#and to some extent i will always be wrong

[ruruumin]

mirror mirror

₊˚ ☘︎ huntr/x rumi x fem! reader.

⤷ feeling exposed after a live performance gone wrong.

“get out!” 

the explosive voice of rumi echos in the confined room. you stand in front of her, eyes wider than saucers as she quickly wraps her hands around her exposed arms. she is staring at you like a deer in headlights. her breath is ragged and torn apart. if you looked close enough, there were tears starting to bubble at the corners of her eyes.

you notice the patterns on her skin but that’s not that concerns you. 

“rumi,” you say, slowly approaching her. every time you take a step forward, she is backing away. there is a thick layer of tension between the two of you, something that had only happened once or twice in your careers. 

“stay away! don’t look at me!” she is closing her eyes, squeezing them shut while the tears start to flow. hoping that this was all a sick prank by the demons, by gwi-ma or jinu, she shuts the whole world out. she chooses to submerge herself in an ocean of wallow. away from prying eyes she hides herself.

rumi has lived her entire life in shame. when the marks started coming as small patches on her arm, celine made it a constant habit to pull down her sleeves. summers were hot and blistering. however, it was nothing compared to suffocating turtleneck masking her patterns. every invite to the bathhouse was a deathwish to her career, and she felt scared that with each ‘no’ her friends will distance themselves from her. 

the last person she wanted to see these patterns was you. while mira and zoey could understand to some extent, you were entirely different. as her agent and longtime friend, maybe something more after the recent debut of golden, she can’t let you see this side of her. those soft, alluring touches behind the stage keeps her awake at night. it has her thinking about the what if’s for your careers. she questions if shes ready to risk everything for you.

you are human. she’s a demon. even if only half of her body has patterns, that doesn’t distinguish her from the rest. she was your responsibility and with these new profound marks, it might over complicate the already strained relationship the two of you have. 

if she was the sun, you were the moon. 

if she was gold, you were silver. 

as cool as water, your touch stings her. bringing your arms slowly around her, you pull rumi into a deep, tight hug. squeezing out every ounce of stress from her bones as you press your face against her shoulder, you let her weep into your arms. 

“i’m sorry you have to see me like this.” she sobs, tucking her fingers beneath the folds of your shirt. her lungs are burning. her chest was on fire as if they were seeped in a bucket of hot sauce. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” 

“don’t apologize.” you suck in a deep, careful breath. “it’s okay. everything is going to be okay.” 

“the show—the live performance. the fans, everyone is waiting for me out there,” rumi is choking over her own words. unable to contain the fears that have plagued her for years, they’re finally reaching her. they’re sinking into her flesh with their filthy claws and she feels tainted. 

“there will always be more live performances in the future. don’t stress about the pr backlash. that’s what me and bobby are for.” 

brushing your fingers through her hair, you loosen the tight braids that hold her together. the weight of the world is slowly lifting off of her shoulders. for some strange reason, she thinks its you making this happen. “come back to sing when you’re ready. we will reschedule the live performance and push back any shows.”

“this is your era, rumi,” the palm of your hand makes contact with the side of her cheek. “i’m sure everyone will love and adore you.” 

“what if… i’m not the person everyone wants me to be?” rumi’s response is hurried and desperate. she’s chasing after something she can’t grasp yet.

“who do you want to be, rumi?” 

you slowly pull away from her but she clings onto you. 

“i want to be perfect.”

your grip on her tightens and it reassures her that you aren’t leaving. “humans aren’t perfect though.” 

her eyes are stinging at your words. if she was truly human, she wouldn’t have to live with these patterns. she didn’t need to live underneath celine’s careful gaze. she could go to the bathhouse with zoey and mira. she could do anything she wanted. she could even…

looking up into your eyes, she hiccups. 

words are bubbling up in her throat and they pop once they touch air. they escape her and she struggles to catch them. instead of scolding her the same way celine always would, your voice is a mere whisper. untouched by the cruelty of demons and all things gwi-ma, you shine brighter than the smiling stars. 

“you’re okay, rumi. everything is going to be okay.” wiping away her smeared mascara and tears, your gaze never wavers. it is as soft as silken tofu. it continues to melt her body into your unshaken arms.

you’re the rock in her life. a steady, unmoving force that keeps her grounded. in a place where demons threaten every corner, you make the world seem normal.

you make her feel normal.

instead of verbally acknowledging your words, she holds you close to her chest. just enough to hear the gentle beating of your heart mix with hers. 

[maxdibert]

Regarding Snape's skill and intelligence, I think a big advantage he had over a lot of his peers was his ability to think logically and outside the box. It's part of his test in the first book; he creates a logic puzzle with different potions that a person must get correct if they want to get to the philosopher's stone or else be poisoned. I think Hermione states that this would stump most wizards and witches because they rely on magic so much that they forget how to problem solve.

And I think this is also how he manages to trick Voldemort. Snape just needed to teach Harry how to use Occlumency to keep Voldemort out of his brain, that was the extent of what he needed, he didn't need to know anything else about Occulumency. Snape, however, needed to be able to use Occlumency without letting Voldemort know he was using it. It Voldemort runs into a mental wall whenever he goes digging through Snape's brain, he's going to get suspicious. Snape needs to appear to be an open book without actually giving away any of his true thoughts and memories (or, at least, none of the important ones that will hurt his mission). That's going to require some major brainpower and creativity.

There are many types of intelligence. Hermione, for example, is brilliant when it comes to memorizing and accumulating information—she’s academic intelligence at its finest—but Severus constantly despises her because they are polar opposites in their perception of what true intelligence really is. Severus isn’t intelligent because he memorizes things; Severus processes information, makes it his own, and questions it. He draws his own conclusions. Hermione uses vertical or convergent thinking, which is based on logical deduction, relying on available information, on what she can hear, see, and touch. That’s why she never questions books or authority. Severus, on the other hand, is pure lateral thinking, which is about breaking away from traditional thought patterns. People like Hermione see the tree, people like Severus always see the forest.

They’re both nerds, both brainy, but their vision of knowledge is diametrically opposed. People like Severus have a broader, more alternative and ingenious view of the world, which is why they despise those who simply learn and repeat. Lateral thinkers see vertical thinkers as slaves to the system. And this is evident in the fact that Severus rewrote his Potions book. He doesn’t care that the original author was a Potions master, or that his professors recommended it, he doesn’t care. To him, authority doesn’t come from a teaching position or having written a book, it comes from your ability to prove your worth and to show you know how to exploit your knowledge. And no matter how much of an expert someone might be, if he thinks they’re wrong or that something can be improved, he improves it. Severus doesn’t stay boxed in by academia, he challenges it. That’s why he can’t stand Hermione: she represents the kind of student that is the opposite of what he once was. Severus doesn’t value meritocracy; he values critical thinking. And that makes perfect sense, considering he’s an intellectual from a working-class background, but that’s a whole other discussion.

The thing is, yes, Severus was a brilliant man. Maybe he was never able to fully develop or reach his full potential, as much as he would have liked or needed. I also think there’s a universal law that says the best way to lie is by telling the truth, and I believe that must have been his trick when dealing with Voldemort’s abilities. Being honest doesn’t mean you’re not lying, you can be truthful when necessary. It’s a common trick to get past polygraph systems, for example.

[absolutelynotclassicusernam-blog]

Rilla of Ingleside Book Club: Chapter V, “The Sound of a Gong”

Rilla and the other women may be holding themselves back from crying, but I am more than willing to cry for them.

I feel like to a certain extent in this chapter I have to forget that I’m a pacifist, or it would hurt too much. Everyone believes that their boys are so strong and brave and right—no wonder they all lash out at poor Whiskers-on-the-Moon. They have to believe that their boys are right, or they wouldn’t be able to live with themselves.

And oh god, that line Rilla writes in her diary: “Mother’s eyes never laugh now.” To remember that that’s our Anne—to think of her eyes not laughing anymore!

But once again, thank God for Susan. “Shirley says she is one half angel and the other half good cook.” That is so funny—and gives the Shirley fandom some more to parse. I look forward to hearing y’all’s thoughts!

It’s so interesting, that Rilla is the character who doesn’t like babies, given what’s coming up for her. It definitely makes things interesting—but I wish there was a major character who didn’t like babies who wouldn’t end up being a foster mother.

When people talk of gender in war books, it is always so interesting to me. This is a big thing in “Little Women”, of course, but we also see it in this chapter. Faith says, “Oh, if I were only a man, to go too!” Rilla says that of course she would go if she were a boy, but she doesn’t seem to want it in the same way Faith does. On the other hand, Walter, who doesn’t want to go but thinks he should, says, “I should have been a girl.” I’m not making any assumptions about how these characters would identify today—although if anyone wants to, please go right ahead—but I do think it’s very interesting how they do, or don’t, feel comfortable in the gender roles they are expected to fulfill, and in what gender roles are during a war. (I suppose they are less so now, to a certain degree, but still.)

Talking of gender roles, let’s talk about how Gilbert once—long before the war—said that “the trouble with Walter is a sensitive nature and a vivid imagination.” Rilla says that there’s nothing wrong with either of those things, and go her for that, but Gilbert said “trouble”, which implies something wrong pretty strongly. And yet Gilbert fell in love with a woman with a sensitive nature and a vivid imagination! I know the general opinion of the fandom is that Gilbert can do no wrong, but I gotta say I don’t love this. It’s also interesting to me that Gilbert’s favorite child is Di, who looks like Anne but has his personality, while Walter is the reverse.

Oh, boy. Enter Norman Douglas. What a character. I don’t agree with him about pretty much anything, except for a dislike of missionaries, and I don’t expect I’d like him much if we met—but he’s so much fun to read.

And enter Whiskers-on-the-Moon’s politics. “England went into it just because she was jealous of Germany and that she did not really care in the least what happened to Belgium.” Local World War I historians, is that accurate?

John Meredith…what the fuck? Are you okay? “Without shedding of blood there is no anything”? Norman Douglas calling him out on it makes the second time I agree with him.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

(2) A Change in Proceedings - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 4176> |the full series|

warnings: blood, a small amount of murder

"Have you got everything?" Charles asked, standing by the front door as his driver, and most trusted man, Francisco, took the bag that you had borrowed which contained your dress and heels and put it in the car. He wanted you to say that you'd forgotten something, just so that he could keep you there for a little longer.

He hoped that this wasn't the last time he'd see you, because he felt that the two of you had grown quite a strong bond over the day or two that you had been living in his house. He enjoyed having someone else there that wasn't hired help or someone that was there for business.

It was nice to be able to take care of someone, have someone to talk to after a long day, and someone to spoil to some degree. He had never had time to have someone around, but your situation just so happened to work out for him. And hopefully for you.

"Yeah, I think so. I can always just come and pick anything up if I have forgotten something," you nodded, checking through your purse for the essential things you needed. You appeared to have all of your belongings.

"OK then, after you," he softly smiled to conceal his sadness, opening the front door for you before rushing ahead to open the car door for you as well.

"Thanks," you smiled back, sitting into the plush seats of the car. Charles hopped in beside you as the car started rolling away from the house. The outside was just as beautiful as the inside, and you couldn't help but stare in awe.

It was like a stately English home, but somewhere in Monaco. It had the same essence of grandeur and class, and you had never seen anything quite as stunning in person. The gates opened as you pulled out of the driveway, and you couldn't help but miss the place already.

The car ride back to your house was silent, neither you nor Charles wanting to say something to ruin the peace. You eventually pulled up outside of your place after watching the countryside of Monaco rolling by through the windows.

However, as the car ground to a halt, Charles suddenly felt a strange sense of discomfort. His gut feeling was something of unease, and his senses went onto high alert. "Stay there," he instructed you, getting out of the car, along with Francisco who was going to get your bag from the boot.

Not giving you a chance to respond, he had the door locked as the boot closed. You shuffled closer to the window, very confused as to what was going on. All you could do was watch them through the glass. "Something's up," Charles said, Francisco looking at him like he was crazy.

But, he knew Charles better than that. The man had instincts that were beyond anything, and he always knew when something was out of place. He had never been wrong, and he sure as hell wasn’t taking a gamble with it now. "Up how?" he asked, wanting to know the extent of what they were probably dealing with.

"That house. There's something not right with it," Charles explained, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to accept that his mind was trying to tell him that you were in danger.

"Not right in what way?"

"Not right in the way that I don't want her going in there without surveying the scene first," Charles said, trying to pinpoint what he actually thought was wrong with your house.

He got back in the car and sat down next to you. "Is everything OK?" you asked, curious yet concerned about whatever was going on.

"Does anything look different about the house? Does anything stand out?" he asked, without explaining anything. You stared intently at your home, looking for anything odd or out of place. Then, you saw it.

"The living room window is open. I never opened that one," you said, and Charles' face looked like it fell.

"Can I have your key for the front door?" he asked quietly, trying not to alarm you, but his demeanour was unsettling.

"Yeah..." you sceptically nodded, producing it out of your purse and handing it to him.

"Thank you, stay here," he instructed once again, getting out of the car again and marching up to the front door with Francisco. You were yet again locked in the car as Charles opened your front door and closed it behind him.

You could see the figures of the two men through the windows at the front, but you couldn't make out what they were doing apart from walking around, appearing as if they were looking for something.

"If there's not someone or something in this place, I will be thoroughly surprised," Charles quietly deadpanned to Francisco once they had gotten into the living room where the suspiciously open window was.

The men stood there, listening. Listening for a sign of movement, life, change. Charles heard what sounded like the faint squeak of the floorboards coming from another room. Without saying anything, Charles nodded over to the door where the sound had come from.

The pair silently approached the door to the room that Charles had heard the noise from, again pausing to listen out for any other sounds. They were met with silence as Charles braced his hand on the door handle, ready for a swift entrance.

Francisco nodded, gun in hand as he waited for Charles to open the door. In one quick movement, Charles opened the door and the pair darted through. Just as expected, there was a man, standing there, as if he were waiting for something.

"Leclerc, wasn't expecting you," he smirked, even while having two guns pointed at his body. "The girl waiting in the car? Where she's safe?" he continued, almost mockingly when he described your position.

"Let me guess, one of Christian's?" Charles huffed, feeling the anger bubble up inside of him. First, he had tried to kidnap you. Now, he had sent a man to your house.

"Mr Dubois feels he has... missed out on his time with the lady. You interfered, Mr Leclerc, and you know my boss doesn't take very kindly to that," he explained, and Charles' brain thought that something wasn't connecting. There had been a slight miscommunication.

"I think you'll find that that order didn't come from your boss. I'm guessing you didn't get to see the box I sent him back in?" Charles asked, recalling what he'd done to the man who had tried to kidnap you and his biggest rival.

He had made sure you were safe at his house before he conducted his few hour long, gruelling session with the man whom he hated more than anything. He had been trying to take him out for a while, even against the advice of everyone on his side of the decades long conflict.

Charles had resisted for as long as he could, but what he tried to do to you was the final straw for him. All of the self-control that had kept holding him back had completely dissipated, and he wasn't regretting a single second of it.

"I didn't quite mean Christian, Mr Leclerc. Victor wasn't best impressed when he heard of the passing of his son. He was back in Monaco within a few hours. I'll preface by saying he's not very happy with you. But, I'm sure if you let me take the girl, his anger may slightly subside," the man explained, and Charles' face remained stoic, but he was horrified on the inside.

Now he'd really screwed up.

You were in danger, and it was his fault. He had let his temper get the better of him, and his mission of trying to protect you from this world had wholeheartedly backfired on him. "Not happening," he hissed through gritted teeth, trying not to go absolutely ballistic as Francisco was prepared for whatever fight it was that Charles was going to start.

"Don't get hot headed, you're a smart man, think about this. Give me the girl, or watch the world around you burn at Mr Dubois' mercy," he cockily bartered, as if he had any power in this situation.

"Fuck off," Charles spat, smoothly firing a bullet through the man's chest as his body went limp. Charles and Francisco watched as he fell into a crumpled heap on the floor, glistening red splatters left up the walls of your bedroom as his blood pooled on the hardwood of your floor.

Some spattered on the pristine white of your sheets, and Charles couldn't help but feel guilty about it. Not about the man, no, he was more than happy about that. But now there were traces of what his occupation in your house, and he most certainly wasn't letting you stay there.

Even if he stayed in the house with you, even if he brought the guards with him, even if he spent every waking minute by your side, he wouldn't feel confident that you'd be OK. His house had every security measure possible, and then he'd know you were safe, even when he wasn't there.

"You're digging your own grave, Charles," Francisco said, looking at the lifeless, paling body on the floor. He knew his boss had a short temper, but the wild look in his eyes was even scaring him slightly, even after knowing him for so long.

He was letting his emotions get in the way of the business and in the way of common sense, and that would not be a smart move. Especially from a man as powerful and as sought after as Charles. 

"Bastards should learn their place. Get someone to clean this up, I need to get her home," Charles ordered, and Francisco just nodded as he watched his boss hand him your keys and walked out of the house.

Francisco started to make some calls as Charles approached the car, unlocking it as he threw his blazer into the boot, then got in beside you. "Charles, what happened? I heard a really loud bang..." you said, and the morsels of fear in your eyes killed him.

"Nothing, it's fine, I've taken care of it." he said, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the soft, chocolate strands.

"You can't keep doing that. What the hell happened in there?" you asked, your tone firm and demanding. Charles wasn't used to other people demanding things of him, since it was usually the other way around, but he felt you had every right to know.

"You're not safe here, you need to stay with me for a bit," he loosely explained.

"Why?" you pressed.

"The man who tried to kidnap you isn't very happy with me, and he still wants you. There was a man in your house, but now Francisco is sorting out the issue." he told you, skirting around the issue that Christian Dubois was actually dead and decapitated, and now one of his henchmen was bleeding out in your bedroom. 

The pure fear that flashed in your eyes nearly broke him, as you shuffled away from him so that you were pressed against the door on the other side of the car. "Hey, can you look at me?" he mumbled as your eyes were glued to the window.

"Please?" he asked again, still keeping his tone soft. He didn't want to be firm with you, since he knew that was the last thing you needed. Your leg was bouncing nervously up and down, since you knew that something had happened in your house, and the thought of that made you feel sick.

Charles hadn't felt this guilty in a long while, and he just wanted to reassure you that you were OK, and that you were safe with him. "Please, look at me," he said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Apprehensively, you turned your head to look at him, your gaze barely meeting his. "I promise, I'm going to fix this, you can go back to your normal life, and I'll make sure you're safe. I'm not going to let you get hurt," he said, but you were still nervous.

You didn't say anything, you just nodded as you turned to look back out of the window. Francisco returned as a black SUV rolled up to your house as well. You didn't even want to know what they were going to do, so you just looked at the environment around you. 

The world went by in a blur as you were taken back to Charles' house. You didn't even wait for him as you got out of the car, walked up to the front door and let yourself in. The men on the door were confused to see you, but you ignored their confused looks as you darted straight up the stairs.

Annette caught a glimpse of you, a worried look on her face as Charles was still contemplating whether he wanted to follow you, or just leave you be. "She's scared," he said, and Annette could instantly tell that something had happened. You had come back, Charles hadn't looked that dishevelled in a long time, even Francisco looked worried.

"Scared of what?"

"Me..." he mumbled, running his hands through his hair again.

"OK, OK. I'll go talk to her," Annette said, picking up the small bag of your things as she ascended the stairs.

"I'll go and inform the others of our predicament," Francisco said, leaving Charles in the foyer. He needed a minute to think, so he went upstairs and to his office. Only sitting two doors away from you when he knew you needed comfort was excruciating.

Annette knocked on the door to your room. "Not now Charles, I want to be by myself," you called out.

"It's not Charles, miel," Annette softly said as you opened the door for her. She came in, seeing how tired you looked. You had clearly had an emotional day, and she felt awful for you. "What happened?" she asked, taking your hand and sitting next to you on the bed.

"There was a man in my house, and I'm pretty sure Charles killed him or something, and apparently there's people after me now, and I don't even know what's really going on," you rambled, your voice cracking. "What does Charles even do?" you mumbled through your tears.

"Charles' job is... far from normal. I doubt he would have done it if he wasn't born into it, and it's a lot to handle," she gently explained, wrapping her arms around you in a comforting hug. "But I don't think you need to think about that right now. How about I run you a nice bath, I'll have whatever you want for dinner ready for when you get out?" she said.

"That sounds nice," you agreed, staying on the bed as Annette went to run your bath. It wasn't long before the tub in your ensuite bathroom was filled with hot water and bubbles. "If you need me, just shout, I'll stay nearby. There's a towel on the back of the door," she told you, leaving you to it.

She had lit candles for you all around, and you really appreciated how attentive she was. You took your clothes off, before lowering yourself down into the warm water. It didn't wash away the thoughts and fears from the day, but it sure as hell did subdue them momentarily as you focused on the feeling of the bubbles on your skin.

In the meantime, Annette barged through the door of Charles' office. She was the only one who had permission and who dared to do such a thing when he was there. "What were you thinking?" she angrily said, and he had never seen her so annoyed.

"I had to kill him, Annette. I couldn't just let him go free and risk him going back to Victor," Charles explained, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

"Victor? I thought Victor was gone? Where's Christian?" she asked, and the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. He looked at her like a naughty child who knew he was about to be told off. "Charles... please tell me you didn't..." she said, now realising the gravity of the situation.

"He was the one who tried to kidnap her. Don't worry, I did it in the warehouse, sent his body back home, there's no proof it was me," he explained, and Annette simply looked horrified. Charles was normally clever. This was far from clever.

"So now you've terrified the poor girl, and you've got the entire Dubois family plus all their other desperate helpers wanting you and her dead. Great idea Charles, very clever indeed," she ranted. Just like barging into his office, Annette was the only one allowed to criticise his actions in such a manner. And this time, he knew she was right. 

"She's safe here," he said, avoiding eye contact with her as he propped his feet up on the leather top of his large, wooden desk.

"You can't keep her here, Charles, that's not fair. She had a perfectly normal life before the other night, and you can't expect her to just sit here and rot away while you try and fix your stupid mistakes," she scolded.

"What else am I supposed to do? Let her go and practically watch her get kidnapped then probably hurt and defamed in front of me? It's like signing her death warrant!" he countered, unsure of what other options he had.

"You signed it the second you placed a hand on Christian!"

"He placed his hands on her! I couldn't just let an innocent woman go to that absolute animal of a motherfucker!" he exclaimed, truly feeling that he didn't have many other options and that he had done what he could have given the scenario.

"But was killing him necessary?" Francisco piped up from his spot as he leant in the doorway.  Neither of the two had noticed him sneak his way in there, but he was there now. When given a small nod from Charles, Francisco entered the office and stood beside Annette.

"He was going to hurt her," Charles reiterated, getting slightly frustrated by the fact that they couldn't see the desperate position he had been in.

"But by killing him, you're also hurting her. They think by hurting her, they'll hurt you. That's what they want," Francisco countered, curious to see how Charles would react. He just shook his head, looking down at his lap as he thought.

Yes, Francisco was right, and very much so. Now that Charles had kept you in his home and killed for you, the Dubois' had every right to assume that your pain would result in Charles' pain. Your sadness and his. Your demise and his. Your life and his.

"Then that's not what they're getting. I don't give a shit whether I have to keep her in this goddamn house until the day I drop dead. I got her into this mess, now I'm going to get her out of it. You two can either keep complaining at me, or you can help me give her the best life I can under the circumstances." he said, the other two staying silent.

"I'll take her back home when the mess is cleaned up, she can pick up what she wants,"  Francisco said, not wanting to push Charles too far. He had already seen his temper get the better of him today, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of anything from him.

"Do you want her staying where she is or do you want her moving to a different room?" Annette asked, wanting to make your stay there as comfortable as she could given the circumstances.

"No, no, she's settled in there. And she's close enough to me at all times that way," he started with a small nod, thinking that this would be the best decision for you. You knew the room, you knew the layout, and you seemed happy in there. "Even if she's scared of me..." he mumbled.

He was so used to liking people being scared of him, because that meant they wouldn't mess with him and they'd do what he said. But in this scenario, he absolutely hated it. The fear in your eyes after he'd come out of your house was haunting him, like the ghost of the image followed him around.

It was a given that you'd be scared, obviously, but he wished you weren't. He didn't want to make you any more scared than you probably already were, since you had woken up in a stranger's house, and now you had likely clocked that there was a dead body or something unsavory in your house.

"I think it's best if you stay away from her for the evening, Charles. I'll make sure she's alright," Annette reassured, and Charles just stayed quiet. He wanted to protest, but he knew it wasn't going to get him anywhere.

He wanted to apologise, to comfort you, to make sure you knew that he would protect you with his last dying breath. But you didn't want to hear it. Not yet, anyway. The guilt was eating him up inside. By letting his temper get out of control, it felt like he was holding the gun to your head himself.

Now, he had to set about putting plans in place to make sure you'd be happy. He needed to figure out everything about you. Yet he refused to. He had screwed up enough, and the last thing he wanted to do was use his sources of intelligence to stalk your entire life story.

He wanted to hear it from you, not from someone else. He assumed you'd have mentioned if you had a job you had to be at, unless you were on vacation or something. Did you have any significant others who would look for you? Any family who would need to know where you were? All of them were vital details. 

But desperate times called for desperate measures, so all he could do was start digging. Booting up his computer, he shot emails to his trusted informants and private investigators, ready to find out every last scrap about your life. 

They responded in good time, since Charles was their one client who offered the most business and who paid the most for their services. They knew better than to cross him, so all they could do was provide the very best of what they had to offer. 

Despite the fact that his requests were sent at the time they’d usually be clocking out for the day, the least they could do for their number one customer was give him some sort of information. 

Scouring through their databases, they found a bit on you. You were normal, to say the least. Not a particularly remarkable person. Regular, middle-class family who all had regular jobs. You had gone through the education system like everyone had, straight through the university pipeline to a job you never wanted in the first place. 

The only part of interest about you was that you weren’t originally from Monaco, but Charles guessed that pretty quickly. French clearly wasn’t your first language, and you had a different accent whenever you spoke English. 

You worked at the bank, mainly just doing menial jobs like depositing cash, cashing cheques and all of the boring things a bank clerk would have to do. He could only assume that you wanted to become something bigger within the financial system, and probably something a lot more exciting. 

Charles’ informants also found it very easy to get any social media account that you had ever logged into right to him, and he was able to have a little stalk through. He basically had your entire life laid out in front of him in pictures and captions. 

Most of the accounts were private, but they had an easy workaround to get into them. You didn’t post often, and if you did, it was only when you were spending time with friends and people close to you. After scrolling through for a minute or two, he stumbled upon pictures from a holiday to Spain that you had taken the year prior. 

He’d be a fool if he didn’t admit that the sight of you with bronzed skin, covered only in a miniscule bikini wasn’t something he wanted to see more of. Your curves were on full show, your face being lit up by the sun. 

Unfortunately for him, Charles could feel the blood rushing south and he had to quickly click off the page to subdue himself somewhat. He wasn’t going down that rabbit hole, not today. He had already gotten himself into a mess as it was, and he didn’t want to make it worse. Figuratively and literally.

A/N - Hello lovely people! For any of you Wattpad users, I do have my own little account that I am thinking of posting on... I'd be reposting some of these as well as some exclusives if you would like to see those.

If you wanna be added to the tag list, drop me a comment. I'm going to post my upload schedule soon so that you guys know when things are coming out! A reblog on this would be greatly appreciated, love y'all 💖

tag list: @fangirlmusicbiashoe

|masterlist|the full series|

[cup-o-stars]

I have so many ideas about these two and their unexplored dynamic, but Doflamingo is hard for me to characterize AND draw.

These were the only bits of brainstorming I had that were legible (my rough sketches/writing get ROUGH). Featuring:

1. Doflamingo using the power of love as yet another reason to kill people.

2. Rosinante being incapable of distinguishing between true evil and the things that simply piss him off.

If you want to see what overthinking looks like, I also spent like an hour trying to decide which of these dialogue options were more fitting. I had to ask for assistance (hence the red writing) and could still barely do it.

It's nothing in the end, but details bug me, ha.

[bogkeep]

after much deliberation i decided to join the swedish watchmakers' association annual dinner last night, if only because the fried tofu poke bowl sounded very tasty. i attended it in my first year, and as with every group dinner held in that particular restaurant with a sizeable number of people, what i remember the most is how noisy it was, and how absolutely impossible it was for me to partake in any conversation. so i would be doing it almost purely for 1) fried tofu poke bowl 2) maybe something incredible would happen. you never know. maybe i would sit next to someone really cool and manage 1 super good conversation. surely it won't be That noisy...

anyway i had to leave almost as soon as i finished my food (it was okay), my head was aching the entire rest of the evening and i can still feel it despite the sleep and the pankillers, and i badly regret not wearing some of my many earplugs i keep around for situations like these.

How Do People Live Like This. i know i am literally autistic and experience heightened sensitivity to sound but oh my god. how do people have conversations under circumstances like these. how do people's heads not explode. how do they willingly go to big dinners and parties and stay at them for many hours on end, i could barely manage two.

or maybe it is that i have a legitimate disability where i do in fact have to take into account that these circumstances are not just unpleasant to me but actively cause me pain and physical consequences. hmm

[fishparasite]

today my mom was like "do you know you can come to me for help and support?" well. um. no

[daily-hanamura]

[abirddogmoment]

A little bit about CKC pointing field trials (puppy stakes) in general for those who are interested in how they run.

CKC has its hunting dog events broken out pretty specifically. CKC is restrictive in which breeds can run which events (e.g., only CKC registered approved pointing breeds can run pointing tests, other breeds are excluded even if they technically could complete the exercises. Rory can only run pointing events, she couldn't do a retriever test or a spaniel test).

We also have a distinction in trials vs tests, as most other venues do.

Trials - you are competing against other people and being judged against a standard. You run in pairs. Top 4 dogs get placements, once you get enough points you get a field championship.

Tests - you are running alone and being judged against a standard for a qualifying/non-qualifying runs. 3 qualifying runs gets you a title.

We are currently running CKC pointing field trials.

CKC pointing trials have two main distinctions within them - puppy stakes and senior stakes. You can enter whichever stake you're ready for, with some exceptions (like age) - you don't have to run puppy stakes before running senior stakes.

Puppy stakes are a little lower pressure because they judge puppies' potential. Within puppy stakes, there are two main types of runs.

Open puppy stakes: any puppy *of eligible breed* between 6 and 18 months old. No birds hidden in the field, no gunshots on the course, 15-20 minutes running.

Derby stakes: any puppy of eligible breed between 6 and 27 months old. At least two birds hidden in the field, puppy needs to point birds if encountered, gunshots, 20-30 minutes.

We run open puppy for now. Here's how this goes:

We are randomly paired with another puppy and handler (this pairing is called a brace, the other handler and dog are our bracemates). We walk up to the start line together (usually the entrance to a big pasture) with our puppies on leash. Two judges (on ATV or horseback) give us a quick overview of the course we have to walk. The course is usually through a big open field with medium cover (think knee high grasses and shrubs, some wetlands, some hills but no forest) and typically avoids fencelines or roads. They tell us to release our dogs at the same time, so we let the dogs off leash and start walking (very fast, and I'm a fast walker to begin with). The course is usually huge, much bigger than we could possibly walk in 20 mins.

Usually the puppies play a little bit and then get to work. The judges are looking for puppies who can ignore the other dog and handler, judges, ATV, horses, and spectators, hunt independently, cover lots of ground (move fast and steady across the terrain while still sniffing), use the wind to follow scent, and respond to their handlers' directions. If the puppies want to play too much, the judges will ask the handlers to split up a little bit to encourage the puppies to work independently. Usually you stick within about 10m (25ft) of your bracemate. Puppies can range anywhere as long as they stay visible and ahead of their handlers. (Puppies are often about several hundred metres/yards away from their handlers depending on breed. Rory ranges about 50-100m in real life and about 75-300m in field trials. It is an exhilarating exercise in trust in my training.)

The judges follow behind us and then spectators can follow behind the judges, if they want. We have to keep up a very fast pace to encourage the puppies to cover as much ground as possible, not at a jog but pretty close.

In puppy stakes, you want to keep as quiet as you can. The judges are looking for instinct and basic potential, so you don't want to ruin that by giving your dog tons of directions. If your puppy follows directions, that suggests they need directions to function. If your dog ignores directions, that's unresponsive and also bad. Ideally you shouldn't say much during your run unless there's danger (if a deer runs out, you would recall your puppy) or evils (if your puppy is eating poop, you could recall or redirect). You are allowed to chat with your bracemate but you have to hustle fast so it's usually friendly but minimal.

One important piece of open puppy stakes is that there are no planted birds in the field! There may be wild birds, but it's unlikely. Many people "over train" their bird dog puppies on live birds, and then the puppies get really frustrated that there are no birds in the field after they search so hard. This causes puppies to slow down or give up entirely during their run, so this is something that judges look for. In real life hunting, there's no guarantee of birds so it's important that puppies can work through frustration without losing enthusiasm.

The judges kind of shout directions (go left, head for those trees) from behind to keep us on course. In the best courses, the judges make you walk a loop, but sometimes your time ends in the middle of a field. When your time is up, the judges will thank you and tell you to leash your dog. We recall our puppies and put them on leash and walk them back to our cars for water and snacks.

That's the whole run for open puppy! It's very low pressure. The puppies basically just follow their hearts and do what they were made to do.

Derby is extremely similar, except there are birds planted in the field. The puppies don't HAVE to find birds but obviously its preferable that they do. If they find birds, they must point (stop moving and stand still staring at the bird). They don't have to be steady to flush or shot (they can chase when the bird flies or when the gun goes off), and only blanks are shot in derby. The course is a little longer but everything else is the same.

In open puppy and derby stakes, the judges are just looking for potential. They want to know if your dog would be competitive in the senior stakes, so they're looking for lots of independence, lots of bird drive, lots of stamina, things like that. Because they're judging potential, younger puppies may be judged a little easier than older puppies.

I think that's the gist of puppy stakes in CKC pointing field trials! Send me a message if you have questions about our experience so far!

[gaypapercuts]

The Dept. Gen. Counsel at one of my clients is a clever guy and we've mostly agreed on the work

but there was one item where I said "Should it be x?" and he responded with "Should it be? No. It could be, but it doesn't have to be."

Like okay, whatever, I just let it go. Outside review came in today and they commented on it as well, so I get to pat myself on the back for it BUT ALSO Outside review zeroed in on something quite trivial so we got to bitch about how pedantic they were being instead

[mabaris]

wait oh my god, i swear i recognize this door from the leaks AGESSSS ago. i’d thought it was weisshaupt

[akascow]

lmao i guess my intuition about joker 2 going to be a terrible movie was correct lol i love being right about things i dont care about

[cherrymoonvol6]

.

[byanyan]

fun reminder that byan is over 6' in most of their boots

[servuscallidus]

went to practice and I'm no good at it but I have so much fun and I enjoy it so much I can never be disappointed for too long

[seilon]

you know im realizing now. with the exception of a few resident psychiatrists, ive had like. no good experiences with mental health professionals