll receive a transfusion. She’s a bit loopy from the blood loss right now.”

On cue, you pout at Spencer. “You’re not wearing your scrubs.”

He peeks at your displeased expression and he is overwhelmed by a desire to plant a hundred kisses all over your face. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding to see you talking and okay (well, half a breath, he’ll release the other half when you get your blood transfusion and stop looking so ashen).

Distracted by another thought, he only half looks at you as he says, “I’m not that kind of doctor, angel.

“What was the ambulance response time?” He asked the doctor. 

“I would have to ask to find out the exact time but I don’t believe it was longer than normal. I heard from the nurses that she scared a mugger off from some poor girl. Didn’t call an ambulance until she could get the girl calmed down some.”

The doctor turned to you. 

“Just remember next time, Supergirl, that paramedics can settle down people in shock too. Leave something for the rest of us to do,” the doctor winked at you. 

“I left the arm for you to stitch, what more do you want,” you joked, but your eyes were half shut. 

They opened quickly as a thought registered. “What kind of doctor are you then? A psychiatrist?”

The doctor’s brows shoot up, obviously wondering as to the nature of your relationship with Spencer if you don’t even know what kind of doctor he is. 

Spencer is surprised by the itchy feeling it gives him inside. It had given him pleasure to be perceived as your person, the one you count on. He didn’t like this new perception the doctor would have of your relationship. That you didn’t really know each other. Even if it was a lot closer to the truth. 

Spencer’s pleased to be spared having this conversation in front of the doctor as he finishes up the last stitch and says, “I’ll be back with a nurse to set up the transfusion in a minute.” 

Spencer thanked the doctor and pulled up a seat beside you, no longer needing to supervise anyone’s medical handiwork. He sat on your good side so he could hold your hand without causing any discomfort. 

“How are you feeling, honey?”

“Confused.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “How does your arm feel?”

“It’s fine, Spence. They gave me the good stuff, I promise. Now tell me what kind of doctor you are because I’m feeling silly.”

It occurs to Spencer then that you may share a commonality. Neither of you enjoy being wrong. Surely that is the explanation for the crease between your brows and the downturn of your mouth, something he is so unused to seeing. 

“You’re not silly. You made a reasonable deduction based on the information you were provided.” 

“The wrong deduction.”

“Well, yes,” he concedes. 

“So?” You look at him expectantly.

“My doctorates are in mathematics, engineering and chemistry, but I work for the FBI in the behavioural analysis unit,” he explained.

You stared at him blankly. This new reality was perhaps too much for your brain to comprehend so soon after a traumatic event.

“I catch killers by creating profiles of who these criminals would likely be based on the behaviour of known offenders,” Spencer attempted to simplify. “Well, not just me. Me and my team.”

“Sure,” you snorted.

Spencer just looked at you. Waited a beat for you to process. 

Realisation dawned upon you. “Oh. You’re serious?”

“I’m not exactly well known for my jokes.”

You laughed. “That’s true.” 

You sat back in your bed and sized him up, considering him within this new context. Reshuffling the picture you had formed of his life outside of your dalliances. 

“Maybe it’s the drugs or the blood loss but I can actually kind of see it.”

It was Spencer’s turn to snort. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I might still ask to see your credentials later. I’m not sure I would know the difference if you handed me your driver’s licence at this point.”

“I don’t have my driver’s licence.”

You shuddered. This is who we’re entrusting the safety of the public with?

“Hey!”

Oops. You hadn’t realised you were talking aloud in your hazy state.

“I’ll take you for a driving lesson one day okay? If you can figure out a way to have so many doctorates you can figure out how to drive under my tutelage.” 

Your eyes started to droop shut as you spoke, and your voice took on a sort of dreamy quality as you pictured the two of you in a car park somewhere driving around in circles. The thought made you feel warm and cosy inside. 

“Come on, baby, stay awake just until they hook up the blood transfusion for me, please?”

You did as you were told with a pout. 

“You and I need to have a chat about your vigilante behaviour.”

“Ah, Mr FBI is here to tell me off. Sorry, Doctor FBI.” You attempted a wink at him, trying to keep the mood light, but all you managed in your exhausted state was a kind of exaggerated blink.

Spencer would remember the moment later and smile, but right now he was too focused on the issue at hand. 

“Baby, I’m serious. What were you thinking? Your life isn’t worth someone’s wallet.”

You grimaced. You wished he had just taken a hint and dropped it. “I didn’t think, okay?”

“That was obvious.” 

Spencer’s clipped tone caused his words to land across your face like a blow. He wanted to stuff them back into his mouth as soon as he said them. You withdrew your hand from his.

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I just- I got so worried when you called me from the back of that ambulance. Scared me half to death. Now I’m scared half to death that this won’t be the only time you go looking for trouble.”

“I didn’t go looking for trouble, Spencer. I stumbled across them and I thought,” you sighed and looked away from him. “I thought he was going to take more from her than her wallet, and I just reacted, okay? I didn’t go looking for trouble. It found me.”

You sat in silence together for a moment. Spencer could feel some history behind your words and the heaviness in your eyes. He wanted to ask. Wanted to know. But he knew now wasn’t the time or the place.

“That makes sense. I’m sorry I didn’t think. Didn’t try harder to put myself in your shoes.”

“Didn’t you just tell me that was your whole job or something too?” You teased, trying to break the ice that had frosted over between you. 

“Kind of.”

Normally he would dive into a spiel about the exact ins and outs of the process of behavioural analysis but he is interrupted by a nurse. 

“Knock knock,” she chimes.

Spencer stands, allowing the nurse access to you. She works quickly, and with expert ease, unfazed by Spencer’s watchful eye. 

You go quiet as she works, the events (and injury) of the morning catching up with you. Spencer kicks himself internally for not letting you rest. He should have waited to bring up his concerns. Asked about it in a more delicate manner. The panic had a tight hold on him though, and he is unsure there is any version of events in which he would have been able to keep his mouth shut.

The doctor stops by to check in and make sure you’re good to go, and then Spencer can finally breathe a (full) sigh of relief as your blood transfusion is underway. 

“Can I nap now?” Your voice is small, your eyes barely open.

“Of course,” the doctor says, but you’re looking at Spencer. He’s never seen you look so young and vulnerable before. 

Spencer nods. “Let’s get you comfortable, baby.”

He fusses over you, fluffing your pillow and tucking you into your blanket. Once satisfied, he sits back down and reclaims your hand in his. 

“Is there anyone else you want me to call for you?”

Embarrassed, you shake your head no. Sliced open on the street and the only person in the world you have to call is the guy you’re having casual sex with. 

“No family?”

Spencer kicked himself for asking such a sensitive question. Your agreement not to discuss personal issues was in direct opposition to his innate curiosity about you. He supposes today was a special incident though, and for the duration they might be able to exist slightly outside the boundaries of the agreement. 

You had held strong through the whole ordeal, showing little signs of being rattled by the violent altercation of which you had been a part of. But you gave Spencer a watery smile at his two word question.

“You’re not the only one with things to forget, Spencer.”

He brushes the tear off your face as soon as it falls. “Then let me help you forget.”

“I think they frown upon you doing those kinds of things in a hospital room. Particularly one where the walls are just curtains,” you joked.

Spencer refused to acknowledge your lewd comment. “Tell me what book you want me to read to you. One of those romances that you love so much. But one of the classics, otherwise I might not know it.”

You might not know what he does for work, but you know him well enough not to doubt his ability to recite novels to you. 

You drift off to the steady timbre of Spencer’s voice, reciting Austen. He doesn’t start at the beginning, jumping rather to your favourite part so you can fall asleep to something that he knows will make you happy. Spencer doesn’t realise of course, that his presence alone will bring you enough joy to fall asleep peacefully. 

When he is sure that you are well and truly asleep, Spencer steps out to make a phone call. Garcia, despite working an active case, picks up on the first ring. 

“Everything okay, my love?”

“Everything’s fine, thankfully. Listen, I need a favour.”

“I can’t find that info for you until the case is over,” Penelope interjects.

“I know, that’s fine, this is something else.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You awake to find two bunches of flowers beside your bed, a card in each one. Curious, your eyes are barely open before you’re sitting up and reaching for the cards. The first identifies the sender as your damsel in distress, Grace, the second identifies the sender as ‘Spencer and the BAU’. 

“Really they’re mainly from the BAU’s tech analyst, Penelope,” Spencer tells you as he re-enters your arm, catching you in the act of reading the card. “She doesn’t really understand the concept of personal boundaries.” 

He hands you the water he had evidently gone to fetch you before reassuming his post by your bed.

You gulp down the water thirstily and ask, “What did you get me if those aren’t really from you then?”

You’re teasing, not actually expectant of anything, but he nods toward your arm. 

You look down to see your injured arm is no longer propped up by a pillow, but by the softest, sweetest teddy bear you’ve ever seen. He’s a gorgeous shade of chestnut brown, with chocolate eyes and a red bow tie. You lift your arm to get a better look and see he has a bandage on his arm to match your own. You melt. 

“I know you’re a florist so the idea of picking flowers that would meet your standards overwhelmed me and I thought maybe they wouldn’t be as special to you somehow? And you’ve been so brave through this whole thing I figured you deserve something special. Maybe you think it’s childish but I thought it would also be useful for keeping your arm elevated so if you don’t like it-”

“Spencer,” you interrupted. 

“Yeah?”

“I love it,” you grin. 

“You do?”

“I do. Thank you so much.” He finally cracks a smile at this, the first you had seen on his face all day. The room becomes all the brighter for it. You are overwhelmed with gratitude for him at that moment. You can’t imagine how sad and lonely this whole ordeal would have felt without him (even the mere thought of him, the anticipation of seeing him) to get you through. 

“And thank you so much for being here, I know this isn’t what you agreed to. Being someone’s emergency contact isn’t exactly casual,” you laughed, trying to make light of your own guilt.

“I don’t mind. I’m just glad that you’re okay. That’s the most important thing.” Spencer took your hand then. 

You hummed, but you were not entirely convinced.

“Besides, just because we’re getting to know each other a little better doesn’t mean we can’t keep things casual. You know what kind of doctor I am, and I know you’re Batman, doesn’t mean that I’m your boyfriend.”

You laughed a proper laugh then. Spencer has never been one for comedy, but he sees its appeal for the first time as he basks in the glow of being the one to evoke that sweet sound. 

“Okay, so maybe we… rethink the terms of our agreement?” You pray the hope in your tone (and your eyes) don’t betray you.

“I think,” Spencer paused, gave your hand a squeeze, “we do what feels right as we go along.”

You agreed, knowing full well you were throwing yourself headlong into getting your heart broken, because while Spencer wanted casual, the only thing that felt right to you was pulling him closer.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

authors note: low-key put my whole chest into this ngl

I have so many ideas for these two sweeties I started like four fics about them at once which is why this one took so long. Let me know what you want to see from these two!

[waepenwifestre]

Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any tips on how to write for a quiet character living a comfortable life abruptly being forced to adapt to a rowdy and somewhat violent environment?

Writing Ideas: Quiet Characters

common literary & character tropes

Beware the Quiet Ones: When the character who is hardly ever upset about something, suddenly raises their voice, the world turns upside down and seems to come to an end. There is an unleashed raging or cold speech of epic proportions that not even the most demented character in the story would want to sit through. This rage is almost always expressed verbally, though violence can also be included. Another version could be when the heroes' team is in low spirits, and The Quiet One, fed up with all the sulking, throws the table (or something else) to the side and gives a Rousing Speech to their comrades.

Elective Mute: It turns out that a character assumed to be unable to talk actually can speak, they just choose to be silent most of the time.

Emotionless Girl: An enigmatic female character who appears to be entirely emotionless. Whether she actually is emotionless depends on the story and often on her level of characterization.

Heroic Mime: A hero who never speaks.

Silent Scapegoat: Somebody who willingly takes the blame for everyone else's wrongdoings.

Suddenly Speaking: A character who was initially silent eventually reveals that they can speak after all.

The Quiet One: A character who does speak, but not as much as the other characters.

The Stoic: Quiet demeanor tends towards the brusque or outright rudeness, though there are a few polite Stoics. Some stoics may try to give the impression of a lot going on inside, cultivate an air of mystery and confuse other characters with cryptic one-liners. The Stoic sometimes displays emotion when under extreme stress or in other highly emotional situations, but their usual repertoire consists of mild boredom, detached interest, Dull Surprise or dignified disdain. The Stoics in ancient Greece were philosophers who believed that self-control is the highest virtue, and detachment from strong emotions and passion would give them greater insight in their quest for truth. They also thought that emotional reactions to the inevitable were silly; given that We All Die Someday, what is grieving over death but a judgment that the inevitable was somehow wrong? Stoics would later be criticized for fatalism and apathy.

The Voiceless: A character isn't shown speaking, but might still be capable of speech.

Tranquil Fury: This character can range from happy or stoic, but their anger is more quiet (but still dangerous). What defines this trope is the tendency to become deadly serious when it gets deadly serious.

Examples

In the story "The Six Swans", collected by the Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Andersen among others, a Fallen Princess must make six shirts out of nettles and can't make a sound for seven years or the spell that transformed her six brothers into swans will never be broken. She manages to keep all of these conditions and gets to break the spell. This is an example of the Elective Mute trope.

Peter in Jumanji, who talks to no one but his older sister Judy ever since their parents' death by car accident. Once Alan gets out of the game and finds his parents are also dead, Peter starts talking to him as well.

Charles Wallace was an Elective Mute trope a child in A Wrinkle in Time. By the time of the later books, he has grown out of it.

Irish Mythology: The battle trance Nuada enters before the first battle of Maige Tuired is sometimes described as a battle fury. However, unlike The Riastrad, the famous "Warp Spasm" of the hero Cu Chulainn, Nuada does not become a berserker, but instead becomes exceptionally calm. This is an example of the Tranquil Fury trope.

Older Than Steam. Shakespeare's Henry V has the eponymous character's Tranquil Fury reaction to the tennis balls.

Dead Poets Society: The shy and insecure Todd Anderson spends most of the film struggling to get out two full sentences and is overlooked by the school and his parents. After his best friend kills himself, the school tries to bully him (and the other boys) into pinning the blame on their favorite teacher — and he leads half the class in an outright rebellion against the headmaster.

Don Vito Corleone from The Godfather is famously very soft-spoken, even hoarse, but an extremely menacing screen presence.

In the original novel The Godfather, both Vito and Michael Corleone were noted as young men for being soft-spoken, understated, and reasonable, especially in contrast to many of their Sicilian immigrant and first-generation compatriots. They go on to become in turn the most feared "Family" heads of their generations, while still rarely raising their voices above a normal speaking tone.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

This is already quite a specific character, and it seems you have a rough idea of your storyline. I don't want to intrude too much on your story, so I compiled tropes and examples in literature as well as other media that are somewhat related to what you described, and you could perhaps incorporate these (& edit as needed/desired) to further flesh out your specific character and plot. Consider which direction you want your story to go; what reactions you want your own character to show once they're thrust into that new environment (Will they continue to be quiet? Will they go the other end of the spectrum? Perhaps somewhere in between? Will they succeed in "adapting" in this new environment?). Do go through the sources for more information and examples. Plus these previous posts that may be useful as well:

On Shyness ⚜ On Mutism ⚜ On Introverts

Word Alternatives: Quiet ⚜ Five-Factor Model of Personality

[hadesoftheladies]

the problem isn't just women and girls losing abortion rights. it's the fact that men and boys still have more political influence. that has consistently spelled bad things for human societies. men and boys are most likely to vote for harmful policies to other human beings and the environment. they are the LEAST connected to and educated on socioeconomic matters (because of their privilege) and have no incentive nor credentials to lead. they don't even understand the problems (if them taking the fraudulent "male loneliness epidemic" seriously is anything to go by) and giving them more political influence is like placing a tripped out toddler in the driver's seat with millions of people more qualified and educated in the backseat.

these men don't know what goes on in their homes, how to run houses, what their children's birthdays are, and you think they'll know what medical aid even looks like? they don't even book their own children's doctor's appointments. they are the LEAST educated on societal infrastructure they don't know ANYTHING about how a society runs or keeps running and you want to give them more political influence/administrative power?!

FUCKIGN DUMB!

[itsnotmuchyet]

Okay, this is just a quick (lies, this ended up so long) and dirty articulation of why I don't like Annabeth Chase from PJO, her relationship with Percy, and what I think could fix it. (It got too long so I cut that bit. I'll write it if someone asks, but right now this is just a deconstruction of how, in my opinion, Annabeth Chase is not a well-written and compelling character.) This will be rambling and scattershot but hopefully it all makes sense, even if you don't agree.

First of all, Annabeth Chase has a lot of potential. I'm about to talk some shit, but I want to be clear, I see a lot in her character that could be interesting. I attribute most of my problems with her to Rick's writing, which, for all its good qualities, is not the strongest or most consistent imo. This isn't intended as a hate piece, just a way to organize my thoughts. I'm doing this all from memory, and am open to feedback, disagreement, or correction if I make a mistake so long as it's done in a civil way. Thank you.

I think my biggest frustration with Annabeth is that I simply don't believe her intelligence. I would LIKE to. But I think we are told that she is smart far more than we're shown, which makes the praise heaped upon her somewhat galling.

When I think about great strategies in these books, Percy comes to mind first. In The Last Olympian, he's the one who plans out the destruction of the bridges to frustrate Kronos' approach, including making diplomatic deals with the river gods and strategically deploying demigods to get it done. He's the one to realize that Poseidon is critical to success, find a way to get his attention in the middle of a war, and convince him to take heavy losses in Atlantis — and lose that battle which was very personal and precious to him — in order to win the ultimate war against Kronos. It is also Percy's strategy which is successful in defeating Typhon. Percy is constantly thinking up strategies in high pressure environments, such as fights. For example, in the Labrynth, when he realizes that his half-brother is healed by earth so he concocts a method with what he has around him to keep his brother suspended so he can be killed.

Now, other demigods also make important contributions in The Last Olympian. Wasn't it Nico who convinced Hades, Persephone, and Demeter to join the fight? And Annabeth activated Daedalus(??? spelling) statues in defense as well. But Percy is one that we are most often shown being strategic. I think it just goes under the radar because Percy does not have a high self esteem and does not praise himself internally for a lot of the clever stuff he does.

Annabeth most often contributes by knowing something. She often serves as exposition; she'll recognize a myth first, and explain it to Percy. But not only is prior knowledge and memorization not a replacement for actual strategy, BUT PERCY GETS BETTER GRADES THAN HER. I think it's in that Demigod Files book?? All Riordan's stuff has at least a month's waitlist at my library or I would double check my source, but I distinctly remember an entry where Annabeth is like, "Seriously, how is Percy getting better grades than me?? I'm the one who taught him how to put an essay together and now he's breezing through them??? Wtf." I find this intensely frustrating. Because what do you MEAN she's not even more successful than Percy academically? It's just, it's frustrating, because she's supposed to be so super smart, and I'm struggling to see where that actually gets expressed. If her only advantage is an earlier exposure to the Greek myths than Percy and a good memory, then her value as a character is highest near the start of the series and can only decline from there.

Even her encounter with the Sphinx highlights this. She had the trivia knowledge to answer the questions but not the wisdom to just, do that and not start an unnecessary fight in the middle of their quest.

I can think of several times in the books where Annabeth stutters, trying to think of something, while Percy improvises something that might be a little goofy but it WORKS.

Actually, Percy is by far the better manipulator out of the two of them. He is insanely good at reading his enemies, figuring out how to convince them to ally with him if possible, or defeat them if not. His big vulnerability is he can't do that for shit with people he cares about. Percy is actually very conflict avoidant in his personal life, I've noticed? And he's very quick to empathize with a friend and try to see things from their persepective (like when Grover kinda SABOTAGED his college applications and Percy heard him out and supported him in his emotional struggle with Percy leaving).

By contrast, Annabeth doesn't seem interested in the emotional wellbeing of her friends?

Annabeth often insults Percy's intelligence and his strategies. She says his head is full of kelp, seaweed brain, outright calls him stupid at least once (during that quest for Hermes, if I recall; was that in the Demigod Files as well? It wasn't in a main book I don't think). Everyone says that Annabeth is so smart, she's the daughter of Athena she's the architect of Olympus!! Meanwhile, the person I see actually implementing successful strategy is the person Annabeth constantly insults. She says that he's lucky, that he needs help to do anything, couldn't think his way out of a paper bag without her????????

That's what drives me crazy about Annabeth. Nobody ever calls her on her bragging or her putting down of other people. She doesn't learn. Not even when her carelessness and overconfidence gets her DRAGGED INTO TARTARUS. I'm so sorry, but is it not embarrassing for a daughter of Athena to be defeated like that??? All you had to do was keep an awareness of your environment, put two and two together that you're covered in webs just like the spider who just fell through the floor, and realize you'd better do something about that ASAP. And, like. Look. My issue isn't that she was pulled into Tartarus. My issue isn't even the way it happened. It matches with her fatal flaw.

My issue is that, like with everything else she gets wrong, she never seems to learn or grow from it. Like when Luke tricked her into holding up the sky. That to me is a perfect opportunity for a genuine character moment. It's so humbling, and would leave you so shaken. A moment for an unwanted but desperately needed reckoning between who she wants Luke to be and who he is. I'm not even saying she should have given up on him. I don't mind that she couldn't or that the whole thing was so messy and painful for her, but the way that it was expressed in the book made me feel like Annabeth was either willfully blind or untrustworthy. Her denial of Luke's worst aspects, her defending of him, her refusal to hold space for other characters feeling differently to her, all of it fostered suspicion in me when I first read the PJO books.

I remember when I first read the scene where Percy reveals his Achille's heel to her. My hair stood on end. Something about the way her eyes are described as "distant" when she asks where it is, and how Percy hesitates. In that moment I was screaming for him not to trust her. I did not want her to know. I thought his fatal flaw was going to kill him. Percy is a character who cannot anticipate betrayal.

Of course I was wrong about Annabeth there. Or was I? Other people before me have noted that when Annabeth judo flips Percy onto his back in New Rome, she does not know that the Mark of Achilles has been lifted. I don't think that the throw would have necessarily killed him if it hadn't; he lands on a flat surface. But it was certainly DEEPLY careless and foolhardy of Annabeth, EVEN BEFORE you take into account that it was, strategically, a STUPID thing to do. It makes me want to scream how dumb this moment makes Annabeth look. It's the tense, fraught first meeting in years between ancient enemies. You're the leader of your group, the diplomatic ambassador from Camp Half Blood. It's imperative that this goes well, for the fate of the world. And your emotions run so high upon reuniting with your kidnapped boyfriend — who was stolen by a god and has been through you-don't-know-what kind of godly fuckery — that you take it out on him, the VICTIM, and physically attack him. Didn't she put a knife to his throat?? If PERCY hadn't defused the moment, handled it, Annabeth would easily have destroyed the Greek-Roman alliance right there, no ghostly possession of Leo needed. With friends like her, who needs enemies?

Her relationship with Percy…I've never understood why they're the golden couple of the fandom. Annabeth seemed more interested in Luke than Percy, and when she was interested in Percy it was always…like, okay, Annabeth was vulnerable with Luke. I don't think he ever had a thing for her, but there was a tenderness to how she'd interact with him. When she interacted with Percy — think of the school dance, or how she handled having Rachel on a quest — she refuses to be vulnerable with him. If she has a crush on Percy, she hides it under glares, insults, and demands. Annabeth won't ask Percy to dance with her, she'll hit him and call him stupid for not asking her. She will not let her guard down with him.

This is a throughline in their relationship; even in Tartarus, she's thinking about how she likes to keep Percy on her toes. Yeah, Annabeth, we know. It was obvious when you manufactured a whole drama around your "one month anniversary." Which, no, that's not a thing, and it's completely normal of Percy not to anticipate that you would want him to do something special for it. I hated that whole story (it's in demigod files, I think). It's just Annabeth dangling Percy over undefined consequences if he doesn't read her mind and figure out what she wants and needs. He does all the work and she judges it. It's not cute or fun.

I do place most of the blame on Riordan's writing. What's that scene where Annabeth pushes Percy unexpectably off a cliff, triggering a very sensitive and dangerous encounter that he had to negotiate under time pressure while Annabeth watches? How does that scene start? "Get you a girlfriend who…" It's framed as a positive that Annabeth will just shove Percy into dangerous situations without warning when she absolutely does not have to do that. Isn't she supposed to be strategic? Why can't she think up a strategy and tell him, instead of shoving him at the problem and just, putting it on him to find a solution? "Give the problem to Percy" isn't a strategy worthy of Athena, I'm sorry. But my point is, Rick genuinely seems to think their romance is good and these red flag moments are cute and flirty. He is not writing Annabeth as an asshole on purpose.

I tend towards death of the author analyses myself, but Rick's writing is not consistent enough for that. You kinda just have to identify what he was trying to do, see where it failed, and decide how you wanna interpret that. And when it comes to Annabeth…I just want to either burn her relationship with Percy down or rewrite her character.

What else is there? Oh yeah, does anyone else feel like the way her family is written makes her seem…overdramatic? Like, meeting her dad and stepmom…it's an anticlimax. This girl was so unhappy she ran away from home as a child. She chose to become homeless in a world where monsters hunt her down, AS A CHILD, rather than stay with her dad. There's a deep unhappiness and loss to that. When she talks about it, she talks about being unwanted, a burden that her dad was unable and unwilling to handle, not being heard, not being believed. She is describing victim blaming. In that house, she, a six year old child, was seen as the problem.

And after that build up, we meet her family, and they are…well, they're fine, aren't they. Her step mom is concerned for her. She and Annabeth's dad (no i don't remember his name rn) seem to want the best for her, to help however they can. Mr Chase—is his name Frederick maybe???—Mr Chase takes the initiative, after Percy and his friends let him in on a sliver of what's going on with Annabeth, to melt down old weapons to make bullets and FLY A HELICOPTER to come save his daughter.

I'm honestly at a loss about what we're supposed to think here. At the end of Titan's Curse Percy gently suggests to Annabeth that she give her family another chance. If I recall, she says some things can't be repaired, but it's implied that she does actually try again with her family later. This always seemed to me to undermine Annabeth's entire narrative…the way she describes being treated simply does not match what we observe for ourselves in Titan's Curse.

I could go on but I'll cut it here. Maybe I'll make a post about I'd rewrite her if I could, because I do WANT to like Annabeth. There's a lot interesting that could be done with her. Probably not though bc all the Annabeth stans are gonna block me for this one I fear. Maybe I'll post my criticisms of other PJO couples instead lol (I won't. if you've read this far you'll find this claim dubious, but I actually don't enjoy being a hater. anyway i don't have nearly so much to say about any other pjo couple). Thanks for reading.

[transboyswitchytales]

Danger in New Horizons

“And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.” - Sylvia Plath

You have a sketchy dark past when you stumble into Wanda's hex hell. With the strange 50's attire and sitcom laugh track. You want to leave, but find yourself in the clutches of a nosey neighbor Agnes. Or Agatha rather, and she isn't sure if letting you go is in her best interest. Is it in yours?

Request by @rubyblue02 - Series MasterList

Warning: Enemies to Lovers/ House Arrest /Not Eating/ Agatha tries to kill you first/ But then it's cute?/Book Worms being cute/ Gifts/Misunderstanding / Agatha can flirt but she doesn't get how to get you out of your room yet/ WandaVision Starts but we aren't staying here/ Pre-AAA/ Stuck in the 50's first/ BloodWitch/ Chronic Pain/ Agatha is self con on her darkhold fingers and it's cute/ Darkhold issues / Grey R/ Flirting and Tea/ Books are from the 50's even/ M&M's are from the 50's even /Agatha is spying on R but like it is cute?/ MDNI 18+

Part 1 Agnes and House Arrest

“And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions, that I may lose what I have now, and not find anything except loneliness.” - Sylvia Plath

Change was never a friend of yours, but you also had a tendency to leave before you found any sort of comfort in a place, or it’s people. 

At the age of 210 you thought of Sylvia Plath’s quote as you drove through New Jersey. 

You didn’t mean to stay in New Jersey, you unlike Agatha, didn’t go in search of the hex, the Scarlet Witch, or any kind of prize. 

You were simply running away from yourself. 

And the shitty thing is, after you rented the room/apartment/studio. After you bought the first potted plant for the window. Some time between the stage you get acquainted with the best take out food, a startling yet consistently unwanted realization hits you square in the chest. 

You ran away from yourself and you took yourself with you. 

Not just some shitty self help quote, no it was true. 

You could wear a new name, a new fake ID. A different job, a state with a welcome sign may flash before your eyes as you drive by. 

But the truth was the same no matter where you went. 

Your trauma, demons, the past you wished to forget with all it’s people in the shadowy shapes of monsters to you, it was too deep to run from.

It lingered under your fingernails, and it didn’t matter if you cut them, or scrubbed. 

They found you. 

You could run away, and reinvent yourself as many times as you wanted. 

You were still there. 

And that was fucking awful. 

So it was the year 2021, you still, like a madwoman, were trying to run away. 

You hadn’t meant to fall into the hex. 

It wasn’t even a trap meant for you, a spell created for your kind of witchcraft.

But as you stopped in New Jersey at a little gas station off the freeway, in a town you didn’t care about. 

A red vibrated all around you, and the people screamed. 

(You knew Wanda didn’t know this, but she should). 

The people screamed as their minds fell, and the 1950’s warped the town.

Cars changed to black and white classic’s with their white wall tires. 

Parents screamed as they ran towards their children, but the red hex cast took them before they could think to save their little ones. 

You braced for impact, unsure what it was. 

When you looked down to see yourself in a 50’s dress you laughed, in your hand the gas pump that was there was now a magazine on how to ‘Attract Mr. Right’ which was hilarious. 

Your skin was grey, and you looked over to the movie theater to see it was now showing ‘All About Eve’ and ‘Vertigo.’

Not a bad choice for films, but not 2021 movies that’s for sure. 

As you studied the towns people it was like a strange fever dream, their smiles plastered on and they walked with determination for where they were going, yet their eyes looked vacant and troubled. 

“Okay dokey.” You reached forward to your now 50’s car, only for it to not open. 

Right, this was interesting. 

It took four days for you to figure out.

But for the first time in a century, you weren’t going to be able to run. The border of red sizzling magic was toxic and strong. It crackled like the static of an old TV. 

You felt the magic emulating from one house, and you were not going there, not until you had more information. 

What you hadn’t expected, as you found a vacant house four doors down was a third witch. 

‘Miss Agnes the Nosey Neighbor’ as you could tell the type cast was working for this sitcom. Wanda and Agnes walked around like they’d practiced their script together. 

And you morphed your clothes into more…of a greaser look. But it just flipped back to that of a domesticated Lucile Ball. It took a minute to get your magic to work in the space, and it was wonky to say the least. Nothing came out the way it was supposed to, and you wondered if Wanda could feel you changing her enchantments. 

You had avoided both witches until the fifth day. 

“Hya Hon! Agnes' voice broke your stride, you were about to go to the grocery store, as you’d been unable to conjure food in this strange warped hex. And you’d been living off of corn flakes and glasses of milk from the milkman.  

“Hi,” You tried to pretend, but you hadn’t been social in so long, much longer than this complex 50’s nightmare. 

“You live a few doors down,”

“Yup!” You smiled fake, and Agnes head tilted a tad to the side, and you could tell she knew something was off. 

“Come over for a glass of lemonade! Or I make a mean Martini! Don’t tell Ralph I drink before noon! Or he’ll join in!” Agnes tone was so very plastic, and you wondered what the fuck she was even talking about. 

You were gonna have to try harder, you took a big breath and matched her voice now. 

“Ya know, I have some crossstitch that I just can not tare myself away from! My cutie patootie just loves my throw pillows! Maybe another time dear!” You fake it and you actually think it sounds pretty good but Agnes turns to look over her shoulder to make sure Wanda isn’t around.

She reaches out quickly with purple coming out of her fingertips and you step back and slap her hand away. 

“The hell are you tryin to do lady!” You yell, breaking your fake facade,  and Agnes laughs now but looks both ways to the side of the street before grabbing you and you teleport to her home.

At least you think it’s her home, it’s dingey and your gaze is quick to see runes glowing purple. 

“Fuck.” You snarl and turn quickly in circles to see where she went. 

“Smart witch, but not a great actress sweetheart.” Agnes says and you try to find an exit. 

“Come out here and fight me, don’t play with your food bitch.” You snarl and a witch cackles from all around the room making it impossible for you to tell where she is. 

“Not very 50’s talk honey. Besides, you are pretty cute, perhaps I’ll play with you and then gobble you all up. Wanda doesn’t even know you are here.” Her voice echoes like a villain on a movie. 

“Great, let’s get it over with then.” You turn just in time for Agnes to step out, only she looks very different now. Her hair more frayed, her fingers black, a purple sweater with a broach. She looks much more like a witch now. 

But you stop and really take her in, she’s gorgeous.

Fucking stunning from head to toe.  

“Aren’t you sweet.”

“You don’t need to read my mind, it’s rude, if you want to kill me let’s fight. But I don’t need all this foreplay.” You step back as she matches you and steps forward. 

“You don’t like foreplay baby?”

“I’m not your baby, you don’t know me.”

“Do you know me, do you know who’s basement you are in?” Agatha cuts you off wondering what she’s messing with, if you know. 

“Your aura is from Salem with trial days…your fingers only turn that shade after fun with a particular sort of dark magic. The broach, the purple, I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and say Agatha Harkness, seeing as you are the last witch sighted with the book of the damned.” You step back again and Agatha steps forward. 

Like you two are dancing to a song you can’t hear.

“Smart little witch indeed.” Agatha’s eyes flash purple every now and then to float in and out of your mind, though she isn’t creating any illusions which throws you off a bit. 

“Thanks but I don’t like fake compliments anymore than I like whatever type of bra Wanda was making us wear for the 50’s.” Your hands are clammy. 

You stalked back for every step Wanda stalked forward. 

“Aw the cone shape not doing it for you, why don’t you take off your shirt. I’ll tell you what Mama Agnes thinks of it on you.” Agatha plays with you now and you are about to run out of basement to step back in. 

“I don’t sleep with my captor, at least not anymore.” You smile with your teeth out to show her you aren’t her prey and Agatha giggles again. She seems to be enjoying this after days of playing her sitcom role. 

Finally someone she doesn’t have to play pretend with. 

“Perhaps just one kiss will change your mind.” Agatha’s magic pushed against your body and you slammed into one of the pillars. She came close and grabbed your jaw and yanked it to the side to see what magic you were concealing. 

You waited for her to take, or for her to tell you to blast her so she could feed off of you.

For her to do….well anything. 

But Agatha’s grip loosened and her hand caressed your face and turned your chin gently. 

“You’ve been cursed.” She said gentler now than you had ever thought the witch could talk. 

“Took you long enough.” You glare now, but Agatha just looks conflicted. 

“You are…A Blood Magic witch?” Agatha’s grip moves to your neck, though she doesn’t choke, doesn’t squeeze, she’s scanning you with her glowing purple fingers. Understanding what you are for the first time. 

“You get points Harkness, not a lot of Blood Witches. You didn’t think you were the first to check the Darkhold out of the library did you.” You sneer but Agatha doesn’t bite at your condescending attitude. 

“There’s a chapter in the book…there has only ever been three of your kind.” Agatha isn’t really speaking to you, but rather reliving her studies out loud. 

“Did you read why?” Your eyes shift to the ground now and Agatha doesn’t speak for a moment. 

“The pain…”

“Yeah, the pain.” You murmur and push your tongue to the side of your cheek. Experiencing a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment now. 

Blood magic was rare and extremely powerful, yet the other two witches who wielded it before you….went insane from the endless pain and…it didn’t end well for them. 

You snapped on your best mean mug, and found your fight again, to return your face to face, stand off with Agatha Harkness infamous witch killer. 

“So, you still want it. You want my power? Go on, take it. You can carry the pain for the rest of your life. I got nothing left to lose. Nowhere to go, nothing else to experience. You want my power, kill me, go on, do it.” You goad the witch, knowing she won’t do it. But your play of insanity hopefully makes her throw you back into the pond, not a fish worth keeping. 

Agatha’s gaze on you was something you hadn’t ever had expressed for you. 

She waited a minute before stepping back and releasing the hold on your body with her magic. 

You didn’t scramble away, simply leaned back on the pillar still. 

Agatha seemed to be in deep thought on what to do next. 

“I didn’t think so, coward.” You sneer and Agatha once again, doesn’t fight back, seeming to think of you now in a different light. 

“You want Wanda’s Chaos Magic to heal your pain?” Agatha tried and you chuckled darkly. 

“Of course not, I didn’t even know the Scarlet Witch was here. I was stopping for gas, and yes that sounds like a weak excuse but look into my mind. I’m not lying!” You shout and Agatha’s eyes turn purple and she roots around before the blues return to her irises. 

“You can’t leave.”

“But you can, you walk in, you could walk out. Just walk me out! I won’t tell anyone, I don’t care about this! I just want to leave!” You sound like a broken record and Agatha isn’t jumping at your idea, and that freaks you out. 

“Even if I believed you. The government is surrounding the place by now, you walk out and you’ll be held in some facility. Which you know our people just do so well behind bars. Because once they pick up that you aren’t a normal civilian they’ll either think you helped Wanda or they’ll try to recruit you into a spandex suit. Baby you can’t leave this place yet, I’m your only option out, but I’m not leaving until I’ve drained her.” Agatha states and crosses her arms over her chest. 

Her rune stop glowing but neither of you move. 

“So what, you gonna keep me in the basement against my will?”

“I was sort of hoping you’d behave and I could keep you upstairs against your will.”

“Or I could hide out in that creepy empty house.” You want out, you want out now. 

“Wanda can’t know you are here. She’ll react first and we won’t have the upper hand anymore.”

“Who’s we, there is no we! I am not helping you! We aren’t in a coven for the catching of chaos magic. And what do you care of Wanda hurts me? I’m nothing to you, you were about to kill me.” You attempt to reason with her, not understanding this new plan Agatha seems to have for you. 

“Things changed.” She says like it’s nothing. 

“Bullshit.” Your foul language really doesn't’ fit this sitcom, but Agatha doesn’t seem to mind your colorful vocabulary. 

“Believe what you want, until I’ve drained Wanda it’s in both our best interest that you stay here. I will keep you safe in the wards of this house. So long as you play by my rules.” Agatha tosses her hair over her shoulder, and you aren’t sure which part of her is acting now.  

“You want me to cross stitch for real then?” Your sarcasm doesn’t even phase Agatha.Agatha puts a finger up to instruct you, and you think of how her dark fingers looked like yours once.  

“You stay out of sight, in the house at all times. You don’t go out, and you don’t communicate with anyone under the spell. When this spell starts to really break down, you can’t be out there for it.” Agatha’s tone was stern and you wondered what she was planning. 

“And if I say no? If I go to escape?”

“It won’t be me, you have to worry about my pretty little plasma.” Agatha said the words slow and let her lips pop as she punctuated the P’s. 

“How long will this take?” You tried to think of this logically, and not like the scared animal you felt like. 

“No idea, could be days could be months or years. It’s chaos magic honey, the darkhold doesn’t even know.” Agatha shrugged like the facts didn’t bother her.  

“Fuck that! Fuck this! What am I supposed to do sit and do while I wait that long? Are we gonna play Monopoly, pretty sure that came out this decade!” 

Your voice gets louder and louder. 

“I’m working towards messing up fragments of the illusion. But it is going to take time. Time is not the part of this you have to really worry about.” Agatha’s words are fucking mysterious and it does nothing to soothe you or help you understand what the hell her plan is. In fact it only further aggravates you, and you get even more enraged using jokes and quips to try to break through to your fellow witch how asinine this whole thing was. 

“What should I worry about Agatha? Pretty sure feminism isn’t in swing yet, the National Organization for Women doesn’t exist this decade! They start in 66’ so I guess I could start painting signs now? They’ll surely dry in time!” Your creative jabs of dry sarcasm doesn’t have its desired effect and Agatha bites back a smile, but you see it.

“I do require a Ralph, you could always slick your hair back and help me carry appetizers over to dinner parties with Wanda and Vision.” Agatha’s lip twitches and you feel rage now. “Pretty sure there is a stamp collecting club starting this week in the community, or hey you could always pick up neighborhood watch with Vision.”  

You gape at Agatha’s jokes. 

Aware now of what is going on. 

She’s entertained by you. 

That’s even worse than threatening, you want to go back to her trying to take your power. It was like she was finding this whole thing cute! 

“STOP ENJOYING THIS!” You reach down to your hideous slip on shoes and yank it off and chuck it at Agatha’s head, but she ducks it easily and rubs her lips together to stop the next round of laughter from escaping. “WHY ARE YOU ENJOYING THIS!”

Agatha doesn’t answer you that night. 

And you spend the next week avoiding her like chicken pox that this generation will get in an episode you are sure, she gives you a bedroom next to her own.

You hear her rustling around in the day and the night, but you avoid her like your life depends on it. You wait for her door to close or for her to leave the house to go to the kitchen and get bits of snacks. You hide out in the small bedroom that luckily has some books that aren’t gardening magazines . 

You read books that have just come out, for the 50’s standard, knowing they will one day be taught as ‘classics’ but have yet to be called such. 

You finish ‘The Invisible Man,’ ‘On the Road,’ and ‘Giovanni’s Room,’ and you’ve read all three of them before, but they are the best out of the pile of discarded books pressed into ugly grey book cases. 

It’s the second week that you accidentally bump into Agatha as you thought she’d left, you are walking downstairs with the aged paperback of ‘Giovanni’s Room’ pressed between your fingers, spine cracked open with your nose stuck in it’s creases. 

You walk down the steps and stop realizing you aren’t alone in the space, Agatha, well Agnes as she is dressed now, is baking and she’s got her hand on her hip as she studies you. 

Like she’d been waiting for you to emerge. 

“Shit, I didn’t realize you were here, sorry.” You panic and turn to walk back up the steps. 

“Wait, I need to talk to you.” Her voice is even, though you wonder if you can detect some eagerness for you to not walk away that goes beyond friendly. 

Your barefoot stops on the wood step and you sigh audibly upset, but turn around to your house arrest friend and walk towards her slowly. 

“Have I been a bad roommate?” You try the joke but it sounds snide and anxious, which is how you feel about all that is Agatha. 

Agnes’s hair is perfect and her dress is crisp and pristine and you miss the way Agatha looks as you gaze at her, Agatha must have read your mind because her right upper lip pulls just a tad at the side in enjoyment. 

“Yes actually, when I said you had to stay inside. I didn’t realize you were going to hide from me the whole time.”

“I don’t see why that’s a problem, I don’t get in your way, I stay in the room.”

“You have been living off of black tea and Peanut M&M’s. You don’t leave your room until you are sure I’m not around, which yes I pretended to leave so you would come downstairs. And you read morning noon and night.” Agatha puts on an oven mitt and uses her free hand to move to the tea kettle and you notice she’s put out a place setting. 

“Have you been spying on me?” You quickly realize. 

“Please, don’t be so dramatic.” Agatha brushes it off but you glare at her more. 

“How else would you know what I’ve been up to! We haven’t seen each other at all! And screw you lady, M&M’s taste different in the 50’s they didn’t use the same food dye. So this is the time to fucking eat them.”

Agatha blinks at you a few times and you scoff at her lack of answer and go to walk back upstairs. 

“I made you tea!”

“Not thirsty you bat shit crazy ancient hag! Go back to your black and white girlfriend nextdoor!” 

“I’ll stop buying M&M’s!” Agatha threatened and you stoped on the third step and turn around and lick your lips, before usign the book to point at the witch who looks a little alarmed by you now. 

“I don’t want your M&M’s or your tea party! You and I aren’t friends! You tried to kill me and take my magic! What did you think was gonna happen when we decided on my house arrest? That we’d share darkhold notes, you want me to help you make quiche, have TV tray dinner’s together and plot Wanda’s demise? Harkness, leave me alone!” You yell the last part and you wonder if Agatha’s had anyone tell her no like this. 

Because she’s scanning you look she’s trying to figure out your currency and she won’t get it. 

“Do we need to do this? Do you have to hate me? Can-” You cut her off quickly snapping the book closed dramatically.

“I’ll not leave my dishes out, and I’ll be quiet as you play with your cursed book in the basement. In turn, stop spying on me, and stop trying. You are a covenless witch right? Well so am I. Let’s keep it up, worked for both of us before, right?” You turn back up the steps and take them two by two. 

Ignoring that Agnes timer went off for something that smells sinfully good. 

Later that night the front door closes and you groan and open your bedroom door. Checking now around the corner to make sure this isn’t another attempt at conversation. 

When you get to the kitchen there’s a note and a plate. 

‘Be happy we are in the 50’s and not the 40’s, there’s a microwave. No I didn’t poison you. Eat it, you can’t live off of M&M’s even if they do have peanuts in them.’ 

You look down to see a bowl of witch’s stew and your stomach growls. 

You dont’ want to give Agatha the satisfaction actually, and you fucking won’t. Fuck her, and her sweet gesture, you didn’t need a friend, no matter how gorgeous she looked in her plum jumper.

You leave the food untouched and open the fridge to steal the orange juice carton and go back upstairs to read ‘Giovanni’s room’ for the third time this week. 

The next day Agnes has some kind of early thing with Wanda and so she leaves mid morning and you are glad, you need tea badly. 

Your bones ache, part of being a blood witch. It just happened and you weren’t exactly giving yourself a balanced diet. 

But you were used to the pain, if only your hands didn’t cramp like they were, it made it hard to hold the book.

You sigh and stomp down the stairs and once again stop at the kitchen counter to see a breakfast of eggs, toast, bacon, and white bread lightly toasted and buttered.

The note reads in perfect script.

‘You are being ridiculous, just eat something, it doesn’t mean anything. You have to eat something though. 

Ps: You need a new book.’

You look under the plate of food to see a small purple ribbon wrapped around a stack of paperbacks. 

‘East of Eden,’ by Steinbeck, ‘MacBeth’, and ‘Last Night at the Telegraph Club.’ 

Agatha had picked a book with moral dilemma and the idea of good and evil. She picked shakespeares most powerful depiction of witches. And she picked a queer book that came out in 2021 but is about the 50’s. 

You turned the queer book by Malinda Lo over and over, wondering how Agatha had gotten it, or had she brought it? Did she break a rule to get it to you? 

And what kind of strange present was this, what did these books mean? Was Agatha trying to tell you something? 

You groaned looking at the stack of books, at breakfast, and then back to the note. 

You left the food and carried the books upstairs, turning on your foot last minute and snatching the purple ribbon off the counter. 

You swore you didn’t know why, but you wanted the ribbon. 

That was stupid, but you took it anyway. 

Two days passed and Agatha continued to leave food by your door and on the countertop. 

You lived off of tea and saltines you found in the back of a cupboard. 

Finally one morning you woke to the banging on your door so loud and powerful it made you jump and throw open the door.

“Morning.” Agatha said, like she hadn’t expected you to open it. 

“The fuck? Is the house on fire? The only reason I can imagine you slamming your darkhold fingers against my door like that is if the hex has set the entire community on fire. What the hell!” YOu snap realizing nothing is on fire and Agatha is bothering you again. 

“I made you food.” Agatha throws her thumb in the direction of the stairs and your face contorts in confusion. 

“Have you given I given any reason to believe I have enjoyed your food so far? Perhaps one of our long discussions made you think I liked raspberry jam for our morning tea? “

You grab the doorknob to slam the door in Agatha’s face and one hand slams against the door to stop it from closing. 

Agatha grinds her teeth together in annoyance and you try not to find the act sexy. 

“You HAVE to eat, and I’m done with whatever this is. You are not Boo Radley, I read about blood witches. If you take care of yourself, and you do the right rituals, the potions, the ritualistic baths, the blood spells,  you won’t be in as much pain. If you would stop being so damn stubborn for two seconds, I can help!” Agatha shouts the last part and you stare at her like you think this is a dream. 

“Boo Radley.” You state back at the witch. 

Agatha straightens her spine but keeps her black palm against the wooden bedroom door. 

“Right.”

“Harper Lee.”

“Yes, so?” Agatha’s face morphs into irritation once more. 

“Just didn’t take you for a bookworm.”

“You can’t take me for anything. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks! You don’t even know me! And you haven’t even-” Agatha stops and bites her bottom lip and looks down at the floor once more. Like she’s trying to gather patience and she never has had any before.  

“You did try to kill me.”

“I know, I do, and I…I can’t apologize for that. I don’t do that. But I…Listen I’m trying okay.” Agatha states and your expression must look disgusted because Agatha moans like this was a stupid idea and her face falls back like she’s looking into the stars for the divine mother to help her out now. 

“How about this, you and I. Let’s do this, for ten seconds we just be honest with each other. Complete honesty, no lies for ten seconds, you tell me what the fuck you want from me. And for ten seconds I’ll answer one of your questions or whatever.” You give and Agatha’s chin snaps down to look at you like you’d just given her something truly fascinating. 

“Ten seconds?” Agatha looks to the side like she’s considering this. 

“Ten seconds.” You repeat like a bird. 

“Why ten and not thirty?”

“Because it’s a small number that seems like not a big deal but could dramatically shift everything.”

“Meteors…” Agatha murmurs looking over your shoulder to what you’ve done with the room and you try not to lose your extremely short temper now. 

“Harkness why did  you just mumble meteors, do you want the ten seconds or not? I’m not really a morning person.”

Agatha’s face quickly changes and you wonder what she’s thinking but she studies your face and then makes a fast decision. 

“Meteors entering the Earth’s atmosphere…they only take a few seconds, sometimes up to ten seconds. You said something small but a dramatic shift, meteors.”

You regarded this ancient witch killer now like rain man, wondering who the fuck this witch really was, and what made her tick. Why the fuck was she acting like NASA right now?

“Ok, well do you want your meteor moment or not?”

“Yes, I do.” Agatha answered a little too fast and you don’t hold it against her. 

“Ok.”

“I have to go first?” She arched an eyebrow and her tone dripped with sass and defensiveness. 

“Oh my god! I need tea for this. I can’t do this with you without some tea.” You push past her shoulder and the purple wielding witch follows you into the kitchen and you easily move around her space. Not used to having someone watch you make the tea. But you put the kettle on and stare at the huge breakfast she made for you. 

“What is that?” You point to the plate she’d made for you. 

“Blood sausage,” the witch said like that was a normal thing for the 50’s and it was fucking not. 

“What’s in the bowl?” You questioned and it actually smelled good. 

“I made a lentil dish with spinach and carrots, it’s an old recipe.” You don’t understand how Agatha is the barefoot contessa. But perhaps after centuries on the run, one learns to cook. Or maybe she used to have someone to cook for, and then she didn’t. 

And now here you are. 

You nodded slowly while processing this, and you can’t help but regard Agatha with suspicion. 

“You did your homework Harkness.” You say offhandedly and you don't’ mean it as a compliment but it sure sounds like one outside of your mouth. 

“You…You are a blood witch and you need a high iron diet…and you are in pain.” Agatha says the last admission like she isn’t sure how you’ll take it. 

“How do you know that, maybe I’m really loving and living for house arrest.” Your snotty comment is delivered in a lower volume and it’s too raw, and it doesn’t scare this witch. As she coined sarcasm and snark. If anything Agatha looks like she enjoys your creativity with her medium. 

“You…you cry in your sleep. You yell and cry, and..”

Your face pales now, and you feel your ears turn red from embarrassment. 

“I didn’t realize I still did that. Sorry for the inconvenience…” You mumble and stare at the kitchen floor. 

“I..I don’t mind. I don't’ sleep much…” Agatha admits and you wonder who the fuck hurt this witch. 

She was infamous, and yet she looked so broken here. 

“You don’t have to do that.” You say as the kettle whistles for the hot water, and Agatha looks confused. You lift the tea kettle and hold the handle. 

“What?” She looks around wondering if you mean a food she put out. 

“You cast a glamor when I walked down the stairs, your fingers aren’t black from the darkhold now.”

“I just figured…it puts some people off….”

You don’t let this go, and you don’t like how she assumed this about you. 

“It puts some people off or it makes you feel self conscious over what you’ve done for the darkhold?” You challenge a little too harshly and Agatha grinds her jaw and looks at a corner of the room away from you. 

“Will you eat?”

“I will try the lentils, I don’t eat meat.”

Agatha’s face snapped to yours now, like she was happy with a fact about you, a small morsel. 

You see a cup with a tea bag already in it. 

“What is that?” You point to the cup and Agatha considers you for a moment. 

“It’s a mix of a few things, I read dandelions help iron boost. I put a few things in for the pain, for the body ache…”

“You didn’t learn that from the Darkhold.” You accuse, knowing what the book says. 

“No, someone I cared for hurt…”

“Is that why you can’t watch me…hurt?” You don’t believe it’s about you, this kindness. 

“No.” Agatha answers and you wonder what the fuck she’s thinking but you take the kettle and you pour it into the tea cup she’s prepared, willing to try it. It looked like Agatha had gone to a lot of trouble, and you weren’t sure how to handle that. 

It had been a long time since anyone had done anything out of kindness for you. 

“Sit with me, and we can figure this out.” Your hand goes in the air to waive to her and the house. 

You both sit and you eat the lentils down so fast you are almost embarrassed. But Agatha doesn’t comment, just let’s her interest in your bowl fall through her features and then back out. 

“I’ll go first. I’ll just tell you stuff I guess.” You sigh thinking it’s the least you can do for her making you this food. 

“Ok.” Agatha says tentatively though her body has an eagerness that doesn’t match her tone. 

“I am 210, um I have a dark past too. So I don't’ trust people, and I don’t mean to be mean. I mean I do, but it’s not entirely your fault. And I know you have been trying to be cordial ever since you imprisoned me with runes in your basement and tried to kill me….But I don’t actually hate being here like I thought I would. I mean I really like the M&M’s, they don’t come in color yet, but when they do. The red ones completely rock. Um…and I guess thank you is in order. For the food yes…but the books were….That was nice. I like books, and um.. reading. I guess this sounds stupid but uh- I’ve been on the run for so long, it’s nice to just sleep and read….like a vacation or something.” You shrug and finally look at Agatha. 

“That’s it?” Her tone is dry as hell. 

“I’m sorry, what did you want me to say!” You shout and Agatha actually laughs now and you can’t believe her. 

“That was, that was terrible. You didn’t even tell me anything about yourself! I didn’t get to ask a question!”

“Oh I’m sorry I wasn’t clear this was a first date! Did you want to know my astrology sign and my favorite color? Or shall I wait until the second date for that!” You snap and Agatha laughs even harder now. 

And you want to be upset, but it didn’t resonate in your chest, Agatha is something else. 

Her laugh is so…witchy and melodious, and it makes you want to laugh along. But you won’t give her that pleasure. 

Agatha doesn’t cover her mouth when she laughs, she whips her head back and cackles too. Finally she wipes her thumb under her eye to stop the tears. 

“Your turn Atticus.” The venom just doesn’t produce from you like it did before. And Agatha smirks at the name. 

“Atticus.”

“That’s what I said.” You bite back. 

“Finch.”

“That is the one I’m referring to yes.” You tilt your hand. 

“As in…” Agatha ‘s hand waives through the air for you to finish your joke. 

“Atticus Finch as in the lawyer in ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ aka Agatha Harkness favorite book. And it’s fitting really, because you are acting pretty accusatory like a lawyer right now.” You explain your joke which takes the fun out of it for you, but not for Agatha it seems. 

She puts an elbow on the table and leans her head against it with more comfort in front of you than ever before. 

“That’s not my favorite book.”

“Oh?” Your voice squeaks in interest and you hate yourself at this moment. 

“But I’ll wait until the third date to tell you that.” Agatha flirts and you choke on your tea and she seems to like that too. 

“You think too highly of yourself.” The lack of bite makes you frustrated, what are you doing? Don’t flirt with her!

Agatha just regards you like a lover does after finding something cute. You realize now that look, that look Agatha has given you a few times now and it makes your stomach flip flop. 

“Alright stop that, what do you want to say then, your Meteor moment or whatever. Since mine sucked so much, go ahead then.” You challenge and Agatha enjoys this even more, never one to back away from a challenge. 

She was very competitive. 

“I’ll go, but I want you to go again after, and I get to ask the question.” 

“Fine.” You sipped your tea and waited as Agatha got a dreamy expression on her face. As if she was recalling things she hadn’t allowed herself to ever say out loud, much less remember in the day. Only the night, where she could punish herself in the shadows. 

“I am an infamous witch killer, but no one actually ever asked me why I did any of it. Not that it condones it, but I think it’s easier to hate what you can’t possibly understand. Or take the time to. I am older than you, but how I caught you gawking down my cleavage in Agnes dress the other day tells me you don’t mind that one bit. I loved someone very much and they took…everything from me. I came here because I wanted power, knowing full well it will never give me back what I have lost. Nothing could ever do that, and my fingers remind me…that I am not….That I can’t be that again. I was happy when I learned you were trapped here. Wanda is endlessly boring and in a constant state of domestic denial. You are the most interesting thing to happen to this town…or to anything… in a long time. I can’t recall the last time someone got under my skin like this, fought back, and….stimulated me intellectually. I don’t know how to feel about that. To be honest. I also don’t think I’ve been this honest for the last two centuries. This is the most honest I think I may have ever …been….” Agatha trailed off and looked at her hand where her fingers held a glamor and you waited, letting her admission, her confession breathe between you two. 

Like it was giving life to something new and beautiful. 

She drops the glamor and you like this better. Her charcoal stained fingers aren’t a lie, and she doesn’t need to do that here. 

Agatha regards the cat themed clock as if pretending she had more time, but really you wondered if she was just so relieved to speak.

To not lie for once. 

So she adds more and you are grateful for it all.

Agatha takes a breath and you wonder if it is for courage, and you wonder what Agatha looked like as a girl falling in love for the first time. Before she had all these walls and rules for what she could and couldn’t say to another soul.  

“My guilty pleasure, that I never admit to, is honey in my tea. I watch the sunrise every morning. I don’t like the 50’s music that Wanda insists on the radio. I miss the smell of lilacs in Massachusetts and cedar from a tree I used to read under. I enjoy books more than TV. I’m an old fashion witch, I suppose because I detest technology in general even before we were sent to the 50’s. I…I pick up river rocks for someone who isn’t here anymore…I found after my heartbreak I can’t seem to grow herbs….I despise spirits and can’t begin to tell you how silly Tarot is….My mother taught me to draw a pentagram before she taught me how to write my name… and I can’t wait to not wear Agnes fake niceties around these morons…But I am glad I am here….I am…glad I met you.”

This feels far more honest than you were expecting and you are sure her ten seconds are up but you are hanging on her every word. 

Agatha blue eyes fall to you now and you feel naked, completely bare to her, caught ogling her. As if she knew what her words had evoked deep in your heart now. 

You clear your throat and put the cup of tea down.  

“Well, you sure showed me how it’s done.”

To be continued...

AO3 MasterList

[cellophaine]

Chapter I: En Avant

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: The first chapter is finally here!! I'm very excited to bring this new series to you. It's what I've been thinking about for a few months now. It came to me while I was still working on A Languor Spell, and now I can give it my full attention. Thank you for your patience! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter!

P/S: This is my first time writing in present tense, so if there's any mistake please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional ballet dancer. I'm an adult beginner, and I've been taking classes consistently for over a year now. I just want to say that the series isn't written with the experience of a professional ballerina, but with my love for the art and the extensive research that I've done and will continue to do. I don't choose to write the Reader as a ballerina because of the aesthetic, but because I think there are so many things to explore in the original story that I've come up with, with the Reader being in the industry.

GIF Source: @/petertingle-yipyip

There has always been an emptiness residing within the frame of your body. In the absence of your old life, it has grown expeditiously. It carves into your body and makes a home in the forefront of your mind. On worse days, you feel as if anyone can see at first glance, how incomplete of a person you are. On better days, like today, you can hide it well, even from your closest friend. But right now, sitting in a dimly lit bar across from the friend you have known since you moved to this city at 18, you feel the person you're supposed to be has taken your anatomy apart. You're disembodied, scattered, and fractional.

Jo notices your silence and reaches over the table, laying her hand atop yours.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Jo’s proposal. How can you not think about it? It has never left your mind ever since she mentioned it. Her newly acquired gym could be a place for you to get back to dancing in complete privacy. And you won’t have to pay a dime.

“I spruced up the place a little bit and will be adding more equipment. I can get whatever you need so it can be a proper space for you to practice.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Jo casts a sympathetic look at you, her voice careful.

“How’s your foot?”

You flex and point the right foot under the table, recalling the phantom pain that was your consistent companion for the most part of last year.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you still seeing Amy?”

“Of course. She’d bite my head off if I missed our appointment.”

You share a knowing chuckle, knowing Amy's personality. You know her through Jo, and they dated briefly in college. The two stayed friends afterward. After leaving Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre, your physical health was left to your own management. Your gaps of knowledge were filled in by Amy, a physical therapist who stepped in and offered her help voluntarily when Jo mentioned your situation. You still meet biweekly at her practice in Harlem, and the three of you hang out from time to time.

“Come to my gym.”

She hastily continues once she sees the decline perches on your pressed lips.

“It’s free.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll have to get a barre, and the flooring might not be suitable–“

“I don’t care about the cost. I just want to do this for you. Let someone do a nice thing for you every once in a while.”

You meet her eyes, resisting her act of kindness with silence. You know how to pick your battles, and this is the one you have lost from the start, judging by Jo's stern gaze. You sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

A victory smile graces her lips.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Jo leans into the table, her hand reaching for yours.

“I want to see you dance on the stage again. You’re a beautiful ballerina, and I know this is not the end for you.”

You know she means well, but her words feel like claws, sinking their sharp ends into your heart. You haven't danced since the injury, and a part of you knows that you might never dance as well as you once did. The best version of you had lived that life to its fullest potential, the life of endless classes and rehearsals, soldout shows, ending many nights and seasons to the deafening cheers from the audience. Your current self is only a shadow, living a partial existence and mourning the past as time passes and your grasp on it weakens.

You want the endless optimism Jo seems to possess. She’s always so assertive in everything she does. From her university days pursuing a bachelor's degree in sports science to her boxing competition days to buying a gym, she has a sense of self-assurance that carries her throughout the years you've known her ever since you became roommates when you first moved to New York. And you admire that about her endlessly. Her goals might vary, but her passion for them never wavers. Her faith in you seems to share the same sentiment.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, hoping your face doesn't betray your true thoughts. Jo squeezes your hand and lets go. She checks her wristwatch, and with a silent glance, you understand that she has to leave. Jo meets you as you stand up from your side of the booth, drawing you into a crushing hug.

“Will you be okay here?”

She pulls back. You smile and pat her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to finish my drink.”

She takes a step backward as she waves.

“Good luck tomorrow!”

You raise your hand in response and watch her tall and brawny frame vanish through the door. You drop your arm, but you don't sit down. Taking a discreet glance at the bar, your heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the sight of the stranger you noticed earlier when you bought the drinks.

As you waited for your drinks, he came in and settled for a spot at the bar. The lady whose name you learned earlier, Josie, greeted him, asking where his friends were, so you assumed he was a regular. He was good-looking, you admitted before finding yourself staring at him. You averted your gaze, but couldn't help taking in other details. The folded cane rested on the bar top as Josie slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. The scarred knuckles as he brought it to his lush lips. The suit was pristine for the most part except for the minimal wrinkles from the day's wear and the loosened tie. The red-tinted glasses perched on his pronounced nose, under the tousled sweep of dark hair. The soft smile brightened his handsome face as the other bartender told him something, which you had to tear your eyes away from when Josie placed the drinks in front of you. You thanked her and headed back to your table, feeling a touch of disappointment in your throat.

There is no denying that you want to approach him. But your nerves intervene with all the questions. What if he rejected you? What if he thought you were a creep for approaching him? What if he just wanted to be left alone? He has been sitting by the bar by himself ever since he came in, you notice. You'd ask if you could join him, and possibly buy him a drink if he was up for it. If he said no, that'd be fine. You would respect his wish and leave him alone. You have a feeling you'd regret it if you didn't at least try.

You gulp down your drink for a little liquid courage and make your way over to the bar. Your heart rate accelerates the closer you get to him, but you are determined to get over the little hurdle. You stop within a conversational distance and use your best composed voice.

“Hi, may I join you?”

He turns in his seat and gives you a friendly smile.

“Of course not. Please do.”

The high chair is a comfortable and respectful distance away from his, but still close enough for a private conversation. The stranger has angled his body toward you, and his openness eases the knot in your stomach. At this distance, you can see that he is even more handsome up close. Heat seeps into your cheeks at the full comprehension of his handsomeness up close. The neon signs around help shape the shadows and highlights that are already there in his features. The strong jawline and defined nose blend in harmony with the soft hair and luscious lips. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his moving lips, and only a brief moment later you realize he has asked for your name.

You tell him and laugh nervously, blaming the lively ambience around you. He humours you with a chuckle of his own and reciprocates.

"Matt. Nice to meet you."

“Nice to meet you.”

He reaches out with a hand, and you grab it. Your heart beats a little faster at the feel of his hand, warm and a little rough. You pull away first, conscious of the coldness of your hand. You eye his almost empty glass.

“Would you like another drink?”

“If that makes you stay with me for the rest of the evening, I’d love one.”

Charming. You allow an amused and breathy chuckle to escape, and order another fill of your drinks. When Josie turns away to make them, Matt asks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?”

You think about it for a moment.

“This is not really a celebration since I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

“When is the interview?”

“It's … tomorrow.”

His brows raise above the glasses.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. It’s been a while since my last normal job.”

“What were you doing before?”

Josie puts down the drinks in front of you.

“I’m a– I was a ballerina.”

“Was?”

You run a finger over the cool and smooth edge of the glass, taking a moment to tell a stranger about one of your worst shame.

“I haven’t danced professionally in over a year."

“May I ask why?"

The edge of his lips settles into a neutral line. No pity, just a willingness to listen. It is exactly what you need.

“Yes, but it's just … complicated.”

“How so?”

The old life that you once lived feels so out of your grasp now. Besides the occasional flareups, most mornings, you get up with minimal or no degree of soreness or pain, and you fear that signals the end of your life as a ballerina.

Retirement in your late twenties wasn't something you thought of when you were 18, fresh out of high school with an offer letter from Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre. Moving from a small, sylvan town to a big, lively city like New York was a dream come true. You got to live out the life your younger self used to dream about. How wonderful it was. Dancing on the big stage before the bright stage lights in front of the audience. The early classes, late stage calls, costume fittings, and demanding rehearsals leading up to the shows were all worth it. Because when you got to dance, it was just you and the music. Your body knew the techniques, learned the steps and how to master them. You bent music with your carefully crafted movements and turned the piece into your own interpretation. You worked hard on your craft and artistic abilities, and you thought that it paid off with your promotion from corps de ballet to the first soloist assembly after six years.

But for Matt's sake, you don't go into any of that.

“Well … being a principal dancer in my old company is a great honour since we're– they're much smaller than the American Ballet Theatre, New York City Ballet, etc … There were, and still are, only two dancers in that role. They were Christine and Guilherme. Christine'd been with the company since the early days. Many people came to the shows to see her dance. She and Guilherme brought in so many loyal audiences and sponsors over the years. So you can imagine what a big deal it was when Christine decided to retire."

He nods, his understanding and inclination to follow the story are apparent.

"Roger, the artistic director, wanted to appoint a first soloist, which is just a step below principal, to take over in her place. I was a soloist, and I was Christine's understudy for a few years until her retirement. I performed when she couldn't, when she needed to reserve her strength for important shows, on top of the roles I had to prepare and perform in those productions. So I thought it was my opportunity to get that promotion, you know? I always brought my best to work, and I pushed myself even harder that season to prove that I have what it takes to be a principal dancer. I was in and out of classes, rehearsals, and performances every day for over three months. On the days we had two shows a day, oftentimes I'd have to perform in both so Christine could have a break."

Matt listens intently, following your words with an attentiveness that you find endearing.

“In the final week of Sleeping Beauty, I had this pain along my heel. But I ignored it and pushed through out of fear that they would dismiss me. At that point, they already had a favourite. One of the directors even told me that I should quit while I was ahead and that I should be happy staying as a soloist."

You swallow the lump in your throat and go on.

"I couldn't take my bow that night, because as soon as my part was done and I went behind the stage, I passed out. It turned out I got an Achilles rupture.

“I had the surgery and was in a boot for a while. I was so desperate to show them my dedication and how good I was by going back to the studio just the day after they allowed me to go without the boot. And I made the injury worse. I was admitted for a partial rupture a week later.”

You thought you could do it. Bearing and hiding the pain so you would stand out as the best selection for the new principal dancer. Yet, all of that hard work didn’t matter in the end. It never mattered the moment Claudia Mavis signed a contract with Lady Liberty.

“In the hospital, Roger told me that he decided to promote Claudia, even though by that point she had been with the company for only one season. Then, I found out that Claudia left her previous company because they wouldn’t promote her. But here's the funniest part. After class one day, Claudia told me that they offered her a new contract two weeks before my accident. So I never had the chance in the first place."

You chuckle bitterly, remembering the tightness of your chest when you found out.

"They announced Christine's replacement at the last show of the season. Roger expected me to continue my duties as a soloist and an understudy for Claudia. But I just … couldn't do it. So I quit.”

“I’m sure when you come back to it, you will still be amazing.”

You don't even try to hide the disbelieving and playful scoff that escapes.

“You're just flattering me.”

There's not a trace of that cocky confidence of a man who thinks he just scores big with a woman because of a throwaway, vague statement he thinks will please her.

“I mean it. I enjoy music and dance performances in a way most can’t. When I really pay attention, I can hear … movements. The rhythm of someone’s feet striking the ground in time with the music when done right is beautiful. The way you talk about ballet shows me how much you truly care for the art. Like you live and breathe it.”

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth in quiet contemplation before answering him.

“I did. It was a big part of my life.”

“It still can be.”

You let out a noncommittal hum.

"We'll see."

You took sips of your respective drinks, allowing the moment to reset itself. But Matt isn't quite done with the questions. You give him the go-ahead.

"Why ballet?"

“I just love the duality of it. We're supposed to look graceful and effortless while our blisters have blisters, our toes are bleeding, our legs are cramping. We have to dance through all of that and much worse. I like the pain sometimes. It means that I’m doing it right.”

“I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

The quip takes you by surprise, but you quickly recover.

"Huh. I usually don't reveal that information to anyone until I'm ready to sleep with them."

Matt's tongue licks at his bottom lip, amused by your response.

"Maybe we are just that compatible."

Maybe it is the alcohol that makes you a little lightheaded, but the conversation has taken on a flirty turn, and you lean into each other's space, sharing a bashful, quiet laugh.

The person who took the seat next to yours when you were in the middle of your story bumps into you from behind, pushing you further into Matt's space. They apologize, and you tell them it's fine. The bar top has grown a little more crowded with new visitors. You think about what you could do to make some space when Matt reaches out and pulls your chair closer, so close that your knees touch. The contact is minimal, yet insistent, and you can't help the heat that races to your skin and the wild rhythms of your heart. Even your internal self admits that was the hottest thing Matt has done so far.

You clear your thoughts, focusing on the man sitting so much closer to you now.

“I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been talking about myself for the past hour.”

“No, don't stop. I like it. You have a beautiful voice.”

If he kept this going, you would need to check yourself for a fever. You clear your throat.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I have our own practice here in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Wow, that's amazing. What do you specialize in?”

“A little bit of everything. We started out representing people who can’t afford the legal service. Pro bono work basically. We still do that, but we have been getting more clients who can pay for our services.”

“Hm. It makes perfect sense. I can see that about you. The good guy.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You know the right questions to ask. You got me talking about myself for … way too long. And your face …”

You trail off. Almost two drinks have worked their magic on your unabashed honesty.

“My face?”

His plush lips lift in a curious smile.

“Yeah, your face. You made me feel … safe and welcome so I could tell my story. Your face stayed neutral when I went on and on about it. No pity or judgment. You looked like you really cared about me, or my case.”

“I do care about you. And for the record, I appreciate every detail you gave me.”

You know that he might say this just to please you, but his earnestness says otherwise.

“Thank you. I needed that. Not many people care about me, especially after my fallout with the company.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

Matt puts a hand on yours on the bar top. You stared at his scarred knuckles, your heart beating along the seam of your body with a slight increase in rhythm. Your hand itched to weave itself into his, to lay flat against the warmth of his palm. As if your body has thrown caution to the wind and wants to do just exactly what it wants to, your pointer finger moves involuntarily. He pulls his hand back, an apology on his lips.

“I’m sorry–“

“No, don’t.”

You reach out with the other hand and keep Matt there. You run your thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him, to tell him that this is okay. You want this. The additional contact exhilarates you, as you haven't felt another’s touch that isn't from Jo or Amy in a long time. Dating has always been the last thing on your mind, especially in the past year. But right here, right now, being with Matt is easy. There is no pressure. No hindrance. Even though you've met only for two hours, Matt has listened to you. He takes a soft and shaky breath, and your eyes follow the way his chest slightly expands.

Your pointer finger traces the raised edges of his scars, and he lets you. The air seems to thin as your pulse drums a frantic beat under your skin.

“Do you beat people up in your client’s honour?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

You chuckle, and you lean into him as if you can't help yourself. The world has gone quiet around you, and the only thing left on your mind is to have his lips on yours. Your voice is only a breath above a whisper, and you're afraid Matt might miss it entirely amongst the loud voices of others.

“Can I kiss you?’’

He releases a sharp exhale as if he has been waiting for you to utter those words all evening.

“Please.”

You lean in, carefully, slowly. His lips slightly part in an open invitation, and you meet in the middle. The touch is gentle, soft tissues overlap in slow, indulgent caresses. Simple, yet it invokes a craving in you. The need for him to be even closer, the yearning to find out the taste of him. Matt touches your jaw, and draws you in closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself go. Eager, perching on the territory of desperation as the pressure on your lips grows more insistently. You're entangled in an exhilarating chase, circling around each other like you simply can't resist the pull that's been there since the moment you sat down. Matt silently asks for entry at the seam of your lips, and you respond in kind. His tongue strokes yours and suddenly, there is a new kind of invisible vapour that you're breathing in. It's overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. You can taste the bitterness of the whisky that makes you wince on normal occasions, but on Matt's tongue, it's addictive and inexplicably irresistible. His air runs wild in your lungs, warming your body from the inside, awakening your nerves.

You break away at the sound of a teasing whistle clearly directed at you, reminding you of where you are. Matt’s face is flushed red, and you want to see how far down the colour goes under the suit and tie he's wearing. His hand is still on your jaw, gently caressing the line like he doesn't want to let go. And you don't want to let him go either.

“Can we go back to your place?”

The question rolls off your tongue, and he nods immediately, a little breathlessly. You stand up from your chairs at the same time. Matt reaches for his coat that is on the back of the chair. You shrug your own on and avert your gaze when Matt subtly adjusts his slacks. You put the bills down for your drinks, shutting Matt down when he objects to the idea. His hand find yours when you offer it to him, and you walk into the brisk air together.

The walk back didn't take too long. Matt held your hand the whole time, and the small gesture made your insides flutter. He lets you go when you reach his apartment. The unit number 6A has almost faded into the dark door. He unlocks the door and tells you where the light switch is. You turn it on, and place your coat in his awaiting palm. You follow him further into the apartment and take in the space.

“Who did you kill to get this place?”

Matt chuckles, discarding his tie with one hand.

“No killing involved. The neon sign out there is enough to chase people away.”

Your gaze falls on the giant, blinking advertisement outside the window.

“Nothing a few blackout curtains won't fix.”

He drapes the black tie on the back of the couch as you turn to the other side of the apartment.

“Do those stairs lead to the rooftop?”

“Yes, they do.”

You keep your back to him.

"Do you go up there often?"

"From time to time."

"This is … wow."

You're not sure why you're stalling. You pretend to look around as you try to brush off a nagging feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Just the nerves, you think. You're out of practice, that's all.

So you clear your throat and say.

“Is your bedroom behind that bigger sliding door?”

He nods. You feel a little out of place, so you gravitate towards him, a familiar presence in a strange space. Matt lets you come to him, giving you all the control. You lean in and attach your lips to his, allowing it to follow the natural progression as it did back at Josie's. Your legs tangle and stumble towards the bedroom, your lips never too far away from one another. You think you might hit the closed door, but before that can happen, Matt pulls you flush against his body with one hand and uses the other to slide the door open in one smooth, practiced move. You pull away when you need to catch your breath.

“May I …”

You touch the side of his glasses. After a quiet moment, he gives you permission to take them, and you do. Slowly, and with the utmost care you can manage, you set them on the bedside table. His eyes are closed when you straighten. You caress his cheek, feeling the way his features form together. Your touch is soothing, and you hope he can feel the patience you offer to him. There is no rush, no pressure. After a long moment, Matt opens his eyes, and you take them in. You can see how he tries to meet your eyes in his own way. The shade of hazel is shrouded by the low light and the occasional shutter of his eyelids.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

You raise slightly on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, feeling his lashes fluttering softly. He waits for you to return to him, and seeks out your lips in a delicate manner.

You fall onto the bed together. Matt braces himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You pull his head down to yours, kissing and nibbling on the stretch of stubble along his jaw. His soft groans of approval encourage the other hand to travel downward, pulling on the white dress shirt. Once it's free from the slacks, you weave your hand inside and run your palm along the expanse of his torso. The dips and raises of his well-defined abs are warm under your palm, and the sensation stokes the molten liquid that's nestling deep inside you. You feel the feverish need edging over that part of you that you want to ignore.

The gradual pullback doesn't feel like a rejection at first, but merely an invitation to follow. So you do, your hands work to unbutton his shirt. But Matt slows you down to a stop, holding your hands to his lips and placing kisses on your palms. You blink, still snarled in the haze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Confronted. The only word that can describe accurately how you're feeling.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your heart …”

His hand trails from your collarbone to your chest where your heart resides within in a way that feels strangely intimate and not at all invasive. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. It's pounding. You are more nervous about this than you thought.

“… is beating quite fast. Are you nervous?”

You're safe. It's an innate feeling, and while you can't explain it, you know lying to Matt serves no purpose here. He seems to have a way to read you without using his sight.

“Yes, a little bit. I haven’t done this before. Sleeping with a stranger, I mean.”

“I see. We don’t have to do this.”

You raise yourself on your elbows.

“No, I wanted to go back here, with you. I want this.”

“But it doesn’t mean you owe me anything. If you change your mind for whatever reason, I'm okay with that as well."

Matt presses a kiss to your forehead.

"We can always try this again at another time.”

Guilt claws at you, urging you to do anything to please him.

“I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong signal.”

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He tries to find your hand, and you offer it to him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I had a good time with a beautiful woman, then I got to kiss her, all in one night, and that's enough.”

You guffaw, throwing your head back at the blatant flirt.

“You don’t even know how I look like.”

“No, I don’t. But I have my own way to tell. You sound beautiful.”

An idea materializes in your mind, and you give in to it. You bring his hand to your face, trailing along the side of your face. He gets the hint and begins his own exploration of your features. The way he takes his time, following the slopes of your face, his touch gentle, ghosting over your skin. He stops at your lips and soothes his thumb over the kiss-swollen flesh. You sigh softly. He gives you one last kiss, his tenderness makes your heart soar.

“Would you like something comfortable to sleep in?”

“I'm fine with anything you have.”

Matt finds his closet and pulls out a grey sweatshirt. He tells you where the bathroom is, and you take the folded shirt with you. You clean yourself up with water before stripping down to your underwear. You put the soft material over your body. It smells like him, and soft, just like him. You come out of the washroom and see his bare back for a split second before he pulls the shirt down. He has changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his chest and biceps beautifully.

You stand by his bed, not sure where you can come in despite the two of you ruffling the sheets not even ten minutes ago. Matt chooses for you, settling on the space facing the window, leaving you the side which is closer to the sliding door. His sheets are silky soft, and you feel yourself sinking right into them. You turn to face Matt, touching his shoulder. He faces you fully, his eyes settling on a point on the lower part of your face.

“Thank you.”

You whisper.

“Thank me by staying for breakfast.”

“Why breakfast?”

“I can't send you off to your interview on an empty stomach, can I? It's the least I can do.”

A rueful smile graces your lips.

“I can’t wait.”

You fell asleep with ease. At one point during the night, you could feel Matt detach himself from you, and out of a vague desperation that you couldn't process, you held tighter onto him involuntarily. At that, he stopped moving, and you felt a soothing pattern trailing over your head, luring you back to sleep again. His warmth carried you through the few hours that you slept.

It's a little past 4 AM when you wake, and find Matt still sleeping peacefully. Torn, but you come to accept that leaving is for the best. You get out of bed gently, thankful that the wooden floor didn't make a noise. You take his sweatshirt off and fold it, putting it on top of the pillow that you slept on. After putting on the clothes from the night before, you leave with much regret in your heart.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

May I request Great Seven Yuu with no filter? Maybe the other students are just TESTING THEM that day and with a little prodding from their darling parents, they just say what’s on their mind for the day

Yuu + The Great Seven

Note: This is different from my other great 7 fics as I don't focus on what the 7 say as much here, this also aint the canon unit yuu for this. Anyways enjoy

Cws: Gn!Yuu, Rook is clowned on cause he's French, implications of Crewel/Crowley but in a divorcee way, some cringe ig, minor changes to canon, first years are ur homies, sebek has moments where he yells in all caps cause he's cringe, Lilia knows Maleficent, Trey isn't slandered as much as he should be, Starts off Crack, turns to angst, then fluff. 6k Words

****

Since arriving at NRC, you have been playing your role well, excellent even. You played the role of a magicless, weak, and gullible prefect that knew nothing of the world you were in. The mirror said that you “had too many souls to judge” and that you had no magic, which was technically true as the magic you had was borrowed from the seven sealed within you.

It was going to be perfect. You can finally lay low and research this world to give your dear seven parents and their familiars bodies again, then make your place in this new world… or so you thought. 

Right after the disaster that was the entrance ceremony, you ended up being roommates with the cat and crashed it. Fine, you could work with this. Then the very next day, the cat got into a fight with a pathetic bully which caused a statue to get burned, which then caused another person to get involved, which then caused a chandelier to break, and then you had to go off into a hidden mine to fight a monster late into the night, and you get the story.

It has been consistently difficult to pretend you had no magic, or to make the excuse that “someone else must have casted that spell”. When you eventually had to explain that you were a magician, there went the first half of your plan. Now Crowley and everyone seems to expect more from you, at least you were able to pretend it was weak, you guess. And as if it could get any worse, the seven seem to be encouraged to give these brats a taste of their own medicine and stop holding back. Oh how you would love to but putting up with everyone after, especially the number one pain in your ass, Ace, would be so fucking annoying.

The aforementioned pain in your ass poked you, interrupting the mental conversation you were having with the ensemble in your head, and you had to hold back the urge to use Hades’ flames to set him ablaze. You shut your eyes tightly and tense up before slowly turning to him. “What?” Your eyes narrow as Ace looks over at you with the most infuriating neutral expression that turns to a pout. 

“Were you even listening to me?” “Look, it’s nothing personal, it’s just how I am.” Ace’s lips pursed as he raised a brow. “Really?” Deuce nudged Ace. “Hey, be nice, you know they don't mean to space off like that, it's their condition.” Deuce was truly a blessing. “Seems to me like Yuu is just a space case,” Grim snickered and Sebek nodded his head. “I completely agree with Grim! Honestly, how could you and Silver be so complacent? Do you lack discipline?”

You mentally groaned with the seven at Sebeks scolding. “They don’t lack discipline,” Jack interrupted, “Yuu says they have a condition that delays their thoughts, they need extra time to process what you said.” “Thank you, Jack.” You smile, and feel Ortho glide right next to you and look up at you. “Having a condition like that must be hard… I can't imagine my processor lagging…” Ortho trails off and frowns, “Oh but I’ll try my best to look for a fix for you!” The child beams. Epel looks over at you.

“That is one hell of an issue huh? Some days you're just as quick as anyone else but then sometimes you take forever, it's a fickle thing.” Epel hums and Ace rolls his eyes at everyone defending you. “Tch, yeah what's that about? Sometimes I even hear you talking to yourself, weirdo.” Ace playfully nudges you and you narrow your eyes at him. 

Something within you snaps. Maybe it’s because of all the stress of hiding it. Maybe it's because you have to interact and pretend everything is fine to the students who have bullied, harassed, and tried to kill you resulting in god awful PTSD finally making you snap. Or maybe it's just because you want this damned asshole that has wormed his way into your heart to shut up.

“Because ‘thought processing disorder’ isn’t the best way to actually describe my condition, Ace, but it's sure as hell easier to explain than ‘I have several voices in my head judging me and telling me what to do all the time and no medication cannot stop it no matter what I do and all of your stupid comments and questions makes them erupt in a 10 minute yelling match making it impossible to hear my own thoughts!” 

You sneer at them all as they look over with a mix of surprise and pity, Ortho looks like a kicked puppy. You sigh, “I’m sorry, I just…” “Nah that's nothing to apologize for…” Ace sighs, and you know he wants to apologize but pride won't allow him. “Y’know what if you just say what the voices want to say?” Deuce suddenly asks out of the blue.

“O-of course, I don't know what they say so maybe it's not a good idea but…” “Actually, it may give Ace some patience for once.” Jack gives a small smirk. “We all know he needs to learn to think before he speaks.” “Hey!” Ace huffs. “Fine then, bring it! I can take whatever you throw at me.” And the ginger smirks as if he didn't just say some famous last words.

“You're serious?” You blink. “Do you even think you could handle it?” Sebek scoffs, “I can take anything a measly human dishes out, it is nothing compared to fae!” Epel shuts his eyes in annoyance. “Oh you three don’t even know what you’re getting into, yet you’re already signing up for trouble.” Ortho beams. “Actually, this might help me collect some data to help you, Yuu!” “You four don’t even know what you're getting yourselves into…” Epel corrects himself.

“Okay okay.” You sigh. “Tomorrow, I will allow whatever they say, happen… to an extent at least…” You mutter, making Hades and the Queen of Hearts in your head boo you. Last thing you need is an Arson charge….

****

You laid down on your bed later that day as the sun began to set. “Okay guys… there are only a few ground rules. No murder, and no major property damage, small fires are okay, okay?” Before any of the seven and their familiars could respond or complain, you heard Grim.

“Who’re you talking to? Oh wait, you speaking to the guys in your head?” Grim asked, jumping on the bed and cuddling up to you. “First the mouse in the mirror and now you have some voices in your head, what other secrets are you keeping from me, hmm?” 'A lot actually', you think as you stroke Grim’s fluffy head. “You’ll see tomorrow.” You smile and your excitement made it difficult to sleep that night.

****

You got up, did your daily routine that Mama Grimhilde has laid out for you, before exiting the house with Grim in your arms for breakfast. Of course you haven’t forgotten the deal you made today at all. ‘Pssst, hey small sib~’ Flotsam chuckles darkly in your head, ‘Can I bite someone today?’ You chuckle, “Only if they deserve it.” Grim peeked up at you. “Oh yeah, you’re talking out loud today.” Grim smirks, “I wonder how Explodey-Head’s gonna react to that!”

Slinking into the cafeteria, you get into line per usual, getting a tray of whatever was free that you liked, you had to pinch your pennies this week. Sitting down, you notice that your usual squad was there, including Ace and Deuce, who usually took their time to arrive, and Ortho who usually had to deal with his brother. “Good morning.” You say settling down. “Morning, Yuu!” Ortho beams, “I got here early so I can start the data collection! I'll try to record as much as possible!” 

‘Oh how precious.’ Ursula purrs in your head, and the seven’s consensus on Ortho, even if they didn’t appreciate anklebiters, is that he wasn’t half bad. “So, today you're going to embrace your issues, I SAY BRING IT ON!” Sebek yells, making everyone wince, and Epel shoots a tired glare. ‘Tell that boy to silence! I am trying to nap!’ Scar huffs.

You nervously sigh, “Well first off all, they said to shut up please, it's not even 7 in the morning.” Sebek looks offended for a moment, but a very familiar voice interrupts, sending shivers down your spine. “Oh Koebi-Chan~” A wry voice purrs, making Grim hop off of you to hide. Everyone in your head went ‘oh no this guy again.’

You honestly didn’t mind Floyd, hell, you dare to consider him a friend, but you really were not in the mood for his antics today. “Hey Floyd,” You sigh, “look dude, I’m not in the mood today, can you please leave me alone?” You ask, and your words just make Floyd beam. The seven seem annoyed, but then you feel their excitement; your first victim. 'Humiliate the boy…' Jafar whispers to you.

Floyd drapes himself over you as you eat, occasionally leaning over to try and steal a bite from whatever was on your fork. “Ehh? Little shrimpy’s feeling bold today!~ How fun! Whatcha gonna do about me?~” His arms wrap around you to squeeze around your rib cage, “Especially when I squeeze…” 

“Dude, leave them alone.” Deuce says before freezing at the glare he was shot. "…Please?” He adds. “Look Floyd,” Jack sighs, “we’re trying to get Yuu some help today with an illness, Ortho is trying to get data on them, you aren’t helping.” Jack interrupts, trying to keep your condition vague for your privacy. Seems like Jack forgot that Floyd ignores reason when he finds it funny.

“Ooo~, is the little shrimpy sick?” Floyd says backing off of you slightly and poking you in the ribs. “You know Azul may have a remedy for it, you should come on down.~” “He does not, and for the final time there is nothing he can offer me that would make me want to make a deal with him. Please go away.” You warn one last time and Floyd leans in, pushing his luck in hopes to see you squirm. Ortho glares and prepares to get up and send him away but you hold out your hand to tell him to stop.

“Whatcha gonna do lil shrimpy?~” Floyd smirks. ‘Is it time?’ Hades asks, ‘Please tell me its time.’ You smile and mentally reply, ‘it’s time.’ You keep your calm smile as you look at Floyd. “Probably something my father taught me.” “And what's that?” Floyd says, grabbing the back of your neck. 

“This.” Suddenly you erupted in the brightest blue flames the world has ever seen making half of the cafeteria turn to stare. Your friends at the table all jump back and Ortho flashes red as he scans you. As quickly as the flames came to be, they disappeared. Floyd pulled his hands away, waving it off to cool it down. He wasn’t burned, at least nothing major, but the sleeve of his uniform was singed and he stared at it in rapt fascination.

You expected him to get annoyed, or to maybe start a fight, or something, but Floyd was in a good mood, and he laughed. “I didn’t know little shrimpy could do that! I thought you could only summon an ember, eheheh!~ Seems little shrimpy has more secrets than we thoooought~” Floyd muses, and suddenly another familiar face comes in, one that looks exactly like Floyd.

“Floyd, I believe the prefect doesn’t want to play anymore. Come on now, we should go.” “Aww but I wanna keep playing!” “I know brother dearest, but it seems that the cruel and unwavering Prefect doesn't want to,” Jade faked a frown and sighed, “How awful, if only they could have an ounce of compassion for my poor, poor brother… However, ” Jade opened his eyes back up and smirked, staring directly at you with a twinkle in his eye. “I think it’s best to leave them alone for today, especially since whatever ailment they have seems to make them erupt in flames at any given moment…” 

The eel’s voice drips with faux concern and Floyd snickers, Azul is gonna have some wonderful intel to ponder over later. You decide to say exactly what all of your fathers thinking. “Go eat shit and die for all I care.” And Jade’s eyes widen ever so slightly before the gleam with amusement, having never seen this side of you. “Of course prefect! If this ah… ailment continues to cause you trouble, please do let us know. We at Octavinelle love to help the poor and unfortunate.”

You watched the two slink off before turning back to your meal as all of your first year friends gawked at you. “What the hell was that! You never said you could do that!” Ace sputtered. “Yeah! You nearly cooked me!” Grim whines, making the audience in your head relish in their surprise. Ursula and The Queen of Hearts seem particularly amused. 

“Magic like that requires a lot of skill.” Sebek ponders, “To cast a flame cloak and not burn yourself requires a lot of concentration, furthermore it requires a high amount of magic potential on par with fae. Didn’t you say you have none, Yuu? HAVE YOU BEEN LYING ABOUT WHAT YOU ARE? OR PERHAPS YOU WANTED TO HIDE IT TO SKIRT OUT ON EXAMS!” “Volume!” Deuce whines, and Grimhilde mentally thanks him.

“Oh… whoops…” “WHOOPS??” A few of the first years yell and Epel shoots you an ugly-baffled expression. “Whoops?? Whoops?? Is that all you have to say about that? You performed some of the most advanced defensive magic without a second thought and you just say whoops??” Epel’s accent threatens to slip out.

“Hey, Ortho, what's their magic reading, you look concerned.” Deuce asks as Ortho looks at the screens he’s projecting with a calculating expression. “I think there is an error in my system, I have scanned them 5 times and it says they have no traces of magic at all, but there is also no trace of any dampening magic used to hide or change that reading. Furthermore, the technique they used is no longer in use, records show it dates back more than the era of gods! That version of the spell they casted cannot be duplicated at all!” Ortho says in amazement before turning to you.

“Just… what are you?”

You blink as they all stare at you expectedly. “I'm a human.”

****

It was time for class, you said that you were gonna use the bathroom first, so the others should go without you for now, you’ll see them with Crewel. You didn’t think that anything eventful would come from it. You were wrong. This is NRC.

Coming out of the bathroom, a few Savanahclaw chuds cornered you. “Can I help you?” You asked exasperatedly to the NRC equivalents of Beavis and Butthead. “Tch, you know why we're here!” “…No, I don't.” You blink rubbing your eye, which just pissed off the duo even more.

“You made a fool out of our dorm during the spell drive competition!” “Oh god, is that what this about, dude that was nearly a year ago.” “Yeah and we came back to settle the score.” You just raised a brow and a small smile crept to your face.

‘Oh! Oh! Can I bite now? Please please please can I bite now! Come onnnn I’ve been such a good eel!’ Flotsam pleads and you hear the familiars speak. ‘Me want bite!!’ Ed whines. Raven caws, ‘Yeah me too!’ Iago agrees. ‘We wanna join too!’ The imps laugh. ‘I will… stay here…’ Diaval sighs.

You blink. “Sick em.” You say, making the two idiots make a face at you. Flotsam immediately lunges for the ass. “AIIIIEEE!” One yells and you hold back a snort as the others join, Iago and Raven both grabbing onto the members hair and pecking at them. Jetsam basically lassos around one, making him trip so the hyena trio can rough him up. The imps both transform into a blue and red cat respectively and continue to add to the looney tunes violence of it all.

The two run off and the familiars return to you, except for the eels that slither miserably in place on the smooth, frictionless floor. “Help us up.” Jetsam scoffs. “No I think I’ll stay like this a bit longer.” 'Angelfish…' Ursula warns. "... yes mom…"

…

..

.

On your way to class you run into Crowley who attempts to stop you and unload another issue for you to deal with. Instead you say what your familiars wanted to say. “You are gay.” You say, making the man just stare at you as you walk off. “And Crewel also has weirdly complicated feelings for you.” 

“FEELINGS YOU SAY?? WHICH ONES?? WHICH SORT OF FEELINGS YUU?? YUU!!!” You speed walk off regretting that decision, but you admit it will be funny to see those two get divorced. Crewel deserves better.

****

Animal Linguistics was always a bit of an annoying class, and this time, Trein has invited a few of the more advanced students to the class to help you freshmen. Ace let out a deep sigh when he saw Ruggie, knowing this guy will only do the bare minimum for his grade and charge any lesson extra.

“So when the cat goes ‘mrrrp?’ You're good, usually you should try to respond with a ‘mah Ah’” Ruggie explains to your group. “Do we always have to talk to cats and mice? I feel like we should also practice some other creatures too…” You sigh. 

Trein overhears you and responds. “Your birds don’t count, Yuu. They are able to speak.” You sigh. “Okay…” You sigh and Ruggie gives you that stupid shit-eating grin. “Aw, you not satisfied with my lesson?” “No.” You glare, which surprises Ruggie, unused to your assertiveness. “I can speak to animals already and I’ve been teaching these boneheads, we're fine here.” 

“Yeah but you say things that don't make sense…” Grim complains. “It doesn’t make sense because you guys are not used to the accents animals have. You know what, hold on, I‘ll get some real good ones to practice on.” “Huh what are you—?” Ruggie gawks when he sees three whole hyenas appear out of nowhere along with two eels around your waist. 

“They are not allowed to speak in their human voices. Knock 'em out, guys.” “Yuu! Where did you even…” Trein sighs. “Fine, fine, they can stay as long as they are well behaved…” The hyenas cackle and the eels snicker. Deuce nervously looks into the crossed eyes of Ed who winks in response.

Ace seals his lips to hold back a laugh until Banzai leans where he stares nervously. “Seduce me bro.” “AYO???”

****

Soon history class came, and once again a special guest was brought in, Lilia. The lesson went fine. Your sass wasn't needed. You kept quiet as you took a few notes here and there, and the end bell soon rang out. You stared at a particular note you took. 

‘The Thorn Fairy’s wings were leathery and bat-like, much like a dragon.’ 

You looked down at the note, and Maleficent herself seems to hum. ‘Seems like he is still following orders years later.’ She says and doesn’t elaborate. As students begin to pack up and leave, you wave down Lilia, who puts a hand on his hip and waits for you.

“Oho? What is it, prefect?” Lilia beams as you look at the note you took in your open notebook. “I have a question about what you said about the Thorn Fairy.” Lilia nods, “Well yes, what is it? It always warms my heart to see youngsters value history.”

You look at the note again. “You said that her wings were leathery and bat-like.” Lilia nods his head. “But aren't they feathered?” Lilia’s smile drops. “In fact she lost her wings too but got them back at some point, right? Did they become leathery during those years they were gone? Is that what you mean?”

Lilia looks at you, a bit of shock in his eyes, before he quietly speaks to you. “How do you know that?” “Know what?” “The Thorn Fairy only disclosed that information to two people, her raven, Diaval, and me…” You freeze for a moment and then Diaval appears on your shoulder to caw at him. 

Lilia stares at you, then at the raven, then back to you. “Diaval, is that you…? Why are you with… wait does that mean—" Lilia was cut off. “Yo, Yuu!” Deuce calls out from the doorway. “You coming?” You clear your throat and nod. “Yeah, I’m coming!” You look over at Lilia, “Thank you for your time.” He could only stare as you walked off and Diaval cawed an apology 

***

Towards the end of the day, you and your first year friends were all going to hang out at Heartslabyul to study together, which you know was code for ‘get distracted halfway and hang out’. You walked down the main path to the mirror chamber when you felt a familiar presence nearby. You were being watched.

“Come out Rook, I know you're there.” You look over at one of the apple trees, and narrow your eyes when you see Rook pop out from behind it all theatric. “Très bien, Trickster! You found me, that is a feat not many can achieve!” The weirdo beams. You nodded. “Yeah, you don't need to stalk me by the way. I am happy to get to know you through talking…”

“Non non, Trickster, you say that however I believe you don’t truly speak your mind!” The French man smiles. “I notice that you are not true to yourself! Always holding back your strength and what you mean to say, when I caught wind you were going to be yourself for a day, I could not help but try to study you!” Okay wow, he has you read.

“You can learn so much more about a person through their actions, but alas, you are so good at concealing those too, mon dieu, you are quite the mystery that I hope to uncover, and the most challenging one to date!” Rook says in awe. “I enjoy a good hunt, and this one has been most enthralling!” “I’ve always been able to sense when you're there, its why I tend to slink off not long after.”

“Merde! Is that so?” Rook smirks, and you sweat, you fucked up. “Aha, I knew you knew of me! Oh how fun! I have never had such good prey before!” You narrow your eyes slightly as he continues. “Would you dare to tell me how you are able to detect me so easily? Ah– but of course, if you don't that makes things much more magnifique!” 

“Um… I honestly actually don't know how I do, I just do?” Rook seems pleased, “How effortless! Tres bien! Beauté! I must hone my skills as a hunter more! Until next time, Yuu!” Rook begins to walk off before pausing and his smile drops for a moment.

“And even if it is not me, I do hope you can truly open up to somebody someday. Anyone would be lucky to have that level of trust with a Trickster such as yourself! Holding everything in does you no good! Au revior, little trickster, or perhaps I should call you le Chevalier Mystère?” Rook has that small sparkle in his eye.

“Switch it up now and then, keep it interesting.” You nod at Rook “À bientôt!” He says, and he seems to be muttering some weird French poem about strangers and beauty as you leave.

****

You were stopped yet again on your way to Heartslabyul as you passed the mystery shop. The door was open and you see Trey ponder how he’s going to carry the groceries he brought back to the dorm. “Hey Trey,” you walks in and wave, “you look conflicted, something up?”

“Ah prefect, I am actually,” Trey wears that smiley-wincing expression that Trey has when he’s in deep shit. “I'm sorry to bother you, but could you help me carry some of these bags back to my dorm? It may take a few trips but I promise a treat in return.” “You don’t need to Trey, I’ll help you even without one, you’ve been kind to me.”

Trey’s brows raise slightly and he adjusts his glasses, looking away awkwardly. “Ah, well, thank you, Prefect.” Trey rolls up his sleeves, revealing his forearms as he prepares to grab a bag. "Those bags of flour and sugar are quite heavy, so be careful— wuh?” Trey stared dumbstruck as you lifted 500 pounds worth of dry ingredient bags in one arm. “I- how are you— Is that not heavy?” 

“It is, but I’m used to it.” “At least let me help—“ “No, no  fine, lets go.” “O… kay…” Trey adjusts his glasses and you both walk off to Heartslabyul, making a lot of people turn their heads as you pass by. 

Entering the dorm, you notice Deuce and Grim gawk at you. “Give me a minute, I’m helping Trey!” You shout as you walk everything to the kitchen and set it down on the counter. “There.” Trey stares at the pile you put down, mentally going through all the times before you acted so weak. “Ahem, thank you prefect, Ace told me you would be over in the rose garden to ‘study’ right?” “They never study.” Trey gives that 'Trey sad smile' from earlier. “You got that right.”

****

Exiting the kitchen, you look into one of the mirrors hanging on the walls of the dorm, adjusting your appearance when yet another annoying voice interrupts you. “O-M-G! It's Yuu-Chan!” Cater shouts with his typical manufactured smile. “Heyyyy!” He waves and you feel your brain melting in your skull. “Hey Cater, what's up?”

“I have a questionnn!~” He smiles, pulling up something on his phone. “Are these you?” You sweat and look over to the images he pulled up. There was one of you in flames in the cafeteria, and another of you in the hallway wheezing at the pack of familiars all jumping the two chuds. “Yeah… yeah you caught me…”

“They’re trending locally right now and you know I just have to get in on that! Mind if we take a pic?” “Go ahead.” You sigh and Cater immediately snaps a selfie of him and your exhausted self. “Me and the bestie! #NRCProblemChild #NRCConspiracy #IsekaiProtag #ExtraTerrestrialPrefectConspiracy! Aaannnd post! Thank you, Yuu-Chan, I’m curious though what was that about?”

“Those two assholes were trying to beat me up and don’t worry about the other one.” “Don't worry?” Cater scoffs as you adjust yourself in the mirror again. “Helllooo the magicless prefect, turned slightly magical, turned to god-like mage suddenly does that within a year! That's gotta be something!” Cater beams and then looks over at you and sweats.

You were glaring at him, but the mirror in front of you had several eyes also glaring at him. “… Who’s that?” “Who’s what?” “That!” Cater points to the mirror and when you turn to look it disappears. “That's me, Cater, I know I look a bit different since first arriving, but I don't think I look half bad.” You gave an insincere smile.

“My friends are waiting for me Cate, seeya..."

****

You left the hangout early, not liking all the questions probing into your mind or your past at all, in fact you left pretty upset with some insinuations and accusations of your insincerity. “Are we even friends, Yuu?” Deuce frowned. “Have you been lying to us?” Jack glares. You sigh, and walk randomly, no destination in mind. 

“Why aren't you opening up to us?” Ace huffs. “I mean you trust us right?” Ace’s frown turned to offense when he saw you look away. “Dude come on! When have we given you a reason to not trust us?” You snap at him. “Our very first meeting was you insulting me and since then you have been roping me into trouble!” 

Ace looked guilty there. “Yuu…” Epel frowned and Ortho shot a glare at Ace. “Human, Ace may have had a rough meeting but what about us?” “What about you? What about you?” You dragged your hands across your face. 

“There's a lot about you guys actually! From Mr. Don’t-Be-Friendly-Cause-We’ll-Never-be-Friends over here to Mr.Internalized-Racism-Against-My-Kind here! And let’s not forget I-Cause-Half-Of-Your-Problems-And-Sometimes-Leave-You-WIthout-Food-For-A-Few-Days Grim! Yeah I have no clue! It's almost like I tried opening up to you all before but I was brushed off. It's almost like I have been telling you that I have been having these prophetic dreams since arriving and have been telling you about a man living in my mirror and calling out to me constantly! And everytime— every fucking time its nothing or no big deal!”

You wipe away tears. “I have been trying to talk, but nobody's listening. It’s like I’m made to understand and not be understood! I have been having to put everyone else before myself and solve everyone’s else’s problems without a thank you or someone to lean on since day one! I mean, all these blots have given me fucking scars. Physical fucking scars! All while I was being berated for being a weak little human too! And what? I still am expected to bend over backwards for the people that tried to kill me? Everything’s swept under the rug for everyone else but me, huh? No one ever checks on me, hell, I am not even acknowledged half the time when I’m in the same room as someone, so yeah I also wonder why I don't talk.”

You push yourself up and grab your things. “Wait!” “No, no! Leave me alone, for once will you leave me alone willingly!” “Yuu come on! We’ll listen.” You pause. “Yuu isn’t even my name.” You glare. “It isn't…?” Grim asks. “I have been called ‘You’ this entire time here because no one bothered asking my name and everyone assumed it was ‘Yuu’. I don't even get to introduce myself anyways when I do get asked. I am not my own person, and you never made me feel like my own person.”

You walked off. Looking back now you regret it. You’re embarrassed, you sounded so stupid. You wipe away a few tears and feel a presence appear, Cerberus. The three heads nudge and cuddle you as you sob and you can feel the sevens hands all trying to soothe you. ‘There, there’ one says. Let it out.’ Another responds. ‘Poor thing.’ 

“Come on, boy, it's been a while since you’ve been on a walk…” You mutter, and think back to what Rook said to you earlier. Opening up to someone was a Herculean task on its own, but someone understanding you was impossible. Even telling people the truth can get you or them in trouble…

You lead the way down to the Ignihyde dorm. No one in that dorm leaves their room anyways, it's safe for your good boy to walk around there. 

***

There was in fact a certain dorm leader there, who was just as shocked to see you and a giant dog. Idia punched in the number to a snack at the vending machine, turned around and gawked at the giant dog behind him. He then looked over at you.

“Yuu? Is that-? I mean is he—? Ortho said you—… Is that the real…?” Idia sputtered, not sure what  to ask first. “Shut it weeb, no ones gonna believe you.” Idia gawked even more. Since when were you so sassy? No seriously, you were also so overly kind to everyone it unsettled him.

“…Sorry…” you mumble. “You can pet him… he’s… soft…” Idia blinks and offers out a hand. One of the heads sniffs it before nuzzling into him. “Holy shit…” Idia whispers as he immediately starts fawning over the dog.

“Who’s some good boys, who’s some boys? Oh that's a great pupper! Oh yes you all are!” It’s strange to see Idia all smiley to himself, but it’s pleasant. “How did you—“ “I can't answer that.” You respond. “So dont ask…”

Idia goes quiet leaning back from the heads that licked him, his flaming locks dancing behind him. “Ortho said you haven’t been feeling well…” “I haven’t been, not for a while, I guess it finally all came out to the point where it’s noticeable…” “Ah, I feel that…” Idia trails off awkwardly.

“I know we're not friends, but I appreciate you.” Idia mumbles. “You make Ortho very happy, and I love seeing my little brother happy… He says you're like another sibling and insists we would get along. He really wants me to get to know you… and uh.. We don't have to, but… yeah… Thank you, I guess…’ Idia looks like he’s about to die, but he speaks again.

“Ortho says you make him feel human, and that you’ve been helping him learn more about how to find out who he is more than anyone else, more than me, even, probably cause you got out more… He told me you were upset, and he’s worried about you. So uh… please reach out to him?”

“Thank you, Idia…” You sigh. “Yeah I will, I will reach out to him, its not his fault, I just… I just need time to think… I don't even know who I am, or what comforts me…” “Um, I don't know what you like… but uh… actually, give me your number. I know a pretty cool site with a lot of free shows, I think there’s a few you’ll like.” He offers an attempt at a smile. “And also maybe you try a few video games? If you haven’t tried them already… who knows maybe we can play together…” You smile and open up your contacts. “Yeah, I would like that actually…” 

A new contact was added: ‘Gremlin.’

****

Walking off to your dorm, you dare not go in. You don't know if your friends are all waiting for you inside, or if Grims there. You sorta don't want to deal with that right now still. The corners of your eyes catch a familiar sight. Fireflies dance through the night, coming out of the grass and surrounding you.

“Hey, Tsunotaro… Heh, maybe I ought to call you ‘Firefly’ or king of the fireflies, maybe.” You wipe your eyes as you turn around and there he is, your Tsunotaro. You both don't know each other's names, but you don't need to. Tsunotaro and Child of Man work just fine.

“Greetings, Child of Man, it’s always good to see you but…” The fae frowns, “are you alright, Child of Man? You seem troubled…” “I… Yeah I am… I just… don’t know what to do…”

Your friend carefully reaches out to you before retracting his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” “I think I need a distraction…” “I can do that,” Tsunotaro offers his hand. “Come with me.

You have never seen so many pretty colors before as Malleus casts a few spells, making the forest into the most beautiful light show you’ve ever seen. Mushrooms glow from where they sprout, leaves swirl with beautiful patterns, and the fireflies dance through the sky against the stars. You swear you can hear music from them.

“This is… This is beautiful…” “I am glad you enjoy it,” Malleus watches as you watch each step you take, the leaves below you glowing with each step. “Are you feeling better now?” “Yeah, I am… You know…” you pause nervously.

“Yes? What is it?” “It feels like… you're my only true friend…” The lightshow around you flickers for a moment. “Is that so…” Malleus stares wide eyed. “Yeah… Just… I can be kind to everyone… but I can't be friends with anyone. They all don't really get to know the real me, you know?” Malleus stares off.

“I do know that feeling well… You are my only friend…” You pause and look at him. The lights behind you turn to a more pinkish hue. “That's hard to believe, you are a wonderful person.” “Likewise, Child of Man. I would think someone as kind as you would have much more.”

You sniff, “I’ve been helping so many people, but it feels like…” You sigh. “I have seen the hard work you have put into everything. Not a lot of people can say they have gone through what you have gone through and won. You are much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Malleus takes your hand. “I am sorry that others do not acknowledge that. I hope those around you soon start to realize what a blessing you are.” You squeeze his hand. “Come on, why don’t we both enjoy this light show?” 

…

..

.

At the very last waltz, your legs feel like jelly, and you cannot tell if it's because of how happy you are or because you've been standing too long. You pull away gently. “Thank you Tsunotaro, for everything.” Malleus nods. “It was nothing. Thank you for being my friend.” He stares off to the sky for a moment. “Farewell, Child of Man, may the night be full of promise for you.” 

The fae starts to fade away and you reach out, using a spell of your own. “Wait…” You hold onto Malleus’ arm making him appear again. The fae looks at you with shock. “You overrode my magic…” Malleus whispers, and his shocked face turns to one of awe and his eyes hint towards excitement. “No one has ever been able to do that… Just what else are you hiding, Child of Man?” 

“I want to give you my name.” “Your name?” Malleus looks shocked once again. “My real name.” “Don't you know of the stories about giving your name to Fae?” “I know them, but I trust you. I know you would never hurt me.” Your expression and voice is so sure it nearly overwhelms the fae.

“You trust me that much? I could smite you with lightning in an instant.” “Then smite me.” Malleus paused and nothing happened. “See? I know you wouldn’t hurt me. You’ve had opportunities this entire time and you haven’t.” “You really want to tell me Child of Man? When I have not even given you my name?” Malleus' voice nearly shakes.

“You don't need to. But if you do, no matter what name comes out, I won't be afraid.” You take his hand, and for the first time since arriving, you introduce yourself, and you tell him your name, your real name.

“I see, what a wonderful name… I supposed I shall finally tell you mine as well.” The fae smiles, “Draconia. Malleus Draconia…” “Malleus? That's not too bad for yourself…” Malleus lets out a laugh at that. “I suppose not.” He smiles then looks off again. “Well then, friend… Thank you for everything tonight. I have not been this happy in a long time…” 

“Good night, Malleus. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Good night, Child of Man…” 

He fades out and you hear Maleficent speak to you. ‘He likes you.’ She says, and you hear a few voices teasing you. You chuckle and find the strength in you to go back into your dorm and confront tomorrow. Rook’s words from earlier echoes through your mind. You have found people you can truly open up to.

[nnoragamis]

thinking about the 3 grand fairy magics and the significance of their usage by characters apart from makarov and mavis (incoming over-analysis):

laxus: laxus, makarov's grandson, who always felt overshadowed by his grandfather, learnt and cast fairy law in an attempt to surpass makarov. and...i wouldn't even say that laxus failed when he tried to cast fairy law. the spell is a judgement spell, after all, and that's exactly what it did...it judged laxus' heart and found that at his essence, he wasn't actually someone who truly desired to hurt his guildmates. at the heart of him, he did possess what was truly essential to be a member of fairy tail...he just had to go on a long journey of self-discovery to find it.

cana: as far as her generation is concerned, cana joined fairy tail the earliest and was pretty much raised by the guild. and it's this aspect of her character that i think is a big part of why mavis granted her fairy glitter in the first place—because cana is able to put aside her selfish motivations and come to the realization that at the end of the day, she just wants to protect the home that means so much to her and gave her so much. in the tenrou island arc, cana is driven solely by her motivations regarding gildarts...until she isn't, and when she's able to see the bigger picture, is when she truly grows as a character.

lucy: lucy is basically the opposite of laxus and cana, in the sense that she's the Rookie™, one of the newest members of the guild, and we've consistently seen her perspective of the guild as someone who is new to it. and yet, lucy is the one to cast fairy sphere. of course, there are the very obvious parallels between her and mavis. but its also because every single thing she's gone through so far comes full circle (ha!) in this moment as she casts the spell—a spell that is entirely different from the other two because it's a defensive one, and it relies on the power of others in addition to its caster. which is...very significant to the way lucy's character has always been written. in many ways, it's just an extension of the way she's used her celestial magic up until now.

[cosmica-galaxy]

https://www.tumblr.com/cosmica-galaxy/781110792773861376/idea-for-human-sized-cookiewhat-if-the-cookies?source=share

The republics science project? How would they experiment with the human? Can imagine the human being TERRIFIED at first, begging for them not to hurt them and so on...thinking they are about to be dissected...

Well, if they managed to get their prisoner back to the Republic, the human would be placed in a secure lab. Seeing as this is the same Republic that created the Soul Candies, they will definitely perform some experiments to see what makes a "witch" tick. Of course, there are "safety precautions" that are placed on the human to keep them from lashing out at the scientist in fear or rage. Such as a minor paralysis spell or some other form of movement inhibitor. At least they allow you to keep your normal clothes on so you can have your dignity. I think the first things they would do would be a physical.

Just a generic form of understanding human anatomy by studying and making notes. They take x-rays, move your limbs, and take notes on your scent, texture, and listening to all the sounds that your body is producing (heartbeat, breathing, and your creaking bones). After that comes the sampling. They will take blood, hair, and even a small sample of your flesh to understand what makes up the differences in human anatomy in comparison to cookie anatomy. This uncovers something that cookies, nor anything in Earthbread has, which is genetics code for organics. Cookies are made from yeast, flour, and strawberry jam. But an analysis of humans would reveal a far more complex system and multiple outlets for a certain type of magic that isn't found in Earthbread beings. This is when Republic interest would raise significantly. The third stage would consist of more invasive procedures. Such as trying to understand the genetic makeup of the creators and understand how humans develop with such a unique anatomy. This is when they start wanting to pull out sharp devices, discuss ethics involving the treatment of patients, and containers to possibly put something in that will be moved to the lab. This is when you, as a paralyzed victim at this point, is afraid the most of what they want to do. Especially when you can hear them discussing that your "sacrifice" would be in the best "interest of all cookiekind". However, before they can preform any procedures that would harm you in any way--The Pastry Order has become aware and agitated by the Republic's disregard for the human's well-being and lack of freedom. To them, it's blasphemous to perform such invasive acts unto the unwilling human and even threatening to sacrifice them for science enrages the followers even further. The lab would definitely get invaded at some point, with the cookies in white masks breaking you out of your confinement, giving you a cure for your paralysis, and helping you escape into the republic through the underground waterways. You are then placed under the care of Reverend Cookie, who welcomes you into The Order that serves your kind without question. Even if you want to leave, it was arguably the safest place for you to be, as the Paladin army will be looking for you.

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER TWO

02 : SHOPPING (1/2)

CHPT. SUM. : life isn't easy in the Black Family household, you need to get out, you also need a new wand. Sirius does too as well as a few other things; time to go shopping.

LENGTH : 5.8k

TAGS. : hurt/comfort ; tantrums ; fluff ; sirius needs a hug ; regulus needs a hug ; original walburga can eat shit ; orion can eat shit too ; reader being an amazing mother ; walburga deserves to get bullied ; floo powder travels ; diagon alley shopping time~ ; stupid wands ; arson ; goblin OC ; sirius being a sneaky baby ; regulus follows in his older brother's footsteps ; misbehaving things ; Ollivander cameo~ ; please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes for now, this wasn't really proofread (╥﹏╥) i'll go back over things later on!

← PREV. | 01 : ARRIVAL | SERIES M.LIST

7th August 1971 

It didn’t take you long to uncover the upsetting affairs of the ever proud Black Family. 

There was nothing to be proud of. It sickened you to witness the blatant disdain Orion had for his own two sons, neglecting them by leaving for work early and returning only to lock himself up in his home office. The bastard even overlooked his sons when he was present at home on the weekends and the few words he spoke when addressing them dripped with cruelty and ignorance. The only positive thing you could take from his absence, however, is the fact that the boys didn’t have to tolerate his silent callousness for long periods of time. 

But that meant seeing the effects of Walburga’s despicable conditioning of the two boys, which was far worse. 

It was clear that Regulus wanted to be favoured and compiled to his mother’s whims, desperately seeking her approval. Whenever his small, pale hands reached out for you, no matter how miniscule, you accepted with open arms and a warm smile. His precious look of surprise, and shy happiness at your unexpected acceptance, never failed to make your heart shatter, even more so that his reaction never seemed to let up. 

Before every apology, before every small request, before every word he breathed in your direction, there was an evident hesitance, a slight fear in his motions that made him freeze up for a moment. It was a consistent action that you hoped, with time, would disappear for good. You love having Regulus for your son but you don’t want him to do things just because you said so. In your previous life and before your dreams were shattered, the one thing you looked forward to about having children was the development of their own personality, the becoming of their own individual person. That’s what you want for Regulus, and Sirius too. But you know that Regulus was the main son who was deprived of that pleasure in the original timeline so you wanted to give him that extra bit of care. It was your responsibility, now, to give him that happiness.   

Sirius was the same. He wanted approval too, you could see it so very clearly in his piercing grey eyes – it’s an innocence he shares with his younger brother. There’s a glimmer of hope in his grey pools, hidden behind the need to protect Regulus and the mix of anger and sadness fostered by the horrendous parents he had the ill-fate of having. You want to bring down those walls but you know it’ll take some time. Nevertheless, you clung onto the hope present in his eyes and used it to cultivate your firm resolution, like a garden to the foundation of a new life and a new future. It was needed, especially when Sirius lashed out, his fury, dangerously ablaze like a forest fire set on destroying everything in its wake. 

It was no secret that the original Walburga expected nothing but excellence from her only two sons, so it didn’t come as a surprise to you that she had hired private tutors for them leading up to their official education in Hogwarts. They were to study French, Etiquette, Literature, Cursive/Calligraphy, Maths and all of the wizarding basics. All taught by private tutors that delivered material like stale bread on a plate and leaving them with the terribly tedious assignments in the most ridiculous amounts. You understood why Sirius worked himself up to such a tantrum. However, he was not setting a good example for his younger brother, who clung onto the long flowing skirt of your black dress and pressed himself against your legs for comfort. 

Tenderly, you combed your fingers through Regulus’ neatly permed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp while the two of you waited for Sirius to lose energy and simmer down enough for you to finally get a word in. It only took a few minutes but Sirius was soon left heavily panting, his expulsion of rage gone but still evident in his harsh glare and aggressive stance.

 Silence took over the room as you continued to hold his gaze, determined to handle the situation calmly but firmly and without any interruptions – you hope to God that your amateur imperturbable charm worked on the door of the room; it was the weekend, meaning that Orion was at home and he wouldn’t take too kindly to his equally hateful wife being screamed at by his disobedient son.

“...it’s not fair…” Sirius grumbles under his breath, pouting defiantly as his small hands ball up into clenched fists by his sides. 

“I know it’s not fair, Sirius,”

“Then—!” Sirius cuts himself off when you raise a brow at him, your mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. 

Some part of you understands why Sirius would lash out so aggressively; he was practically drowning under the workload he was set by his individual tutors, drowning under the expectations the original Walburga had set on him and he didn’t know how to express his frustrations. Along the way, you’re sure he’s bottled up his emotions and tried to get on with things, evident by the littered chaos of papers at his feet, marked by his neat handwriting. Such beautiful handwriting for such a young and troubled boy. With his deadline fast approaching and his assignments piled up to his ears, Sirius lashed out in the violent and wrathful way he’s been exposed to since birth. You want to be soft and comply with his demands but you know that’ll foster bad habits in him. Conceding now will only teach him that it’s okay to become violent when he’s frustrated and that it’ll work to help him get what he wants. But that is a false reality. And you will not perpetuate the illusion for him.  

He’s your son now, he’s your responsibility and you’re going to teach him well. So you stand firm but composed. You’re setting an example. It isn’t until you sense the fear of what may happen slowly seeping into Sirius’ much smaller frame, that you step forward and take action. 

In your slow approach, Sirius flinches and snaps his eyes tightly shut. His clenched fists slowly come up to shield his chest as his shoulders tense despite the visible shiver that runs up his frame.

A small voice calls out behind you, “Mother–”

“Regulus, this is between me and your brother. Please don’t interfere,” Regulus bites his lip into silence but watches on with fearful eyes. He wants to step in and hold his brother close, the same way Sirius has done to help comfort him many times before but, no matter how strong his will, Regulus didn’t move. Why? Was it the fear or… was it something else?  

Once close enough, you kneel down and gently grasp Sirius’ small shoulders. You try not to wince when he falters from your touch and tries to withdraw but your grip keeps him securely in place. Inhaling deeply and slowly, you begin to speak in a stable voice and with strength. It’s best to start from the beginning. 

“Sirius…” you wait until he meets your eyes, hesitant and afraid but stubbornly brave, “what’s wrong?” he sends you a look of exasperation, you can read him easily ‘why are you asking him that when he’s been screaming at you about it?’, “I will not listen or engage in any conversation with you if you ever speak to me that way,” you set the boundary and pause to make sure he processes your words clearly before continuing, “I will only listen if you talk to me like a normal person, if you just scream at me like that then I can’t help you,” 

Sirius wants to scoff at your words; how could he possibly trust you to help him if you’ve never been worthy of his trust? But he glimpses the image of his worried, younger brother over your shoulder and bites down on his sharp tongue. Regulus has grown a small but reluctant trust for you ever since the day you fainted. It was naive of him but Sirius could never fault his younger brother for anything. He’s always been the one with the softer heart between them so it was natural for Regulus to be more trusting. Deep down, Sirius wants to have that same level of give within him too. 

But it was hard. It’s hard to trust…

…that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, however. One prolonged look at his brother was all he needed to have the courage to put that trust forward. 

“It’s unfair,” he repeats, clearly this time.

“What’s not fair?” you prompt, your features softening along with your tone as Sirius wills himself to continue. You haven’t lashed out at him yet, you haven’t even threatened to launch a curse at him, that was a good sign. 

“All this work…” he gestures to the scattered papers he had thrown to the floor in defiance. Now, he looks towards them in shame and quickly diverts his gaze from the mess. 

“I see,” you hum as he looks onto you with eyes of wonderment, unable to comprehend that you were taking in his complaint so graciously – he isn’t used to this type of gentleness but he likes it…  “I’m sorry you’re under so much pressure to do this much work,” Sirius holds his breath as hope builds up within him, its light is radiant but he tries to ignore it, “I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you–”

“––I tried to do well!” Sirius defends, his eyes desperately searching your own for some form of understanding. It was your warm smile that eased his panicked heart… in some sense, he’s beginning to understand his younger brother; his mother looks far prettier when she’s smiling. 

“I know,” you cup his face with one hand and lovingly caress the skin of his cheek with your thumb, “you’ve worked so hard. Thank you for trying, Sirius,” you watch tears pool at his eyes and coo comfortingly as you bring him into your arms and tuck his face into your shoulder, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I promise to talk to your tutors about the workload,” your gentle assurance and unfaltering promise eases his worries and Sirius allows himself to melt into your embrace. You’ve never called him that before. And never in such a loving or warm tone. It makes his heart feel lighter and his breath stutters in disbelief. 

Can he keep you like this? He wants you to be like this forever. 

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stays wrapped up in your kind embrace but he’s brought back to his senses when he hears shuffling and quickly feels his younger brother being brought into the hug too. Lighthearted and optimistic about the world’s goodness, Sirius brings an arm around his brother, who reciprocates his actions, and the three of you stay there, basking in each other’s warmth and comfort. This is nice. 

“Regulus,” Sirius feels his brother stiffen up beside him, but only for a moment, it almost goes unnoticed before Regulus tucks himself further into your arms, “I’m sorry for the burden of work on you too,” 

“I-It’s okay, mother,” alas, his younger brother is too forgiving but Sirius knows it’s a trait that he loves his brother for. 

“Do you like the amount of work you’re doing?” you question, doing your best to keep your tone neutral and only slightly peaking in curiosity. 

Regulus pauses for a moment, contemplating his answer, “I wouldn’t mind less work…”

His answer makes you laugh, the sound feathery and light, it makes the two brothers stare at each other in wide-eyed disbelief. They’ve never heard their mother laugh before. It was obscure and strange but a pleasant sound, something that they want to hear more often from you. 

“Then it’s settled, I’ll be having a word with your tutors,” the two boys release a sigh of relief and you feel Sirius melt a little more into your arms, “so you can leave your work alone for next week entirely,” their shock doesn’t go unnoticed but you continue, “I’m so proud of both of you for working so hard,” you didn’t want to rush things but you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly and gently and with all the love you could muster, you lean forward and press a kiss to Sirius’ forehead and then do the same to Regulus. 

They were stunned into silence as a pink hue rose to their cheeks, their wide, unbelieving eyes staring up at you in the most precious way. They look so adorable; you want to capture this image of them in a photo to keep forever. You can practically hear their racing hearts trying to beat out of their chests as their eyes swim with a child-like astonishment and wonder. They’re just two precious little boys who deserved better than the miserable, tragic fate J.K fucking Rowling wrote for them. And you were going to stop at nothing to make sure their futures were happy. 

Warm with happiness, your soft smile remains as you gently usher the two into the living room to settle down and relax for the evening. However, the little bubble of merriment you had cultivated with the two boys was promptly ruptured by the sour, disgruntled face you happened upon as soon as you opened the door.

Tucking the boys’ suddenly tense frames into the folds of your skirt, you address the intruder, “Orion–” 

“What was all that racket?” he demanded, his voice booming and frightening enough for Regulus to begin shaking faintly against you. It made anger spike in your chest but, thankfully, Sirius was there to reach out and immediately begin comforting his younger brother. You made sure to keep the boys out of Orion’s gaze but it was no use, “Sirius! I know it was you! HOW DARE—!”

“We’ve already settled the issue so there’s no need to talk about it further!” you interrupt through clenched teeth, chest puffed out angrily as you hold the boys’ tense but trembling figures into your legs, hoping to calm them as best as you can. Curse that imperturbable charm! And curse that stupid wand! You haven’t been able to cast a single, functioning spell with it and your excitement for the world of magic had quickly dwindled into abhorrence, stemming solely from the stubbornly disobedient wand, “I’m sure you have a lot of work to do so excuse us!” 

You hurriedly lead the boys away from Orion and to the living room as Orion snarls, outraged at being dismissed so flippantly but confused over your sudden change in demeanour. For now, he settles on observing the changes no matter how subtle and returns back to his office. 

“THAT WAND ISN’T WORKING FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT IT’S TRUE MASTER!” Walburga screams in your head and instantly makes you clutch your temple in distress. Settled in the living room sofas, Sirius and Regulus observe you with worry. Walburga doesn’t seem to know any other way of communicating than screaming and it has led to multiple black outs and fainting spells. It also meant that you kept having to drink the same disgusting healing potion over and over again and you were sick of it!

Seeing the same symptoms again, the two boys fidget in their seats, wondering what to do to help, “Are you okay mother?” Regulus asks as you muster a small smile. 

“I’ll be alright, Regulus, thank you,” your response isn’t enough to convince Sirius and he whispers something in his younger brother’s ear as you set to deal with the annoying bitch stuck in your head. 

‘Shut up you insufferable bitch, is inducing a headache your only talent?’ Your words and foul language make her sputter pathetically and it makes you laugh under your breath. Your moment of joy and satisfaction is short lived, however, as Regulus summons Kreacher just as you fall into darkness once more. 

The fucking bitch… 

8th August 1971

Because of that evil bitch stuck in your head, you had to ingest another phial-full of that horrendous healing potion. Not only that but the stupid wand still isn’t working for you. 

“How can I survive this hell hole if I can’t even use magic?” you grumble into the open air as the evil bitch cackles resembled the sputtering and coughing of a broken-down car, mixed with the discordance of an off-tune violin, erratic, grating and screeching. 

‘Can you shut up?!’ you shout in your head, already fuming, ‘Your laugh sounds like it could kill someone! No wonder you’re so miserable and your only sons hate you!’ that finally got her to shut up and you could think clearly again. Even though the situation was annoying, It made you snicker. Being able to bully Walburga into silence made those awful healing potions worth it. You’d drink a hundred healing potions if it meant delivering justice for you two boys. 

Now that she’s silent, you observe your desk. Thankfully, you also had your ownhome office. The previous Walburga had a planner specific for Sirius and Regulus’ studying plans, diet and calendars full of ‘X’s with small notes beside them on disobedience and the subsequent punishments. It was sickening and you wanted to burn the thing but you resisted. If you want to act convincingly in front of Orion and plan slyly, you need to know as much about the original Walburga as possible so you keep all her planners, journals and  scraps of paper intact. You’ll study their contents thoroughly in due time. You still have some major planning to do and you need to note down important dates to keep track of before you forget them. The start you’ve made has been decent, however, you know you need to rely on magic at some points and you wouldn’t be able to succeed in the current state of your wand. And it isn’t as though you weren’t able to cast magic; the first time you tried to cast a simple spell – the well-renowned ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ – you had set the flowers in the vase on fire.  

You need an excuse to go out. As the Patriach of the Black family, Orion had the key to the Gringotts Black Family vault so you can’t just go out haphazardly. You also weren’t comfortable with leaving the boys home alone so you need them to come with you if you can. 

With a sigh, you slump into the rigid desk chair and set about occupying yourself with mundane tasks. Perhaps if you indulge yourself in other, simple activities, you can come up with something creative. Stacking your messily scrawled notations of future plans, you begin to rummage through the desk drawers for a stapler or paper clip but come up unproductive. Nothing. Did wizards and witches not use basic stationary?... They had magic, yes, but surely… 

Your internal ramblings come to an abrupt stop when you spot a famed crest sitting above a deep red seal. The crest features four familiar beasts, a lion, a badger, a raven and a serpent; at the very centre was an ostentatious ‘H’ — it’s a letter from Hogwarts. And you were just beginning to suspect its potential contents. The seal has already been broken and the letter slips out easily. 

Words on the page read with nostalgia, it was as if you were watching the first Harry Potter film all over again and cheering at Harry’s liberation from his toxic aunt, uncle and cousin.  

‘Dear Sirius Black,’ it reads and your heart stutters in both excitement and anxiety, ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.’

“Term starts on September 1st,” your eyes snapt to the desk calendar, which had automatically crossed off the days. It’s a little early but that just means you’ll beat the academic year rush. With a smile, you take out the separate list of necessary school supplies and pair it with a small list of your own. 

Perfect, you have your reason. 

9th August 1971 

Before travelling by floo, Kreacher came up to you and cast a simple dirt-repellent spell on you and your two sons. You were grateful for his foresight and thanked him graciously for doing so. Much like all the times before, your unexpected kindness makes the grumpy house elf falter clumsily but adorably as Regulus grins at your side and Sirius huffs with an exaggerated pout on his lips. He’s still ever so stubborn about the house elf but you’ve observed how Regulus has put in the effort to push the two together. You join in the gentle prodding through leading by example, treating Kreacher kindly and with respect. Bit by bit, Sirius has been following yours and Regulus’ lead. He’s not fully there but you smile at the little progress he’s made. It’s only been a few days after all and the results are optimistic, it makes your heart flutter and you look forward to the future with brighter eyes. Sirius had been buzzing with silent excitement all morning and Regulus was quick to join his older brother’s enthusiasm when you informed him that he was welcome to come and join you. 

You set off to travel by floo first so you can wait for the boys on the other side and so they’re not on their own not for too long. “Diagon Alley,” you announce clearly and without a shake of nervousness in your voice, only feverish anticipation. In moments, you’re engulfed by green flames. The world whirls around you in a dizzying blur of colours and sounds, the sensation both exhilarating and disorienting.

Unlike Harry and the Weasleys, you appear out of the subsequent fireplace without a spec of dirt on you and smile as you stumble out to await your two sons. The adrenaline rush of it all makes your fingers tingle and your head feel light headed but your smile only brightens. You still can’t believe you’re really here, sometimes.

Sirius came next and then Regulus. However, despite their earlier excitement, it appears as though their spirits were dampened just before travelling. Now, they stand before you with pouting lips and downcast eyes. 

“What’s wrong boys?” you ask softly, kneeling down to their level, it was purely out of instinct now. You meet them at their comfort as an equal rather than the other way around. It usually does the trick of consoling them enough to speak to you but this time is different. Their lips are tightly sealed. 

“We’re okay,” Sirius says in a tone that makes it seem as if he was trying to convince himself that. You want to press further but relent with a nod. It would be better for you to let them talk at their own time. Hopefully, being outside with so many charming shops dotted around, they’ll ease up and smile again. Pressing a brief kiss to their temples, you lead them out to the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. 

The street was bustling with magic and mystery as you observe the scene with bright eyes. The atmosphere of the wizarding alley didn’t compare to the movie adaptations. It was much more charming and wondrous to observe in real life. And wasn’t nearly as claustrophobic as it was depicted to you. However, that may be due to the fact that you hadn’t left the school shopping too late and so the streets weren’t as congested as when Harry went school shopping for the first time. Nevertheless, your heart didn’t stop pounding in elation as you held hands with your two sons and set forth to your first destination.  

“Our first stop is at a very important place, okay?” on either side of you, Sirius and Regulus nod, still silent as you lead them through the streets. The air was thick with the scent of potion ingredients and freshly baked treats from the nearby shops, a symphony of sounds and smells, it was a little overwhelming but you couldn’t complain, the tenor of the climate was still very addictive.

As if summoning your first destination, your eyes were drawn to the towering structure of Gringotts, the goblins' bank. Its grandeur was a stark contrast to the quaint shops lining the street, making it stand out like a uniquely different gem amongst a cluster of little treasures. 

You walk forward with purpose now but still keep your strides short for the boys. Looking down you observe how they take in the environment around them, dressed like little princes with perfectly permed hair and glittering diamond eyes. Sirius had familiarised himself with the routine of the day, the first stop would be Gringotts to withdraw money to buy all of his school supplies, the second stop would be to retrieve his wand and after that, it would just be a matter of going down the list. It was a different plan to the usual fixed outline his parents were strict to follow in usual outings. Sirius would have been more enthusiastic if his father hadn’t forcibly pulled him and Regulus aside after you’d first disappeared by floo. 

‘Don’t even think about dirtying the Black family name while outside. If I even hear a single word of your misbehaviour, it’ll be an entire day spent in the vault!’

His father’s threatening words echoed menacingly in his head, his mind like an empty cave except for the haunting remarks that bounced off its despondent walls. The only way for his father to hear of any misbehaving is if his mother told on them but… Sirius chances a brief glance up at you, only to be met by your kind smile. Quick as lightning, Sirius looks away with a clench of his hand around yours. His mother isn’t like that now, though…right?

As the three of you pass windows displaying cauldrons, brooms, and a myriad of magical trinkets, Sirius’ mind raced with possibilities. What spells would he learn? Who would he meet? And would he make good friends with them? What house would he be sorted into?  He hopes not Slytherin, it was what his entire family had been sorted into but he doesn’t want to be like them – never like them. Would he be able to play Quidditch, his mother always used to say that it was too violent and rambunctious of a sport to be associated with. Will he like his teachers? Will he enjoy his classes? The future was a mysterious, unopened book, and Sirius, although slightly hesitant, still bound to expectations, was ready to turn the first page.

As you step through the towering bronze doors of Gringotts, a shiver of awe runs down your spine. The splendour of the entrance hall was breathtaking, with gleaming marble floors and towering pillars that seemed to reach up into the heavens – as opulent a building should be that holds secure a multitude of treasures and ancient artefacts whilst being guarded by a ferocious dragon. 

Goblins, sharp-eyed and meticulous, worked behind large, ornate desks – tall and domineering. Their long, dexterous fingers moved swiftly as they counted coins and scribbled in large ledgers, busy but happily so when surrounded by so much gold. The air was filled with the clinks of coins and the soft murmur of transactions, bank-speak, typical and not too far from the banks of ‘muggles’. High above, the cavernous ceiling was illuminated by shimmering crystal chandeliers, casting a golden glow over everything, fitting for the amount of gold glittering beneath it. It was a complimentary union, one that oozed lavishness. Even the air smelled rich and you wondered if gold dust was dancing in it too. The atmosphere was one of ancient power and impenetrable security, safe and anchored. As you walked further in, you could feel the weight of centuries of wizarding history envelope you, it was unmistakably a place where secrets and fortunes were both hidden and revealed. 

Approaching a vacant desk, you steady your breath and quickly recite your introduction in your head before elegantly performing it. You first drop into a low but graceful bow and repeat your greeting from memory, “Greetings Master Goblin, may your gold prosper and your enemies fail against your blade, I am Madam Black,” with bated breath, you wait for his reply, hoping that uttering your family name was enough. 

“Madame Black, I am Filgus. What can I do for you today?” the goblin hid his surprise well. It was unusual to receive such a polite and formal greeting from the Matriarch of the infamous Black family. The surprise was pleasant but also carried with it a fair share of warning. Odd behaviour never bode well. Filgus was determined to not let anything pass, his pride as a Goblin demanded it be so.  

“I would like to withdraw from the family vault,” you explain and hand over the key Orion had 

“Very well,” Filgus accepts the key and moves to dismount his desk, “follow me to the carts,” you’re immediately reminded of the movie scene, where the speed and twisting passage of the cart made Hagrid sick, even as a half giant. 

“Is it safe for the children?” you fret instinctively. Maternal instincts, a previously dormant part of your nature now expressed in the most spontaneous but opportune ways. 

Filgus snarls in offence but bites his tongue as best he could, “I assure you Madame Black that Gringotts is one of the safest establishments to exist in the wizarding world,” 

Not wanting to offend the goblin further, you nod with some hesitancy and keep your boys close. The fact that you worried for them made their little hearts flutter as their cheeks heated into a delicate pink hue. It was unusual for them to experience such care and worry but it still made them feel good. Turning to each other, they observe their identical reactions and bite their lips to keep from grinning too widely. 

The journey to the vault was as winding and twisting as you remembered in the films. It was equal parts frightening and thrilling. The experience was exactly like that of a rollercoaster but without as strict of a regard to safety. If only the path was better lit, maybe that would have made the journey a little more pleasant. 

“Here we are,” Filgus announces, stepping off the cart and politely asking for the lamp. You oblige and slowly follow him out of the cart, steadying yourself before you help Sirius and Regulus out too, “your key, Madam Black?” Filgus sets about opening your vault door as you turn to the boys and check their welfare. 

“Are you alright, my darlings?” you ask in a soft whisper, kneeling before them. 

In all honesty, Sirius had enjoyed the ride down, the twists and turns and perilous speed made his head spin in the most delightful sense but he’s grown to like you worrying for him more than that temporary thrill. So, with a pitiful look on his face, he shakes his head ‘no’ and slowly begins to stretch his arms open. 

“It was scary…” Sirius whispers, taking advantage of the cold underground temperature to make his voice shake in ‘fear’.

“Oh darling,” you coo softly and bring him into your arms, “it’s okay, you’re okay,” Sirius smiles into your shoulder and allows himself to cling onto you like he’s always secretly dreamed of doing. This feeling of safety and security was one he didn’t ever want to let go of. Over your shoulder, Regulus gapes at the affectionate scene and, although it goes against his moral code of lying, he musters up the sly courage his older brother so easily displayed. 

“M-me too, mother,” Regulus calls for your attention in a bashful whisper, “I was scared too,” your kind, understanding smile eases his nerves Regulus jumps into your arms as soon as you open up to accommodate his small frame. 

This didn’t count as misbehaving, right? Only they knew whether or not they were truly scared or not…

The bell above the door tinkled softly, happily announcing your arrival as you pushed open the creaky, unassuming entrance into Ollivander’s, the most renowned wand shop in all of Diagon Alley. It made you giddy just thinking about getting to meet the whimsical shop owner and wand artisan. 

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wood and magic, a combination that seemed to tickle the very edges of your senses. Your fingers itched to grasp at wand, your nose scrunched up at the pleasantly ancient scent permeating the air and your eyes surveyed the room with an eager gleam. The shop was narrow and cramped, yet it felt infinitely deep, with towering shelves that stretched up into the shadows. Each floor to ceiling shelving unit was crammed with thousands of slender boxes, their organisation questionable but fitting for such an antiquated establishment. Dim light filtered through the dusty windows, casting a mystical glow over everything. The walls seemed to whisper secrets of ancient trees and magical cores, each wand holding the promise of a unique bond, waiting to be discovered and pledged to its chosen master. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could hear Sirius’ heart pounding with the thrilling but nervous realisation that among the wondrous collection of boxes, one held a wand that was meant solely for him. It would be special and unequalled to anything else – an incomparable affiliation

Mr. Ollivander, with his pale, incisive eyes emerged from the shadows like a wisp of memory, his movements as silent and fluid as a ghost, a jolly ghost supporting a fanciful smile. His gaze takes in your sons, to which he gives a thoughtful hum before fixing his stare onto you.

“Madame Black…” Mr. Ollivander observes you with open curiosity, peaking the interest of your two boys, their diamond grey eyes watching the interaction silently and with overflowing intrigue, “having trouble with your wand?” his quick deduction makes your breath hitch and your shoulders tense. The impish gleam in his eyes almost going unnoticed by you, “it’s very peculiar for a wand that has already chosen its master to change its mind, especially from a wand that’s so loyal,” he ponders aloud as Sirius and Regulus inch closer to your sides, clinging onto the fabric of your dress skirt as they heed Ollivander’s nebulous words with a hint of caution, “curious, very curious indeed... I could only think of one reason, an abstruse but entirely possible reason for such a contingency in a world of magic…” Ollivander leans forward and looks deeply into your eyes, his own dancing about in their search, for what, you don’t have a clue. But it feels as though he can see into your soul, the flicker in his eyes detecting the presence of another. He shakes his head, almost in disbelief but laughs merrily, easing the tension built up in the air, “not one, but two, I see…” 

Your heart shudders in your chest. Did he know? 

NEXT. | 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) → | SERIES M.LIST

A/N : i would like to say that i was planning to delay this chapter update for a day or two since i was an absolute muppet to myself and decided to switch up events in the plot and oc introductions last minute but, thanks to @urmomw4ntsme (amazing username btw (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )) and their message about being excited for the update, i was lovingly and innocently pushed into getting the update out on time ৻(  •̀ ᗜ •́  ৻) so thank you, my darling haha! i appreciate your perfectly timed, kind message. i hope you darlings enjoyed the read and forgive me for splitting this chapter up into 2 parts - i suppose i planned for too much in one chapter hehe~

TAGLIST : @katdahlali @skepvids @agent-tempest @timhalamet @lovelybaka @cherrysxuya @ttulipwritezz @ireallywannasleep127 @cloudlst @fortheeeefics @younmey @googie-jeon @unstablereader @cassie6392 @kneelforloki @enamoredwithbella @arcanumofthestars @bookworm124 @sonics-atelier @yours-truly-maya @honkravenous @theunwcnted @venuseuripedis @fredsbetch @iciel @anuncalledbridge @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @delusional-4-fake-people @linaax

[acrinyx]

Ace Trappola Headcanons

Some of my list of Ace headcanons because why not

He has a slight accent with certain words he says and has a different speech pattern depending on who he's talking to

Has scars on his left hand from a mysterious injury and hides them with his glove on regular school days. If he doesn't have his glove, he's using either makeup or a glamor spell he learned from his brother

He doesn't have many friends back home, but the ones he does have are just as playful and mischievous as he is

Ace learned to count cards and is a master at rigging card decks in any player's favor. He learned by watching his brother and father

Even though he doesn't talk about her much, I think Ace adores his mother and his mother favors him over his brother. On the flipside, Ace's father favors his brother but overall everyone has a good standing with each other

Ace doesn't really like kids all that much, but he's really good at taking care of them and has babysat for neighbors a few times

He and his ex-girlfriend are actually on good standing with each other and they still talk fairly frequently

He's a little insecure about his red eyes and thinks that people might think he's evil (thanks cartoons). It also separates him from his brother and father who both have more orange eyes

He's actually very smart but doesn't like applying himself

Ace is secretive for no reason. One of his friends will ask him a very general question like "What are you doing?" or "Where are you going?" and he will just not give them a straight answer. Just a very private person

He is very accepting of other's sexualities and gender identities and everyone thinks he's just an ally. Yuu is the only person at NRC who knows he isn't straight

Despite his attitude that draws attention to himself, he doesn't like being in the spotlight and deflects any unwanted attention onto someone else (birthdays are a nightmare for him)

He fidgets with his glove when he's nervous/anxious/restless and if he isn't wearing his glove, he plays with a deck of cards

Ace's favorite card games are Black Jack, Hearts, Speed, and Poker (Texas Hold 'em)

Ace's family is full of magicians and illusionists and Ace knows almost every trick in the book

I don't think Ace knows exactly what he wants to do when he graduates and he's mostly going to NRC just because his brother did

Sometimes he's found just sitting alone somewhere super random just staring off into space and/or just wandering the halls if he's bored (cryptid)

He genuinely doesn't have a favorite friend. He'd lose his shit if any of them disappeared suddenly

Ace comes off as a coward and only seems like he wants to protect himself, but the moment you insult anyone he cares about his fists start flying (Riddle is painfully aware of this)

He bottles up a lot of his emotions until he literally can't hold in every thought he's ever had

His music taste consists of anything but country and classical music and always fights Epel and Sebek if one of them offers to take control of the playlist

He's very good at spotting liars and after the Playful Land event he was beating himself up a lot over not being able to see that Ernesto was playing them

Sometimes Ace just shows up at Ramshackle and it doesn't matter what time he does (it could be 4am or 3pm it doesn't matter), Yuu always lets him in and they always watch reality TV

Ace is secretly a really good artist but hasn't shown anyone his drawings

[weenwrites]

Can you write Optimus, Ratchet, and Predaking with an s/o who has idiopathic Hypersomnia? (It's a sleep disorder that makes someone incredibly sleepy all the time, and no matter how much they sleep, they're always tired and are incredibly hard to wake up.)

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Optimus

If you need a gentle reminder here and there to take any prescribed medicine, he quickly adapts to reminding you. His own sense of time is rather accurate, so he usually doesn't rely on a clock to know when you remind you. If you have a timer of your own to ensure that you'll definitely remember, he'll remind you a little early each time without fail.

And ever since you've told him more about your condition, he's tried to make the base more accommodating for whenever you need to take a brief rest. The couch isn't the most comfortable, given that it's rather old and worn, so he keeps cushions, blankets, and whatever else you might need to make it more comfortable somewhere within reach.

Additionally, the reason the base is made more accommodating is because at times you have to wait for him to escort you home whenever he's out on a mission or for reconnaissance. Granted, the groundbridge is also an option, and he does request for Ratchet to bridge you back to your home at times, but you've noticed that there are periods where the team cuts back on groundbridge usage due to an energon shortage. During these times, Optimus usually escorts you back to your home early and so you don't have to wait, but in the event where you are left waiting, the couch is much more comfortable than it was when you first arrived. He's sorry to make you wait, but he's grateful for your patience.

Ratchet

Whenever you start feeling tired at the base, he's got the couch ready for you with a few pillows and blankets and he's ready to tell everyone else to keep quiet for you just as he begins to work quieter if he can. However, in the event where the main area of the base is too loud, he's moved you and the couch to his habsuite before. It's further from all the noise and its quieter there.

He'll consistently remind you to take any prescribed medication and go to bed on time every night, since he's seen in a health article that it's good to maintain a consistent sleep schedule. So if he sees that you're still active on your phone, you'd best believe he'll be on your case, telling you to go to sleep (unless he knows that you're busy with something important that night).

If your condition prevented you from obtaining a driver's license, or whenever you feel too fatigued to drive yourself someplace to do an important task or go home, he'll of course be your go-to driver as long as he's available. You'll also be doing him a service since he rarely leaves the base, so don't you dare try to assure him that you're awake enough to try and drive yourself around. As a driver you understand how important it is to remain awake and alert 24/7 on the road.

Predaking

Initially he wasn't even aware that your condition was considered abnormal. He already thought that it was strange that humans had to rest so frequently, so he hadn't thought much of your fatigue until you explained more about your condition to him. Though once or twice, he may have gotten a little concerned when it took a little more than a gentle nudge to wake you up, but it's due to his limited understanding of humans.

Whenever you take brief naps aboard the Nemesis, he's always sure to bring you to the quietest and most secluded areas of the ship so you can rest in peace. Of course it's rather hard, given the fact that the engine's whirring can be heard from every corner of the vessel, but he still tries. As such, the other vehicons around the ship quickly catch onto the message he spells out with a low warning growl and his flayed fangs, regardless of whether they see you sleeping beneath all those blankets or not.

If he hadn't been ordered to keep his identity a secret from other humans, nothing would stop him from flying you wherever you need to go whenever you're too tired. But all he can really do for you is try and help you get some rest in peace, or remind you to take your medication but he feels it isn't enough. At times like these, he's embarrassed of his own powerlessness. At the very least he can request a groundbridge to transport you home, but he wishes he could do that himself instead.

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

ALNST analysis about Luka's "Drowing Bloom" Patreon post and his page

The following analysis is formulated in response to this query from a mutual of mine. The post states as follows:

I just read the new, free Patreon post and. huh. what do you mean "LUKA has never felt insecure in his life" lmao. isn't it official information that he used to have low self-esteem? how does "had low self-esteem" and "has never felt insecure in his life" go together. unless it's another definition of "insecure" that's being used here? I'm somewhat confused but also that's a funny sentence tbh

I'm here to talk about that, though I'll mainly be dissecting the new Patreon content.

The following content will contain discussions of Luka, Hyuna, Hyun Woo, HyunLuka, child abuse, unconventionally/potentially uncomfortable love and relationship, bullying, and social isolation.

To begin this discussion, I will clarify any doubts that may be had about the exact wording. (I haven't been able to find any translation analysis/translators who can clarify because Patreon posts are already translated, so you'll have to excuse my limited capabilities.)

In the post, Luka's "insecure" mentioned above is related to the word "uneasy" of the first sentence; but when I put it through a translator to get each word separately, they were all spelled differently while having mostly similar/related characters. The words originally came out as "unstable" when the sentences were together. When I translated them on their own, I obtained three different results.

불안합니다 "He is anxious/I am anxious."

것입니다 "feeling anxious"

불안하다는 "I feel anxious"

After wasting about an hour and writing an unnecessary amount of analysis I ended up scrapping, I come to the conclusion that they are all synonymous and simply changed for grammar reasons or clarity.

(If you care, here's a list of English equivalents for the different groupings: uneasy, anxious, insecure, unstable, nervousness, trepidation. Someone who knows Korean can correct me if I'm wrong about anything.)

Next in line, I will analyze the overall picture of Hyuna and Luka's relationship through the years. (Read also, we finally get HyunLuka analysis through the flowers + Hyun Woo mentions.)

Hyuna and Luka were intimately close as children. With the addition of Hyun Woo, the three are almost always depicted together, like inseparable friends. Hyuna consistently allowed Luka to engage in behaviors other humans saw as off-putting or disgusting around her. Lacking expressions and engagement in interaction, disregarding others' presence and emotions to the point of being physically hurtful, and constantly sucking on or biting objects and Hyuna herself—she accepted it all and even showed that she did not consider it queer/unnatural. Luka repeatedly expressed his "love" for her as possession and desires for control. He has been conditioned to believe that care/love is obsession and obedience. He is not able to force the girl he loves (physically and mentally) but wants her near him and subordinate to him so she can never have to worry again and he can control everything around her. This is in direct relation to the fact that he has no worries for his future because his path had already been set out for him since the concept of "Luka" existed.

But don't forget Hyuna's side of this relationship. Hyuna, who originally had her precious brother with her and led both Hyun Woo and Luka in playing together. Hyuna loved Luka so much that she would let him do anything he wanted, really. One of her canonical regrets is how permissive she allowed herself to be with him. People think that Hyuna doesn't love Luka anymore or simply cut it all off when her brother died. That's simply not true. The fandom has labeled them as "tragic heteros," and I think that's a fitting title. They're beautiful opposites. From the start, Hyuna has always been seen as the extroversion to Luka's introversion. She jumps into situations, and he follows.

Luka's love is insecure (translated flower-wise as anxious) because of their past and conflicting ideals. It says in the Patreon post that "LUKA thought the whole time he was away from HYUNA. About what he should have done, and how on earth he could be more connected to his loved ones than blood." I'd like to point out that loved ones is plural. Luka has loved more than just Hyuna in his life. And the loved ones he had either had someone who was blood related who he felt was closer than him (jealousy) or shedding blood seemed like the only way to have those people close to him (obsessive behavior).

Hyuna loves so strongly that the flower used means that her love is "without measure." Hyuna doesn't look back yet still holds affection and care inside, locked away because addressing the love means addressing the trauma. Her "love" also connects to the revolution and freedom. She has an emptiness inside of her, and she makes the steps to fill it with her own two hands. She will not drown in grief and let the two ones she loved most being removed from her life make her stop reaching out for her love of freedom. She was a girl with no idea what she was doing when she escaped, but she has grown into a woman who is determined to live her life for herself.

The contrast and similarity is striking.

Luka's description makes him sound weak, the image of lying down and feeling water flow over your hand comes to me. The acceptance and surety of fate and letting life be is the behavior I struggle to find a word for that isn't complacency. He feels inactive, only pondering how he could have changed things but never doing anything.

Hyuna's description sounds desperate and bold. We know from "All-In" that she still gets vivid flashbacks even when soaked in noise and distractions. She is a person who works impulsively and passionately, putting her whole heart into something. Littered with regrets—she has to push on to survive.

Yet, these two are so similar.

They held the love inside of them deep down, never speaking of it aloud except in the only ways that they know how to show themselves—song. Their flowers are both colorful because of their individual beauties that they show in their own way. It is Hyuna who was insinuated to have influenced Luka in seeing the stage as a place where he can be in control.

They are both empty due to loss, both coping by leaving the past behind and physically unaddressed (despite different mentalities behind the actions). While Hyuna doesn't look back and distracts herself, Luka wears a mask and deludes himself, and they both pretend the world is going to work out the way they need because they are in control in their own minds. They're simultaneously trapped in their ideologies, and this conflict is the reason they are the "tragic heteros" of the narrative.

Moving on, I will talk about the page whose image I will provide below. (ID in alt text, English only)

As much as I consider Herperu the lowest of low, I cannot discredit his words and say he knows nothing of Luka. He made it his personal mission to know every detail of his finest creation. Luka was tailor-made after all, with many fans theorizing that he was created in a lab/test tube-like container. While I cannot give you canon facts for something unstated, I can give you a handful of theories concerning why Heperu claims Luka has low self-esteem.

Luka may have had confidence issues from his ostracization in Anakt Garden. (He was ignored by his peers and, in an official comic, shown to be treated like he didn't exist/wasn't significant. Assuming this was normal behavior given to him in his days at Anakt Garden, there is good reason to believe that when Hyuna left/grew distanced after Hyun Woo's death, so did his only hold on interaction with a fellow human.)

Luka is conditioned to believe everything Heperu tells him unconditionally and holds onto the sentiment of how he will be no good if he isn't "talented enough" as well as his mandatory duty to be the god among men of idols. (He must always be in perfect shape in order to present himself. There can never be a flaw. His autonomy does not exist. He is a good for others to take from. He must be a model pet.)

Luka's only confidence came from his performance and acting, he had no real confidence in himself as a person, away from cameras, or off-stage. (He seems to have adopted Hyuna's philosophy of singing giving a person freedom to express how they are, seeing as he is more expressive on-stage and masks everywhere else.)

Herperu's words could be what is a common case of "assuming you know what a creature wants/is feeling from researching instead of asking directly." (Segyein see humans like humans see animals. If an animal shows certain behaviors, we consult resources in order to know how to view and approach the situation. If research told Heperu that Luka had low self-esteem, then he would believe that rather than ask his pet how he feels.)

Heperu could be gaslighting Luka into thinking he has low self-esteem or gaslighting the press into thinking Luka is "humble" or whatever.

I, personally, don't have full trust of segyein's descriptions of humans because it's obvious that they very rarely (if ever) ask the human how they're feeling or neglect to even do simple analysis of humanity. (Also, Heperu is incredibly selfish and manipulative, without a single thought or consideration being about Luka's comfort, happiness, or healthy living. Honestly, I hate that alien. I hope his dick-shaped head-body snaps in two.)

To wrap this analysis up, my conclusion is simple. It is up to a fan's interpretation to figure out whether they think Luka has low self-esteem, is in a constant state of surety, used to have low self-esteem and has now changed that state of mind, or exists as a mixture of multiple states in multiple areas. Canon's conflict stems from information we cannot fully be sure on, and the creators remark about the complexity of Luka's emotions and the inability for almost anyone. "We don't know if anyone will ever know LUKA's heart..." They admit that there is a limit and that he is a difficult creature to understand.

Extra: my personal theories

Personally, I believe that Luka has low self-esteem due to his view of himself as worthless without his trained skills and inferior to segyein by existence. I believe he has never been insecure because he has never tried to drift from the path that was paved for him. I believe he still knows that the love between him and Hyuna is insecure because of the instinct that the Patreon post mentions; it would be more accurate to use the synonyms "uneasy/unstable." He is stable/secure in his livelihood so long as he follows the life that he knows no alternative from; his relationship is unstable/insecure due to the trauma on Hyuna's end and his forceful nature; he had low self-esteem either from his peers' isolation or from Heperu's reminders that he is only worth something as long as Heperu deems it so.

Thanks for reading.