Knitting is dangerous.

      YOUR kids, very obviously, are concerned when you start rushing to and fro around the classroom, but you soothe their worries with a statement of ‘helping out an ill friend’ and, as you’re rushing around the classroom to gather your strewn about belongings (to a certain amount), you don’t notice the kids whispering to each other and messing with a paper stack. As you’re moving to head out of the classroom, with a portable transportalizer in hand, you’re stopped by the soft call of one of your students. You turn halfway and kneel down to take the item that’s handed to you, scanning over it quickly and smiling, kissing the child’s head softly. “I’ll be sure to give it to him, sweethearts.” You stand and wave, having them promise to be good while one of the other teachers watch them, before heading out the door in a haste you’re not sure you’ve experienced for a while. Paparazzi are waiting for you when you get out, so you groan and head around the bend of the building quickly, tapping in the coordinates to your house and disappearing on a split second’s warning. 

      YOU’RE already in the kitchen when you appear there, so it’s easy collecting all of the ingredients needed for making the soup for D. (Mentally, you hesitate; why did you offer again? After all, you’re cold-hearted and cruel, right? ... Right?)

      IT makes you a bit embarrassed to know that you’re actively caring about someone you were previously attempting to irritate to every and all ends possible. You dismiss the thought quickly, and type in the next set of coordinates with your bag and the card in your free hand, disappearing in a fraction of a second. When you do appear in the area, you have to get adjusted. Moving to a new place makes you disoriented, but you try to not let it show that much. You have more important matters to attend to. 

◠⛧◡

       The smirk on his face is almost sickening           as where they end up in his domain.           What was once a man before her is now a            King. A king that was built on the Pride and            hatred of a Creator he didn’t trust. Blonde hair gone           black, skin mottled with black white and red. Horns that           spiraled up and out, and orange eyes that were more intense           as they were framed by the black locks. He donned armor.           Armor that could only be described as regal, black as            night and gold as the sun. On the cape, is insignia, a thorned           purple rose. He looks over at the advisors, ones  who he           trusts with his life, and barks orders in latin to figure out           who did this. He lifts their wrists and a murmur goes through            before they all jump into action.

“Welcome to Hell. “

      HER stomach twists in fear as she blinks, and she’s suddenly... elsewhere. It’s unfamiliar, unwanted in some ways. But the greeting words--oh how vile, cruel of the king. The fear is prevalent in her eyes, writhing and coiling like serpents inside her orchid-colored irises, as if the emotion were truly alive underneath her skin. She falls silent with something she cannot quite put a label to--a dangerous concoction that chokes her by digging sharp talons into her lungs--and she looks up at him, examining him as if from behind a two-sided windowpane. What is she supposed to say? After all, she’d called him a lunatic for saying that he is Lucifer, Satan, King of Hell.

◠⛧◡

         To the angel demon,of course, that sounded             like a damn good idea. But he also didn’t want this              to be one of those  things where he ends out             sterile or some bullshit because Fate decided              to fuck with him.              He grabs the woman’s arm. comparing the marks.             His touch isn’t rough though, despite how large and             brutish he may look. But he does look at her, sincerity              playing in his eyes.

                “As good as it sounds,                       I’m serious when I saw that this                      could seriously fuck us both over.                      I’m gonna find a way to fix this first .”

      THE action he partakes in sends a shock wave of disgust and hatred and, above all, fear through her system, but it stops her in tracks she’d already laid out in the form of words, scrambling the pieces of a puzzle she’s not sure she’ll be able to be solved alone. Unbidden, angry, growled words fall from her lips in a language she’d sought to control, roughly translating ‘i want to go nowhere with you’. Her throat burns with more words--angry and fearful and hateful all at once--but she finds it in herself to control her mind, gritting her teeth and stiffly nodding. Swallowing thickly, she finally whispers:

@iinscriptus said:❛❛ No. No, no, no — you really don’t want me as a soulmate. ❜❜

◠⛧◡

        The better question was how.            How had this happened?            And why to him? Were the            Fates serious? Was this some karma           bullshit? That really was not supposed to affect him.           Lucifer gives a harsh cold laugh, staring at the other            rather intently, bright orange eyes glowing.

                “Oh right, because you’re the king of a                     kingdom built of the hate and spite of                     his creator. Right, my bad.”     

      WHAT’S even the point in arguing with this fool of a man? This being who claims to be Lucifer himself; a being she’d jokingly said she’d believed in when she was younger just to piss off someone she had utterly despised. She had not a single iota of time to give towards her supposed soulmate, but the mark on her hand didn’t lie. (Unfortunately.) She rolls her eyes and pulls her hood over her head, intent to shield herself from view. Being seen with a divinity-claiming lunatic as her “soulmate” is bad attention for her.

   >   You vaguely consider the idea of “casually” stating          that the paparazzi are actually asking about what          happened in the future-past and how you keep          hospitalizing people, but you can hardly call that a          casual statement, in any form that it may end up          being in.

   >   ...

   >   Rina: Return to being a sarcastic asshole with                   no feelings.

ill fuck you up