#I tried to replicate their handwriting but I didn’t know what to do :/

[halfhissandwich]

I like this song and kept hearing this as Janus and Logan so here-

[cressidagrey]

Glorious Sunrise - Chapter 8

Summary:

So what happens after the mating bond snaps?

Well-meaning interfering family members, deep conversations and nights spent brooding on the roof like some kind of gargoyle…this one has it all.

Warnings:

Definetly NSFW

(thanks to @cafekitsune for the super pretty dividers!)

There was a knock on the door of the stillroom. 

Huh. 

“Come in,” she said, carefully corking the potions she had just finished, labelling them. It was busy work, but she was waiting for the Cold Cure to finish simmering, which would take until this evening. 

There was something inherently peaceful in the stillroom for her, her own little Kingdom to rule over, with her own rules…and no other persons anywhere near her. 

The last person she had expected to walk into her stillroom…was the High Lord of the Night Court. 

“Rhysand,” she greeted him, surprise obvious in her voice.

“Rhys. My family calls me Rhys,” he corrected her, a small smile on his handsome features. 

“What brings you here?” she asked him curiously. “If you are searching for Azriel, I have no clue where he is,” she said drily, making him laugh. 

“No, I am not searching for my wayward spymaster. Though I suppose I could just wait here and he would eventually show up for you,” he said, amusement glittering in his gaze. “I…have a question, I suppose.  Will you be able to replicate it?”

He didn’t need to clarify what he meant, she knew, and still he did. 

“You gave Emerie her wings back. Could you…do the same for more females just like her?” he asked her and Galena sat down carefully on her chair, fingertips tracing the table. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “The fact that her father did a really shoddy job at it made it easier for me. If he had done a better job…I would be able to soothe the tremors…maybe help the pain. I don’t know if it would work for everyone,” she said. 

“But would you try?” Rhys pushed. 

Try. Go to one of the warcamps in Illyria that Azriel never talked about…and try. She reached out for her notebook, where she had written down, everything she had done to Emerie…duplicating the pages with a wave of her hand and held it out for Rhys to take. 

“You could try,” she said calmly. 

He took it, glanced at it, then did a double-take." You wrote it down,” he realised and she shrugged. 

“I tend to write everything down. All my own research. However, I don’t put it in the library anywhere. The last time I tried, I had a disagreement with a scholar there,” she admitted. 

Disagreement was such a nice word for what happened. 

Anyway, she didn’t care enough to put her name on any of the procedures she had “invented” if it meant that she needed to deal with the snobby scholars who looked down their nose at her and harrumphed like they thought her scars had anything to do with how her brain worked. 

Her skin may be scarred, but her mind was as sharp as it always had been.

“Do not give this to one of the Illyrians that do the clippings. Or they change how they do it and I don’t know if it would work then,” she warned him seriously. 

“They aren’t healers to you, are they?” Rhys asked her, flipping through the pages filled with her handwriting. 

No, they weren’t. 

“I made an oath to the mother when I became a healer. To do no harm. To help,” Galena said evenly. “They didn’t just break that oath. They disgrace our profession. My profession. So no. They aren’t healers to me. They are bungling idiots that should never be allowed near any other person at all.” She could seethe about it, but that wouldn’t help her. 

“I would be willing to teach somebody what to do. Maybe Zoreen would be willing to go to Illyria,” she said calmly. “They could try if it works on somebody other than Emerie.”

“You wouldn’t be willing to go?” Rhys wondered. “You were the one who figured it out.”

She stared at him for a moment, facing him, so that he could see the full brunt of her scars. 

“You mean, leave the peace I have here?” Galena asked him. “Where nobody stares at me? Where nobody makes any comments to me about my scars? For what? The glory of knowing that I was the one who figured out the way in the first place?”

He inclined his head, still mustering her. But it wasn’t the outright stares she drew if she walked outside…or the pitiful looks even her aunt sometimes had if the scars were looking particularly gruesome. It was just…just how two people would look at each other when they had a conversation. 

“Is it really that peaceful with that male outside?” he asked her suddenly. 

“Did Silas say something? He’s pretty much terrified of Azriel,” Galena said with a grin. “Very helpful. Hasn’t made one of his usual comments in weeks.”

She would gladly hide behind people being terrified of Azriel, if that meant that they left her in peace. 

“What are his usual comments?” Rhys wondered, his voice too absent-minded to be truly that. 

“Mostly shock that I am leaving the house,” Galena answered. For one moment she opened her mouth, planning to ask him if there was anything else she could do for him. 

“Have you had lunch?” he asked her idly and she just stared at him. 

“No.”

“Let me take you,” he told her and she just stared at him. 

“You want to take me to lunch,” she repeated, unbelievingly. What? 

“Yes,” he agreed. “I am meeting Mor…she did mention that she owes you an apology… And don’t worry, people will stare at me, not you.” 

She blinked. 

It was probably true that they would rather stare at the High Lord and not at her, but still. 

“The difference is just that they look at you in awe and they stare at me like I am some sort of monster,” she quipped back.

“I’ll be sure to take you along when I visit another court and we can compare notes,” Rhys told her seriously. “I spent 50 years being a monster.  And if I know one thing, then that you aren’t even close to classifying as one. And you shouldn’t let anybody tell you differently…or let anybody make you hate your own face because they don’t know what it means to live through the pain you have survived.”

She had no idea what to say to that. 

“Give it a chance,” he told her imploringly. 

A chance .  

“I have given it a chance for 150 years, every week when I go and buy vegetables at the market,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“Then give it another. Just for today,” Rhys asked her. “ Please .”

“Fine.”

What was one more experience of that?

What was one more time of being stared at, and pointed at and…But to her neverending surprise…none of that happened. 

Maybe it was the fact that they winnowed right in front of that restaurant or that they got a table tucked into one corner…but for once…she could sit in a restaurant…and nobody cared. Nobody even gave her a second glance.

The Restaurant was definitely not what she had thought a High Lord would frequent either, but…Galena was just going to roll with weirdness now. The Restaurant was barely big enough to fit a dozen people, decked out in greens and golds…a small building near the Sidra. 

“Chances are Mor is going to give you an absolutely horrible gift as a thank you for fixing Emerie’s wings,” Rhys told her conversational and she couldn’t help but snort. 

“How horrible are we talking?” she asked curiously. 

“Mor is notorious for her lack of gift-giving abilities. She gave Azriel a set of bright blue embroidered towels with his initials one year. Cassian has received silk shirts in all the colours of the rainbow.”

“I could use some embroidered towels,” Galena responded with a shrug. 

“Too bad, I got you something else,” came Mor’s bright voice behind Rhys, and she looked up to find the blonde female, standing there with a shy smile on her face. “And I also owe you an apology.”

“You were worried about your…about Emerie,” Galena easily smoothed over. She still didn’t know what exactly Mor and Emerie were, but she didn’t want to speculate either. “I understand that. You haven’t been the first…relative or loved one that reacted similarly. I understand that it’s startling to hear that I use another fae as an experiment of sorts. Even when it’s done to help them.”

“Yes, but I did see what you could do when you healed Azriel. You do experiments maybe, but you were never… cold-hearted and callous about them,” Mor said with a sigh. “I was just…I was just so worried and I let that bleed into anger, and it wasn’t right how I talked to you…I was pretty sure Az was going to rip off my head halfway through.”

“He wouldn’t have done that,” Galena said calmly. He wouldn’t have. He maybe would have gotten angry, but that one singular “ Morrigan ” had said it all. Fury and anger maybe, but tightly leashed. 

“He’s…very protective of you,” Mor said, with a smile. “It’s good that he…got you now. You settle him. He has needed that for years. And you give him focus too. Something I never could.”

I never could. 

Had there been something between Azriel and Mor? Something that he had never told her about? 

It niggled in the back of her brain, throughout that dinner, and through unwrapping a stack of romance novels (courtesy of Emerie) and a Mor’s idea of a gift…which didn’t end up being absolutely horrible. Actually, the model of a skeleton with a comically oversized skull was quite amusing to her. 

“Thank you,” she thanked Rhys as he brought her back to the apothecary and he smiled at her. 

“Don’t thank me. You should be able to do that every day if you wanted to,” he told her. 

She didn’t know if she wanted that…but….maybe….maybe sometimes…if she knew that people wouldn’t star at her…maybe then she would enjoy leaving the apothecary. 

Not always…but sometimes? Maybe? 

And then…then all her good mood got destroyed by Silas. 

“Wow, you really get around,” he drawled as she entered the apothecary and she froze. 

“What?” she spat out. 

“Don’t really get why any of them would give you the time of the day when I am sure there would be hundreds of faeries that don’t look like you do, but I imagine you must have other…skills,” he said with a shrug, leaning against the counter. “Though does your oversized bat know that you are whoring yourself out to the High Lord?”

She didn’t even have the words to describe what she was feeling. That icy rage that gripped her…that…fury. 

But suddenly it was there. Suddenly every quip he had made on her cot was there, at the forefront of her mind…every time he had snorted about her leaving the stillroom…every time he didn’t think that she should leave the house…and all of it was a eighty cocktail of utter anger that enveloped her. 

She didn’t often get loud. Nearly never. 

Galena had always been soft-spoken. She preferred it that way. 

She didn’t want to scream, to shout…to let emotion overcome her…she had over a century of training for that. 

But now…now…now it was over. 

“Out,” she seethed. “Out, right now. You are going to leave now. You are never going to come back. And you are not going to bother me or anybody else again!”

“You can’t do that,” Silas said with a roll of his eyes, nearly bored sounding.  

“She can,” her aunt’s voice suddenly came from the stairway. “I don’t know what I have done to give you the impression that that you can talk to my daughter like that, but it ends now. If Galena said you are done, then you are done. So go .”

She didn’t even look Silas way when he left the apothecary, couldn’t bear it…not now. Not right now. Not

“Shhhh,” Madja was there suddenly, enveloping her in her arms and Galena breathed in the scent of spearmint and snow that clung to her. Safe. Home. 

Still, she clung to her aunt, as the tears ran over her cheeks and she couldn’t help the sobs that broke out of her chest. 

She wasn’t even sure what it was. 

Maybe because…maybe because this wasn’t what she usually got to hear…Normally it were comments about her scars, the way she looked…some doubting her intelligence, thinking that her brain had been destroyed as well as her beauty and clearly she was good for nothing anymore. 

But…but there had never been somebody calling her a whore. 

That was new. 

The tears that tracked over her cheeks were fat and hot, even as Madja shushed her…even when her aunt helped her upstairs and ended up bundling her into her bed…she couldn’t stop the tears. 

It had been a good day. One day when nobody had stared at her. One day where she had gone out and been normal and then it had been utterly destroyed by that prick and she couldn’t…She couldn’t…

Madja plied her with potions and Galena took them without protest.  

It was something. 

It calmed down the half-hysterical feelings making themselves a home in her chest…leaving her tired and numb. 

Madja sat down on the side of her bed, gently tucking her hair behind her ears and she weakly stared at the ceiling, not even really aware of her surroundings. 

“He doesn’t deserve your tears,” Madja said quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me before that he…he behaved like that around you?”

“He didn’t,” she whispered. “Normally he just wondered if I left the apothecary…like I shouldn’t do that…Or he made some comments about scaring the people on the street. But he never…he never said anything like that…”

“And he shouldn’t have,” Madja told her evenly, taking her hand in both of hers. 

“We don’t have anybody to man the till now,” Galena protested weakly. “I shouldn’t…”

“You should. You had every right to stand up for yourself,” Madja cut her off. “And I am so sorry if I ever made you feel like you shouldn’t…if I ever made you feel like I thought that you should take all the looks and all the words and never say anything to defend yourself…you have every right to live a life just as unbothered as anybody else.”

Did she? 

Sometimes it didn’t feel that way. 

Sometimes it felt like…

“I love you. And I am so, so proud of you, Little Mouse.” Soft spoken words and still Galena clung to them, even when sleep came to claim her. 

It was dark in her room when she startled awake, rhythmically sounds of a knife being sharpened immediately stopping. 

She felt her bed dip as Azriel sat down on the side of it, and he reached out with his hand and took hers.

“Lena,” the nickname only he used slipped over her and made her relax, sink back into the bed and relax. “How are you feeling?” Azriel asked her softly. “I heard what happened…what he said.��� He spat out the last few words and she looked at him, seeing the anger smouldering in his eyes, the intense way he mustered her, worried. 

“I am fine,” she answered, her voice quiet. “I had a great day until then,” she quipped. And then he went and ruined it.

“How was lunch with Rhys?” Azriel asked her curiously. 

“ You would be surprised, you walk beside the High Lord and people stare at him, not at me. It was great. Mor was there too,” she answered. Drawing circles on his skin with her thumb…he was still wearing these cobalt blue stones that marked him as an Illyrian warrior…two of them right on top of his hands. Not quite as startling as him barging in on her in full armour with seven glowing siphons for Emerie though. 

“She was?” Azriel asked, sounding surprised and she concentrated on his face, drinking in the expression on his far too handsome face…

“Yes,” Galena said quietly “Azriel? What did Mor mean when she said that she couldn’t give you something to focus on?” 

Had there been something between Mor and Azriel? Had they been a couple once? 

He looked surprised at her question.

“It’s…Are you sure you want to talk about it?” He asked her, looking decisively uncomfortable and she stared at him. She just nodded. 

Swallowed. 

“Centuries ago, I was in love with Mor,” Azriel said quietly. “It was never…I knew she was never going to go for me. Or I realised that after a few decades. But I…She was unattainable. To want her…was safe. I never needed to think about being turned down, because…she was going to turn me down. It was just a fact of life,” he said that so easily like he hadn’t spent a good few centuries in love with a female and yearning for her. 

“It took me a few centuries until another female caught my eye after her…that didn’t work out either. I had pretty much given up on ever finding my mate. And then…then you came into my life,” he said, his voice warm. “And suddenly…suddenly all made sense.” 

It was sweet. But she couldn’t help the shuddery feeling in her heart. 

Because she had met Mor, bright, beautiful Mor…

“You don’t need to be jealous of her,” Azriel said softly, lifting her hand to dust a kiss over the back of it. 

“She’s beautiful. I can see why you…” she didn’t get to answer because he cut her off. 

“You are beautiful too, you know.”

Galena couldn’t help but shake her head. “Not like her,” she said quietly. Not in that kind of beautiful, unscarred way…unblemished skin stretching over every inch of Mor. 

Galena was…Galena wasn’t the kind of beauty wars would be fought over. 

“True. For me you are so much more beautiful,” Azriel agreed and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You are ridiculous,” she told him, her lips perking up in a smile. He was sweet. 

But she knew the way she looked. And that wasn’t beautiful or even pretty. 

“I am not,” Azriel disagreed and she snorted.

“I have seen Mor,” she told him drily. 

“I have seen you,” Azriel disagreed, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips…then her cheeks, dusting them over her jaw and down her neck…whatever disagreement she wanted to say somehow disappeared at that. 

She moaned softly, one hand curling into the back of his neck…

“How are you really feeling?”  he asked her, his breath against her skin making her shiver. 

“What?” she couldn’t think, not when she could feel just the whisper of teeth against her skin. 

“Want me to stop?” he asked her softly. “Because otherwise, we’ll have a discussion how beautiful I think you are.”

Her whole body shivered at that silken promise in his voice. She swallowed. 

“No. Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice shaky. 

She hadn’t been quite sure what to expect…but it wasn’t the feeling of him touching her like she was some kind of holy thing, every touch gentle and reverent against her skin…he opened every button of the pyjamas she wore, slipping them over her shoulder. Drew his hand down to her chest, to touch her breast, clever fingers, far too clever fingers, catching her nipples and she whimpered with the sudden onslaught of desire that was banking low in her belly. 

She wanted him. 

Oh, how she wanted him. 

“I know you don’t believe me…and I understand it, Lena. I do. I still can’t stand to look at my hands some days,” he told her, his voice hoarse. 

He may have acted like he was aloof and detached, but the way he looked at her, heat cradling in his hazel eyes, dark with desire, told her exactly how much he wanted her. 

“But I do think you are beautiful. All these scars, they tell a story of resilience…of everything that you survived so that we could come together,” he continued softly. “And I do love you.”

“I love you too,” she whimpered, words punctuated by a moan as he peppered his kisses against every inch of her skin he could reach, his tongue tracing against her breast and her breath caught in her throat…just as he sucked one rosy nipple in his mouth. 

The result was immediate, her back arching against him, a whimper escaping her. 

“Gods, I could just make a meal out of you,” Azriel whispered against her skin and she couldn’t help the full-body shudder these words resulted in. 

…a meal? Did she even want to know what that would entail? 

“You like that idea, don’t you?” Azriel asked her, a chuckle in his voice. “Me on my knees begging for a taste of you?”

Her brain immediately conjured up images and she wasn’t sure if that was...if that was something she would be able to withstand…Or if it would be too much. If she wouldn’t die from pleasure. 

Her heart jumped in her chest. 

“Who wouldn’t?” she managed to squeak out and he grinned at her, the smile on his face making him look wilder and younger and… “Azriel.”

He moved down her body so quickly that she had no chance to do something, as he pulled down her pyjamas and her underwear, all in one motion, leaving her bare to his gaze, her body trembling as his hands slowly slid up her legs. 

“Yes?” he asked her gently, and still she could just stare at him. “Give me a few seconds to change your mind at least,” he teased her gently. 

She swallowed, not without apprehension…and then finally nodded hesitantly, something knotting low in her belly.  

“Let me know when you had enough,” he told her and she opened her mouth to respond, but then his hands were gently opening her legs, shouldering between them and that was…

And then, without breaking her gaze, he swiped the broad, flat of his tongue up her slit. 

That was all he had needed to do before she was already a begging mess underneath him. 

“ Oh,” it caught in her throat, the sound embarrassingly high and thin. He hummed in pleasure against her skin as he closed his lips over that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, and she forgot her own fucking name and every bit of control over her body as her hips thrust up against him on their own accord. 

He laughed against her, the vibrations making her shudder, as he did it again, and then flickered his tongue over it in such a way that he had no choice but to pin her hips down to keep them on the bed. 

Her breath came in sharp gasps as he alternated between languid licks and then fucking his tongue into her…he slid his thumbs down to hold her apart so he could delve deeper…

Galena was helpless in his grasp as he devoured her. 

Devoured her like he was a starved male and she was his first meal in decades, like she was the best thing he had ever eaten in the first place, like her pleasure was the only thing that mattered…the pleasure was consuming her. 

She couldn’t even find the words for it, wordless cries of pleasure leaving her mouth nearly constantly, that pleasure tightening and tightening, climbing higher and higher until she found that great precipice and threw her down, let her explode in her pleasure…

She had thought that that was it, as she sank back against her bad, her breathing coming in sharp gasps…and then he just continued licking at her, and her back arched again, riding that razor-thin edge between pleasure and pain, as she ground against him, her core beginning to clench again. 

She wasn’t even sure how many times he made her find her peak, because she forgot everything. He reduced her to sharp cries of pleasure and hands grabbing for purchase, to grounding against him in search for more and when he finally let off her, she was hoarse and shaking, babbling noises that didn’t even make sense leaving her mouth. 

“Shhh, Lena. You did so well,” he praised her, pressing a kiss against her lips, and she gasped at the taste of herself on his tongue, these strong arms surrounding her, holding her. 

She could just press closer to him, even as he pulled back,  as a glass of water was pressed against her lips and she drank gratefully. 

That had been...that had been something. 

“Too much?” he asked her, nearly hesitantly, but she shook her head. 

No. Never. 

“No,” she brought out. “I loved every minute of it.”

[diaryofawallfly]

[ After a while, another letter arrives. The stamp is off-kilter and the seal flap appears to have been hastily closed. The handwriting is the same as the last. ]

Mr. Renfield,

If my letter was a pleasant surprise to you, I can say the same for yours. I can hardly believe I was able to reach you. I had my concerns about both the post that far into the countryside and the matter of time.

Your answer was everything I had hoped for and more. That sufficiently answered the question of which way the keep faces and, to be perfectly honest, a harboured curiosity of mine about the view. The sunrise and sunset sound spectacular (and I'm very glad you wrote about the latter, too). The way you described it all as if it's touched by myth- the scenery sounds absolutely beautiful, and the castle must look proud in its place nestled against the mountain. Even in disrepair, it sounds starkly impressive. I would not expect a full history of the castle from you, as I figure it has far too much for one person. I wasn't able to find much online. Perhaps the village might know more, though I suppose you must have already tried that.

As for how I found you, I'm afraid it's not exactly a good answer. A relative of mine was involved with the acquisition of a law firm, and there were a whole lot of old files- boxes and boxes of them- to be dealt with. I've been helping out on weekends, organising those to keep and disposing of ones no longer needed, except I may have wound up reading some of the material before it was to be shredded. (I swear I didn't do anything illegal, I think.) Your name was on some paperwork, and then there was a lost memo about leaving for a trip, and then all mention stopped. I do like mysteries and couldn't help being curious- and please forgive me, I mean no disrespect in likening your lived history to fiction.

If you don't mind me writing to you still, I do have loads more questions. You write like you enjoy reading, do you read a lot? Do you still work as a solicitor? What is the local food like? I'll leave it there for now; I appreciate your consideration and kindness very much.

Regards,

R. Hart

R. Hart, 

I am once again delighted to receive your letter and your pleasantries. I’m surprised to hear you learned of me from my previous employer. It has been so long and my stay with them so short that I didn’t ever think so much about me would be left behind. 

To think back on it, it’s a world away, a lifetime ago. I cannot imagine how the people and the places have changed. Every now and then I do dream of it, the place that was once home, but it feels as if it was never more than that. 

I am no longer a lawyer or a solicitor, no. I have not formally practised in some time and I cannot say I’m too familiar with the laws of this country either. I spend my days now as the caretaker of this estate. Though that must sound contradictory as my previous letter stated it’s disrepair. The south facing stonework has been revealing its age for some time. It has been difficult to find a mason who is both skilled enough to replicate the original details and is willing to travel out to me. 

The garden, however– I apologise as these are not the details you asked for but I do hope that you will humour me– is my favourite aspect of the grounds. In the courtyard, I have a selection of native flowers. Most prominently are the peonies, their greenery and blossoms are large and drooping. I also have a few rose bushes. They’re fastidious and keep me busy. Outside the gate, I’ve planted a dog rose on either side. Their prickled vines have done a lovely job hiding most of the fallen stucco. Their summer blooms bring me some cheer. 

Here I can tell you about the local cuisine. The dog roses produce a fruit, rosehips. Each year I harvest them to bring to a woman in the village. With them, she will create the most delicious jam and sweet wine. I must ask her for her recipes. I do not know why I haven’t yet. Perhaps I am hoping to ignore how she is aging and how I am not willing to cope with the day when she will not be. She has always been as kind as she can to me. It will be difficult for me to get by without her. She taught me most of what I know about living here when my trip abroad became permanent. She also makes a fine polenta that could warm the heart of a merciless executioner. Most other dishes in the area are made with ground meat of various game animals and winter vegetables, all baked, cooked, or pickled with the most flavourful spices. 

For your last question, asking if I read often: I do indeed. The keep has a large library of hundreds eclectic books from all over the world all with different subject matter. I can’t tell you how many I’ve read. I was fortunate to find some of them in English when I arrived. I hadn’t known a single word from the native tongue when I first came here. Thankfully some traders knew German which I learned in university and other travels. Now after many years of residing here I can proudly say I am rather mediocre in my Romanian. 

Thank you again for writing to me. I appreciate your time and thoughts spent. I am open to answer any more questions you may have. May I ask a few to you in return? Do you work for a law office or university? Your writing is studious which makes me curious about your background. Where are you from? Have there been any interesting events? I’ve been divorced from the country for so long, I can’t remember the last time I heard any news. 

I am fondly awaiting your reply. 

𝓡. 𝓜. 𝓡𝓮𝓷𝓯𝓲𝓮𝓵𝓭

[life-needs-a-bit-of-headcanons]

I have never asked for anything before and I don't know if this where I request. But uh can we have some fluffy yandereiplier x gender neutral reader? Like yandere gets jealous but instead of killing the person, Yandere just like, gets protective in a soft way? I don't know.

This sounds so cute :3 Thank's for the request!!

Fluffy Jealous Yandereiplier x Reader

* (y/n) = your name

*(y/f/n) = your friend's name

A/N: I'm not sure I did it right so if you have any constructive criticism or want it to be fluffier feel free to tell me and you can request something more!

• You two had been friends for a long time, you'd recently moved house and schools so you were new to the area and prepared to make new friends and Yanderipier loved every second of it, he loved you completely.

• Yandereiplier didn't love you at first sight. Looking back on it he thought he did but in all honesty? no • There was no "love-at-first-glance" or romantic music swelling or cherry blossom petals falling around you, none of that.

• Instead, it was a buildup, it was a quiet but undeniable build-up.

• He fell in love with your jokes he'd hear when he was walking by With the way he'd see you handle yourself in front of others while he was across the classroom, with the way you looked at him always so kindly when you spoke to him in class, with the way you were nice to him no matter what. And he began to get infatuated with the way he'd see your smile stretch across your face when you laughed and the corners of your eyes crinkled and he knew it was a real laugh. He fell with the way you were.

• And he fell hard.

• He even started to love how you walked, memorising how you carried yourself on different days feeling different things; Your handwriting, from the notes you'd passed to others during class and he mimicked your writing down to each letter, your 'style', and how he thinks you'd look so cute in one of his sweaters, honestly everything about you that you deemed unimportant, that you may think is nothing specifically tailored for you but since it's you doing it of course he'd love it.

• And this love for you, this infatuation of you, this want-no this need to be with you, to see you happy and make you happy planted seeds in his heart that blossomed in his chest, twining between his ribs and spreading to every fibre of his being. His chest ached every night when he was alone with his thoughts and his shrine of devotion from things he borrowed from you, little things you wouldn't miss, and made in your honour. He loved you. He loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

• He watched you whenever he could, seeing your movements, noting who made you happy, what about them made you happy and how he could replicate that in himself. He was desperate for you to feel as good as you made him feel. And he was good at it too! Until you had sneaked up on him to properly introduce yourself, making him jump and drop his notebook adorned in love hearts and glitter.

• Your smile was so warm. Infectious. His face blew up in the deepest red blush you had ever seen, but excusing it as general anxiety you mercifully didn't comment on until later on in your friendship.

• Yandereiplier.EXE has stopped functioning. Systems overheating, blushing too furiously. Shutting down speech ability.

• The heavy aching in his chest from the flower of love you unknowingly nurtured and bloomed instantly lifted when you looked at him. He felt lighter, fuller, so so happy, feeling his rapid heartbeat pounding away. He felt as if you two were the only ones in the school, in the world, in the cosmic universe. He liked that thought.

• You had crouched down to pick up his fallen notebook but he had enough composure to beat you to it, and lo and behold you brushed hands. He wanted to never wash that hand again but knew you would probably like someone with better hygiene.

• You two were good friends from then on, joking about how that moment could have been in "Anime's top 10 most romantic scenes,"

Yandereiplier would always sputter at that.

• By now it had been a few good months, you two were inseparable. He'd always be giving you gifts, things you never knew how he'd know you liked. And sometimes things that he personally liked, like his prized hello-kitty hair clips and sticker packs that only you were allowed to touch beside himself, it was like a trust pact. You'd exchange secrets, stories and gifts, sometimes, to Yan's immense pleasure, even clothes.

• He knew everything about you, from your likes to your perfume, to your tells to your fantasies.

• He thought he knew everything about your life.

• He thought he knew everyone in it.

• But he was proved wrong. So very wrong.

• When you hadn't replied to his good morning text like you do every day he was instantly filled with worry. He knew your routine, that text message went off 5 minutes after your alarm, he always wanted to be on your mind in the morning so always texted you and if the alarm failed then the text tone would wake you.

• He was pacing around wondering if he should go to your house to check on you or if doing so would overstep any boundaries, trembling at the thought you'd finally had enough of him or were in danger.

He could barely be able to survive if you'd had enough of him but he knows he wouldn't be able to live if you were in danger and he wasn't there to protect you, the very thought sinking its claws into his mind and crawling up his skin leaving a trail of frigid goosebumps in its wake. • He grabbed his backpack and ran on out of the house way earlier than usual, sprinting to your house with the toast from breakfast in his mouth since he didn't have the time to spare to eat it at home on his way to yours.

• And when he got to your house, his stomach fell and the blooming flower in his heart burnt with a fire that licked at his skin, scathing his organs and clogging his lungs with thick smoke and reducing his once light and happy heart to cinders. And with the last embers he possessed, he managed to find the will to take the toast out of his mouth and say "Hey (y/n),"

• You turned around to see him, overjoyed as your two best friends will now get to meet each other! "Yan! Hi!" you said still hugging your friend, "This is (y/f/n), they surprise visited me today!"

• Yan gave a meek wave, too enraptured by the biggest smile he'd ever seen on your face, every vein in his body burning with guilt and anger he wasn't able to make you smile like that.

• (y/f/n) turned to see Yan and greeted them happily, still clinging on to you, "So you're Yan? Nice to meet you," they smiled.

• Yandereiplier would have said a curt hello, probably just ignored them completely were it not for the twitch of guilt he knows he'd feel to be seen as rude in front of you.

• "Hello (y/f/n). Nice to meet you too," he strained to smile

• And it was like that for the whole day because your friend not only had to walk you to school instead of Yan, but they furthered their surprise by spending the day at the school for some stupid transfer day and it was ruining everything. They weren't supposed to be able to touch you like that! Yan, as much as he hated the thought of you being uncomfortable, did try to look for any sign you were in discomfort but knew every conclusion was his bias.

• They had their arm around your shoulder. They made you laugh and smile all day but he loves your smile too much to be angry at that but his mind did wander to different ways to torture them should they be the cause of your smile vanishing. He watched, gripping his pen tightly in frustration as he watched from across the classroom how close you two were, how you easily talked fondly of secrets that had taken him months for you to be willing to share, you were joking, teasing each other, sitting closely, swapping stationary, whispering, the pen broke and splattered ink all over his hand and his work.

• What did they have that he didn't? What did they have he couldn't replicate in himself? What did he have to do to get you to love him as much as you obviously love them in whatever way you do.

• You were all sitting together at lunch, Yan quietly eating from his bento box while still, you and your friend talked. The rage still bubbling and blistering inside of him. But he kept quiet. He began shaking, anger coursing through his blood attacking all his thoughts. But he kept quiet. The heavy weight in his chest returning, aching for you once again despite being just a bit away, the crippiling aching. But he tried his best to keep quiet. The need to be the one by your side, to not only see you happy but make you happy, the need to be the one there making you happy because if it's not him then that means he- ... That means you don't need him. If someone else can make you happy just like you deserve to be then.. then it doesn't matter if it's him. If anyone can do it then he isn't needed specifically. You don't need him. Not like how he needs you.

• A shaky breath shook from his lungs, as he placed his chopsticks back in his lunch, the food now making him nauseous.

• His mind iitches to darker thoughts. Of hurting your friend. Of taking you far away so you rely on him; so you need him.

• ...

• No.

• No that isn't right he hates that.

• You'll never love him if he ever did anything like that.

• You deserve so much better than that.

• So, instead of waiting for you to love him as much as you do (y/f/n)

• He'll make you fall for him. No one can be him except himself and in that way, even if it's only in that way, he is irreplaceable. And you deserve someone as devoted as him.

• He marched back on out there pouting heavily as he watched you two sitting so close. He's on a mission.

• He takes all of his courage and he sits beside you, blushing like crazy to the point your friend thinks he's sick but he assures them he's fine as he offers you some of his bento, offering to feed you with his chopsticks so he can lean in close and try feel you blush too.

• Yan touches you more throughout the day, all where you're comfortable and have previously said you're okay being touched, trading books you brush fingers, he says there's a spider on your head so you can get close and "remove it and save you!", he wipes an eyelash from your cheek and smiles, saying for you blow it off his finger to make a wish, sending you notes holding compliments and doodles of hearts during class so you can once again brush fingers little things like that.

• Yan is also constantly offering you things much more than usual, he already got you little gifts, you'd help him overcome most of his anxiety about spending hours, days, even weeks worrying over picking the perfect present for you and instead giving you whatever he thinks you could possibly like, like shiny and pretty rocks, cute pencils, his favourite most prized hello kitty hair-pin, you didn't accept that last one knowing it would destroy him to part with it which hinted about what was going on.

• As much as Yan knew you, you also knew him.

• You knew his breath would get shaky when he wants something but is too scared to ask for it. You knew he was being more clingy, not that you minded in the least, except for he clearly wanted to do more.

• You knew he didn't want to burden you with his problems so he likely wouldn't say what it is, especially with someone he didn't know all too well around.

• (y/f/n) excused themself for a bit while Yan who was currently fawning over. the band you said you liked last week he memorised all their songs just so he could talk about them with you and hear the facts you knew about them that he already knew but loved the way your eyes lit up when you told him what you thought was something new.

• Thanking any gods, demons or supernatural entities for the time alone Yandereiplier engulfed you in a hug from behind, arms securely wrapped around your chest and face nuzzeling against your hair. He would have done this earlier but he didn't know if you were okay with this sort of affection in front of people so as painful as it was, he waited for so long to be alone with you.

• "Hey Yan, are you doing okay?" • "Of course! I'm with you, my darling!" • "Aww, your darling?" you teased him, his face once again exploding in a deep blush as he buried his face in the crook of your neck to hide his shame.

• He really meant his darling. No matter which way you interpreted 'darling' to be, he meant it as so much more.

• This was the last thing that tipped you off to what he was really after,

• When your friend returned, Yan was hyping himself up to be able to leave the warm hug that let you be in his arms, desperately waiting to not tear himself from you but even more desperate to not make you uncomfortable.

• "Heya y/n!" your friend called

• You held Yan's arms in place, leaning back against him, holding him in place. Yan now wasn't the only one with a mission.

• A long drawn out wheeze escaped his throat as you felt his face heat up against your shoulder through your clothes, slightly worried for him, you turned your head to him while (y/f/n) talked about something Yandereiplier couldn't bring himself to pay attention to you as he savoured the moment, memorising every feeling, every touch, every scent, everything he can as if it were his first time ever being near you, locking this memory in place so he can remember it for those cold lonely nights and for the rest of his life.

• The when saw Yan again, you saw his mouth fall open, bobbing open and closed like a fish as he struggled to articulate his thoughts while you stood before him in the sweater he left at yours a while ago. It smells of his cologne and he can smell it on you.

• His sweater. His.

• He was sure he had ascended at the very moment for the angel he saw wearing his sweater, in his clothes, his. His!!!! And he promises to worship you and treat you like the Angel you are, even if you don’t always see it in yourself. You are his Angel. And the flower bloomed in his chest all over again.

• You're his and he is yours. That's how it always will be.

• And he supposes, it's not all bad having (y/f/n) around. He'll do whatever it takes to keep you happy. He'll protect whatever makes you happy too.

• (y/f/n) also has so many good stories on you that Yan adores hearing and he gets to hear more about your life!

• Just don't forget him. Please. He loves you. So much. He'll always love you. No matter what.

[captainhysunstuff]

Transcript:  The Chain - Space

The Chain - Space comic

L:  *analyzing the Death Note* Notebooks... Shinigami...

Light:  Pretty rich of you sending everyone home to “rest.”  As if you’re gonna do any sleeping tonight.

L:  Your father got shot at.  It was a crazy night for them.

Light:  But not for the “Great Detective L,” huh?  Just another Thursday night for you?  Look at you!  You’re gonna wear a hole into the floor if you keep pacing back and forth like that.  *removing watch* I’m not helping you if you fall through, y’know.

L:  I’d bring you down with me.

Light:  I still won’t help you.

L:  What a “Kira” thing to say.

Light:  Whatever.  I still can’t believe they let you bring that thing up here.

L:  I’m still in charge of this investigation.

Light:  So, you’ll do whatever you want, then?

L:  It must be studied.

Light:  *stretches* But not tested.

L:  Unfortunately.  The task force would have my head...

Light:  Too bad for you.

L:  Of course, you aren’t allowed to use it either.

Light:  Goes without saying.  Not that I want to.  *thinking* Or need to.

L:  *annoyed* I’m a little disturbed by their implication that you’d stop me if I tried.  Like I’m the suspect.

Light:  Yeah, I’ll be sure to remind you not to before bed.

L:  *swinging the Death Note around* The murder notebook and the shinigami... but no Higuchi.  We lost him...

Light:  *annoyed* Yeah, it’s a shame.  Good thing we have access to the Yotsuba group’s notes to fill us in.

L:  About that.  You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?

Light:  Ugh, how should I know?  I know about as much as you do.

L:  It was a heart attack.  You were holding the notebook at the time.

Light:  Well, you have the book.  Look for yourself.  I didn’t write anything in there, let alone his name.  And I’m pretty sure you would’ve noticed if I ripped a page out to hide it.

L:  Hmm... I can think of many ways you could’ve hidden a notebook and used it to kill people while your home was under surveillance.  ...Assuming you even need the whole thing.  If you knew about the cameras--

Light:  Aren’t you forgetting something important?  Surely, you’ve read the rules on the front and back covers.

L:  Yes...  The rules.

Light:  And based on what we know about Kira and Yotsuba’s actions, they seem legitimate.  Which means, unfortunately for you... your precious 1st Kira has to be long dead by now.

L:  ...

Light:  I’m so sorry for your loss.

L:  *thinking* “If the person using the Note fails to consecutively write names of people to be killed within 13 days of each other, then the user will die.”  

“If you make this Note unusable by tearing it up or burning it, all the humans who have touched the Note til then will die.”

...

Light:  ...

L:  ...These two rules here.

Light:  ?

L:  Don’t they seem convenient to you?

Light:  ...Convenient how?

L:  Under the right conditions, they seem suspiciously beneficial to a user.  Particularly if the notebook were confiscated by the authorities.  The 13-day time limit could be used to free the user from responsibility of the murders.  “I had no choice!  I would’ve died if I didn’t!”  Or it could be used to establish innocence by, say... submitting to confinement that extends past the time limit and surviving.  And the second rule protects the notebook from being destroyed by the ones who found it.  They wouldn’t dare to out of fear for their own lives.  For someone being hunted for being Kira, these rules are perfect.  I’m surprised you haven’t come to this conclusion yourself, Light-kun.

Light:  ...Interesting theory... if a human had written those rules.  But they appear to have been written by the same being who wrote the real rules in the front.  Same style, handwriting...

L:  All can be replicated by someone skilled enough.

Light:  You’re having Mogi analyze the material tomorrow.  We’ll know for sure then.

L:  ...If they were written by a shinigami, who’s to say it wasn’t convinced to write these rules into the notebook on someone’s behalf?

Light:  That’s a pretty big assumption.  That gods of death can be manipulated by a human.

L:  Well, these seem to be very important rules.  Why would they be shoved onto the back cover and not with the others in the front?  The writer couldn’t make room?  Look at these gaps between the lines.  Surely, they would’ve fit.  And not even an indicator to turn to the back for more rules.

Light:  If you think shinigami can be manipulated, then surely you think they’re fallible and can make mistakes.  Perhaps being immortal themselves, the writer didn’t think to include those rules until the last minute?  Or maybe they were one of those infamous prankster gods where they left those in the back to lock the person into using the notebook forever?

L:  Hmm...  Idiot shinigami, huh?  *annoyed*

Light:  Well, these are just theories.  Although, just to be safe, we should still treat all of the rules written in there as real for now.

L:  Mmmm...

Light:  *thinking, chuckles internally* I can actually see Ryuk doing that.  Maybe if he had a little more forethought.  I wonder what he’s been up to all this time.  He probably can’t wait to come back.

Imaginary!Ryuk:  Shoulda read the fine print, mortal!  HAHA Gotta kill forever now!  Hyuk hyuk

Imaginary!Person:  Oh no!

L:  *grumbling*

Light:  *sigh* Come on.  Is it really that hard to admit you’re wrong?

L:  It is when I’m right.

Light:  Ugh.  You’re so childish.  You’re never gonna let it go, are you?  Just saying you’re right doesn’t make it true.  I’m not Kira.

L:  Just saying you’re not Kira doesn’t make that true either.

Light:  The evidence in your hand disagrees with you, but go ahead.  Keep living in that fantasy.  See how far it gets you.

L:  ...So why do you think Higuchi died before we could properly question him?

Light:  Who knows?  Maybe the stress of being arrested got to him?  What a coincidence~.

L:  Light-kun.  Be serious.

Light:  Maybe the shinigami killed him so he wouldn’t reveal too much?

L:  But it didn’t try to keep the notebook away from us, nor did it appear to write anything down.  I was watching.

Light:  Shinigami are gods.  Maybe they can kill people without needing to write a name.  We can only speculate if it doesn’t tell us itself.  *thinking* Hmph.  Watching sure didn’t stop me.  How many straws are you gonna grasp for?  It won’t get you anywhere.  I’ve made sure of that.

L:  ...  *sees a corner torn off a page*  !!!

Light:  ?

L:  *gets up*

Light:  What is it?

L:  *rushes by*

Light:  L...?

L:  *reaches for Light’s watch*

Light:  *alarmed*

L:  *opens the secret compartment*

Light:  *in shock*

L:  *chuckles* They’re gone.  The scrap of notebook paper and needle.  They’re both gone.  Do you deny that those were in here?  Light-kun?

Light:  How did you--

L:  *shrug* I’ve known about them this whole time.  Since your confinement, actually.  Why are you surprised?  Did you think I wouldn’t research and check all of your belongings, watch included?  I was very thorough.

Light:  But why??

L:  I wanted to know what you would use them for.  *checking the watch while Light’s sleeping* You’re a very heavy sleeper, Light.  Yes, it was an experiment.  Sorry, I know how much you hate those.  But it wasn’t an “emotional” experiment, so I only bent your rules a little.  I was curious.  Imagine my disappointment when you never even acknowledged your watch’s secret compartment.  Even when I manufactured situations where you’d probably use its contents...  What a waste.

Light:  *flabbergasted, thinking* THAT’S why there wasn’t any paper for two weeks!  *recalls the headaches and eyestrain the team experienced because of that* Good thing I didn’t know about the paper myself!  I could’ve killed an innocent person and caused a really annoying problem!  Dodged a bullet there...

L:  *suddenly in front of Light* But to think...

Light:  !

L:  This is what you’d use them for.  *grabs Light’s face* I never would’ve guessed!  Brilliant!  Just brilliant!  I would expect nothing less from you.

Light: !!!!!

L:  *leering* That scrap was actually from the murder notebook, wasn’t it?  You used it to kill Higuchi, didn’t you?  You definitely used it today.  It was inside the watch before work.  I checked.  I’ll bet if I look through the security footage, I could narrow down when you used it.  Maybe even to you using it outside of headquarters.  You really did it.  *grins* You’re Kira.

Light:  *in shock, then outraged* How.  Dare.  You.

L:  You didn’t immediately deny it this time~.  It’s so good to see you whole.

Light:  SHUT UP.  Let go of me, you pervert.

L:  I haven’t kept my perversion a secret from you for a while now, Light.  *caresses Light’s neck*

Light:  *further incensed, trying to wrestle L’s hands off him* This is all meaningless, anyway.  So what if I had a piece of paper in my watch?  You can’t prove that that’s what I used it for, or even that it was paper from the Death Note!  I’m not Kira, no matter how much you want me to be!

L:  *releases Light* Yes, I’m sure that you’ve fully disposed of the paper by now, and I have no interest in searching for a literal needle in a haystack.  And even if I tell the task force about the hidden paper, they wouldn’t believe that you used it to kill anyone without undeniable proof.  No matter how sure I am of the events, you’ve left me no wiggle room to prove it.  Well done, Light.  Until I’m allowed to test the notebook myself, and depending on how well interrogating the shinigami goes, I have truly hit a wall.

Light:  ...

L:  Just one thing bothers me now.  Why kill Higuchi now rather than let him take the fall?  Even if the rules in the back were fabricated, surely Kira or the shinigami could’ve killed Higuchi after the 13 days were up and continue the ruse.  The only thing I can think of is... while that course would erase all suspicion from you and Amane...  It wouldn’t get rid of me, Kira’s biggest threat.  Kira clearly wants to continue his campaign, and he can’t do that while I still oppose him.  If Light is Kira, then him still being set on killing me despite telling me he wanted us to work...  That stings a little bit.

Light:  ...So... you do still oppose Kira, right?

L:  Short answer:  Yes.

Light:  *shocked* “Short answer?”

L:  Yes.  It all depends on certain factors.  Namely, who he is and if he can be reasoned with.

Light:  ...What would your terms be exactly?

L:  That information is strictly between me and Kira.

Light:  What?  Seriously??

L:  Yes.

Light:  But you’re already pretty sure that I’m Kira, so why not just tell me?

L:  I am sure.  99% sure.  That unconfirmed 1% keeps me from telling you.  Blame the 13-day rule.

Light:  *exasperated* So, you’ll tell me you’re horny for Kira, but not your terms for working with him.  *sarcastic* That makes sense.

L:  You don’t need to know if you’re not him.

Light:  Ugh.  *thinking* I want to know what his “terms” are.  I wish he’d just tell me!  There might be a way to spare him.  But I can’t just tell him I’m Kira here, or why Higuchi had to die when he did.  I also need to make sure Misa’s safe from him, so Rem doesn’t kill us...  I need to focus...

L:  Oh, a correction:  I’m more horny for you being Kira, specifically.  I just realized this now.

Light:  *facepalms, thinking* ...And then he goes and says something like that!  This man, I swear!  Why do I love him again??  *out loud, sighs* I’m so tired.

L:  *starts fiddling with his pants* Okay, let’s turn in, then.

Light:  No, you know what?  After the way you’ve been acting, I’m not comfortable with you in bed with me.  I’m kinda pissed at you.

L:  *stops* But if I’m not there, won’t you get tangled in the chain like before?

Light:  Even so, I don’t think it’s a good idea.

L:  *slightly sheepish* I guess I did get a little too excited.  I’m sorry.

Light:  I want to be alone.

L:  But the handcuffs--

Light:  Don’t need to be on anymore.  Since the current evidence clears my name, they’ll probably be removed tomorrow anyway.

L:  ...You really can’t wait?

Light:  ...

L:  I see.  I can’t trust you to be alone with the murder notebook without the handcuffs on.  I can’t say I won’t accidentally doze off.

Light:  *thinking* I really wish he’d stop calling it that.  *out loud* I won’t use it.  There are cameras in here, remember?  You’d know if I took it.  And I’m sure you know perfectly well that I don’t have any more suspicious scraps of paper on me.

L:  Right...

Light:  Ugh, fine!  Whatever!  Forget it!  Let’s just--

L:  *removes Light’s handcuff*

Light:  !

L:  If it’s coming off, there’s no point in keeping you here, is there?  The others would be against it anyway.  *rummages through desk, hands Light a keycard*

Light:  What--

L:  The key to your room.  Floor 17, room B.  Don’t worry, it has the standard amount of surveillance on par with that of a normal task force member.  I promise.

Light:  Oh.

L:  *hands over a paper slip* Take this, too.  It’s my... It’s the number to my personal cell phone.  In case you want to... talk.

Light:  But I’ll be at--

L:  You’re no longer required to be assisting in the workroom every day anymore.  Although, you should still show up tomorrow, if only to assure everyone that I haven’t stashed you away somewhere or something.

Light:  Yeah.  My... My father would appreciate that.

L:  ...

Light:  ...

L:  Sleep well, Light.  *sits in his chair at his desk* Shouldn’t you be leaving?  It’s what you wanted.  Watari will bring the rest of your things down to your room later.

Light:  *pissed, shoves stuff in his pockets and grabs his watch* Fine!  I’m leaving!  *starts storming out, simmers down and stops* ...Goodnight.

L:  Hm.

*door closes*

[drcrushers]

something i wrote on just for fun. it’s probably a little dumb, but here we are.

Your smile could out-shine the sun.

It had started out innocent enough. An envelope tucked into her momma’s mailbox and addressed to her while she’d been out. Not one to get messages except from Hermes, she’d opened it with some curiosity. A letter, beautifully written in an unfamiliar hand and unsigned at the bottom. Not quite a love letter, but something almost like it. A request to write back, to put it into the mailbox and it would get to the secret author in return. 

Fuck it, why not?

She knew it was probably a mortal just showing fondness; she’d gotten letters like it before. But there’s something rather . . . fine. Poetic, in a sense. Kind. Made her feel a bit silly reading it over and over again, but Persephone is in a decent mood and decides to write back to at least thank them for the lovely letter. 

So she does.

She keeps it simple. Nothing flowery. Thanks the supposed author for the flattery in the way she does all the mortals when they give her offerings. It’s nice to write a letter; she ain’t in a while. She and Hades ain’t exchanged them in years, he doesn’t have time for them. Much like he doesn’t have time for her, but that’s neither here nor there. 

She writes back, signs it sloppily and tucks it into the mailbox. 

Persephone doesn’t expect another one back. 

I can’t stop smiling when I read your letter, so I hope you don’t mind my reply.

But there it is a few days later, the same handwriting with her name on the front. Which is strange - mortals tend to refer to her by titles, not her name. Afraid of saying it, they’d said once. Invoking her wrath. She’d called it a load of horse shit, but mortals tended to do things their way and she was content on letting them keep up that practice long as they wanted. 

This one seemed different.

The letter was a direct response. The same flowery language, delicate and sweet. Flirty, if she didn’t know any better. How flattering. But now she’s just curious - and part of her is spiteful, too. If Hades knew, she could only imagine his fit of jealousy. Good.

Persephone replies. 

And so a summer long fling begins. In words of course, nothing more. The letters become a brightness in her days of work. She looks forward to getting them, reading them, and drafting up replies. She develops a collection of them in her vanity drawer and the stack only grows as the summer goes on. A hidden secret, almost. Something her momma or Hades can’t intrude on or say she can’t. Maybe it’s selfish or stupid, but she doesn’t care. Not like it’ll matter come winter. The poor mortal will be dead or have forgotten her, surely. They often do when she goes down to the underworld. Back to her husband who’ll no doubt drive her to the depths of insanity again. 

Hell, she might not even make it to the end of the summer. Maybe he’ll come get her early - again. She tries not to think of it, and spends her days bringing the summertime to those who need it most. That’s how she operates. The letters are a nice break and she loses herself in them late into the evenings. Rereading them. Writing back. Pretending she has a friendship-maybe-more with someone who certainly doesn’t build capitalistic hellscapes for what is supposed to be her benefit. 

It’s not the butterflies she got from first meeting her husband, but the feeling is something similar. She can’t deny it. She genuinely smiles for what feels like the first time in years when she reads the letters or replies. 

We should meet before you go.

The request comes as the summer begins to fade. Fall and winter are close on it’s heels. She thinks immediately it’s a bad idea - but Hermes, who knows now, only encourages it oddly enough. A night out before she’s confined in darkness for six months. It’s not a bad idea. 

So she accepts.

---

Persephone hates her reflection. 

It shows too many lines, too many wrinkles that have shown up over the years. Her hair is unruly, curlier than her momma’s and it snags everything in the fields in it’s grasp that leaves her plucking foxtails and other burrs out of it for ages. Even down to the shade of her skin - none of it seems particularly beautiful compared to her momma or their other relatives up top. Most of the time she doesn’t give a damn; some days she stares at her reflection and wonders what others must see in her. What her husband had seen in her that day in the garden some centuries ago. What made her so different? So beautiful when there were a plethora of other nymphs, demi-gods, and outright goddesses who outranked her in that regard. 

She huffs, drags her fingers across her face. She’s getting old. Too old. Vaguely she wonders if, as a goddess of life, if she’ll end up grey and decrepit and still trying to garden? An old crone, meant to be the embodiment of life. Hera is as old as her momma and still somehow looks decades younger - then again, Hera doesn’t live in the mortal realm, and doesn’t do physical damned labor. Frankly she wonders how a woman like her survived ten years of war, but that’s besides the point. Much as she loathes her own reflection, Persephone would rather be wrinkled and grey than live on that mountain half the year. 

She toys with a small pot of dark charcoal eyeliner, well used and worn before picking up a small brush with which to apply it with. She remembers using wild berries to stain her lips long before her momma ever let her near an ounce of make up, trying to make herself look like what she imagined the ones up on the mountain looked like. Ethereal, beautiful, striking women - as a girl she’d had no idea how awful and cruel they could be at the time and simply wanted to embody them. Now she mostly tries to be everything they aren’t out of sheer spite. She uses a rich plum color against her lips, and decides she looks decent enough in the reflection that blinks back at her. 

She doesn’t know why she’s doing this - it’s stupid. But she’s just bitter and angry enough at her husband to spite him, too, and Persephone ain’t always made the best decisions sometimes. Hermes had only encouraged her, clearly eager to get her out of her own mind for a night and forget about her crippling marriage. 

Harmless night of flirting could do her good. Remind her she ain’t an old washed up hag. Morale boost and all that. Not as if she wasn’t spending the evening in his bed - though the more bitter part of her says it might do her husband some good to think so. Sober his ass right up to keep him acting like a damned moron. Besides, she’s been writing with this stranger all summer. The letters have been her life and Persephone would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious and intrigued. Eager to meet this stranger who’d spent his summer writing to her as well. Clearly he cared and if Persephone could give him a night of enjoyable company (sans anything below the belt) before winter claimed him, so be it. 

Huffing, Persephone tries to fuss with her hair - and decides it’s a lost cause. Why does she care so much? She shouldn’t. But she tries. Because Hades ain’t given her the excuse in a while. Might as well enjoy the night, even if it won’t lead to nothing. She ain’t that type - even if she wanted to be. Persephone has been fiercely loyal to her husband and knows he’s the same; they’re just a damned wreck when it comes to communicating. Maybe she can practice on this little date.. It’s the first time she’s given in to Hermes’ encouraging in a while - who she knows would rather see her happy than anything and thinks Hades is the source of all her misery. He’s half right. Truth is she does a lot of misery to herself because she can’t swallow her own damn pride or some other bullshit. Much as Hades has built the wall between them, Persephone’s been supplying him with the bricks for years. 

She doesn’t dress fancy. Her usual is good enough, still smelling of the flowers and pollen and the warmth of the sun stitched into the fabric. It’s her favorite. Maybe that’s why Hades had replicated it in black for down below, the dusting of diamonds a nod to how he viewed her as a gem to be displayed. A gown of darkness that was everything her favorite summer dress wasn’t. She doesn’t remember where she got it, just that it’s comfortable and flows freely enough not to restrict her. In the other she feels caged, chest tight and pained when she tries to breathe too deeply. It’s in her head, she knows, but the difference still matters. 

Satisfied she looks semi-decent enough to mingle with mortals, Persephone half gallops down the steps in the way she always has at her momma’s house. Ain’t been her house in a while. Ain’t felt like home since she ran off down below. Still, it serves as a roof over her head when she’s up top and her momma is still kind enough most of the time, eager to have her home. Demeter is out in the fields so she isn’t there to throw a comment her way as she leaves the house, the evening air slightly more crisp than usual. A sign that winter would be coming on soon - a sign that she’d be headed back down below in the not too distant future. Frankly she’s surprised Hades ain’t come for her already. Her stomach twists at the thought. 

Hermes’ bar isn’t far, the town a small scattering of lights in the growing dim light of day. Small houses gathered together, a quaint little place that had been perfect for Demeter, apparently. The bar was one of the larger buildings, music and voices already adrift out the open door. She can’t remember a time when it wasn’t crowded. Since she’s frequented crowds have only grown - Persephone remembers being worshipped at altars carved of marble and stone; now there’s only the bar that carries her token of favors, her mortals far too eager to buy her a drink in some parody of once bloody sacrifices. She doesn’t complain; they’re good at picking wine. 

As always there are gazes that turn her way as she approaches and Persephone plasters a smile across her face. She’s well practiced these days, pretending to be happy. The mortals don’t notice and greet her as always. Raise their cups, toast to their patroness who tries - but it’s hard when old man winter comes early and won’t let her go until late. Hard to keep an entire world going when she gets a fraction of time to bring decent harvests. Still seems no matter how hard she tries there are always ones who don’t make it through the winter. The ones missing from the tables in the bar. She may not remember their exact faces, but she knows they’re missing. Knows these places should be filled by healthy warm bodies - and instead there are only fleeting ghosts in the chairs instead. 

“Was wonderin’ if you’d show up.” Hermes remarks lightly, pouring her drink before she can even reach the bar proper. “I always do. Show up. Reckon it’s like clockwork these days.” Persephone replies, grabbing the glass as he finishes and taking a long swig. Immediately the warmth spreads from her belly out, and she knows she’ll be numb by the end of the night. Hopefully. 

“Sit yourself down. Or make the rounds. Whatever ya like. Your friend ain’t here yet.”

She snorts. “Of course not.”

Holding tight to her drink, Persephone does a turn about the room. The mortals are usually pleased to see her, leech off the warmth she naturally radiates. A smile, a laugh, a dance - it’s all too familiar to her and she’s happy to help in the ways she can. If they’re gonna die, they might as well die happy. Either way in the end they all come to her in the underworld. Once she could have granted them some semblance of the afterlife, but now they all toil away in those damned factories and mines. But they don’t need to know it. Not yet. Not now. 

She loses track of time as some point, because Hermes suddenly grabs her by the elbow and they do a little twirl. Her body is less tight, the alcohol already working easily into her system to let her at least enjoy the night without struggling to forget about her shithole marriage. 

“Your date is here.” He grins. 

“Ain’t a date.” She teases. “Least, better not let my man hear you say that.”

“Won’t hear it from me, sister.” Hermes winks, and turns her nearly into the arms of another. A sharp, delightful feeling races up her arms and down her spine the second her hands touch the rough ones of the other figure. 

She knows who it is without question, without even looking up. A smile comes unbidden before she can stop it. 

“It’s you.” She whispers, one of those hands coming up to tuck beneath her chin, to bring her gaze to his. Her heart races and she wants to laugh.

Hades smiles.

“It’s me.”

[eirenical]

Don’t mind me... I’m about to go on a ramble.  ;D

OK.  So lately I’ve started watching some of How to ADHD’s Youtube videos and trying to figure out if there is any possible way that I can actually make my life a little easier, shy of getting on medication.  Because I... really don’t want to do that if I have any other choice, but I can’t go on living like I’m living.  I’ll have a complete mental breakdown.

So.  What to do?  One of the things suggested on the channel was bullet journaling.  (Why it’s good for ADHD, How to Create one.)  Now... I am not an artistic person.  No.  That���s not quite true.  But I am not the DRAWING kind of artistic.  And bullet journals always seem geared towards... artsy people of the drawing variety, so I got scared off trying it before I ever did.  I tried... essentially the “create a Discord server” version of bullet journaling and that... worked... sometimes...  The problem is that for my to-do list, it’s very easy for me to just... not check that particular channel.  And because there is no way to make a practical calendar to attach a sense of time to any of those things that need doing, it’s even EASIER to just... let them disappear into the internet ether.  Because one thing that ADHDers are universally bad with is time, particularly keeping track of it and how much of it has passed.

So, ANYWAY, I saw her videos on bullet journaling and realized that the base core of it is... actually not so scary?  It’s actually pretty easy to set up and because it’s a kind of create-as-you-go situation, you don’t need to worry about forgetting anything.  You can just add it in as you remember.  And she said something else that honestly kind of stunned me because I never really thought about it but it’s true: ADHDers do better with analog than digital.  Translation in this case?  If we physically write it down, it stays in our brains far more easily.  And the more TIMES we write it down, the better it stays.

So, I decided to give this whole thing a try.  This afternoon I sat down and set up the journal. I did a SIGNIFICANT amount of background organizational work today.  And setting up the journal was a big part of it.  And this kind of amazing thing happened.  Once I set up the journal and saw these things concretely on the page and in my own handwriting... it became easier to claim responsibility for actually DOING them.  And... I did several things that I normally would have put off just because seeing them sitting there, I realized exactly how small and easy they would be to do and I LIKE CROSSING THINGS OFF MY LISTS.  *_*

(Side note: the creator of the bullet journal also has a good video and one of the things he said in it was basically: we’re all perfectionists.  We’re terrified of fucking up the journal.  But you know what?  You’re going to fuck it up at some point.  So, fuck it up early and that will take the pressure off!  And you know what?  Intentional or not (IT WASN’T, I SWEAR) I already fucked mine up twice.  XD  And now that I’ve done that it’s like... eh.  OK.  So it’s not perfect.  Whatever.  And that is SUCH a weight off my mind that I didn’t even realize was sitting there.  The more you know!  ;D)

This also ties into another video of hers I watched about the Wall of Awful (Part 1, Part 2).  If you have ADHD or any other kind of executive function disorder, especially if they come with anxiety attached, I HIGHLY recommend those two videos.  I realized watching them that the only two methods I have to manage the Wall of Awful are... the two unhealthy methods.  OTZ  I kind of glanced off of the healthy coping method briefly last semester, but I couldn’t figure out how to replicate what I’d done.  Now I know why.  One of the pieces of the healthy coping mechanism is giving yourself permission to be done and recognizing what “done” looks like.  And with my new bullet journal as a physical manifestation of what I’ve decided to accomplish, that was suddenly much, much easier.  So I was very productive for an hour or so tonight... and then I was done.  Because I reached my stopping point.  I had added in a bonus round, but after doing what I’d already accomplished, weather headache had set in and I said, you know what?  It’s OK.  I did the minimum of what I wanted to do, the thing that was most important for the people depending on me right now.  It’s OK to be done and to pick it back up tomorrow.

I have NO IDEA if this will last or if I’ll be able to maintain it, but as a preliminary experiment... it didn’t work out so bad.  ^_^

[mortedeveles]

Perfectionist

SUMMARY: You had been caught up with your art for so long that you forgot about your school duties...but fortunately, your crush and friend Izuku Midoriya comes over to lend you a hand.

TW: nothing tbh? cursing and a bit of suggestive content? 

Genre: fluff, humor? just pining in general

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x artist!gn!reader.

a/n-please read: i’ve noticed that my activity of likes and reblogs on my content has lowered recently. is there anything you guys would like me to write in particular? please let me know ^^ (i already published an aizawa oneshot and will be doing one for shigaraki later on.) as always, please leave a like, reblog, comment and/or follow me if you enjoyed! xx

If you could describe your art in one word, you'd choose the word perfectionist. It wasn't like you liked being a perfectionist, but that's just how you were. 

While some artists worked for recognition, fame, and others simply enjoyed making art, your case was... a little bit different.

When you did art, you strived for excellence. Perfect. Not one mistake. A smudge of dirt? Unproportional objects? It looks terrible. Think you can do better? You have to make it perfect.  That didn't mean you did art out of obligation. It was your favorite hobby, but your perfectionist tendencies with your art knew no limits. 

Though, you really wished that the perfectionist tendencies you had with your art would translate into your daily routine. Because outside of your art, you were a fucking mess.

You weren't the tidiest person, and your parents had given you hell because of that in your childhood. While you were responsible and kept your word, there were other instances where things slipped from your mind and you felt like the biggest, useless idiot in the world.

Today was one of those days. After a tiring school day from U.A, you retreated into your dorms, determined to spend the rest of your free time into your art.

You had rolled out your mixed media notebook, opened your soft pastel package and opened your laptop with a compile of several reference images, and got to work. 

Your artwork's inspiration was the one and only- Izuku Midoriya-, who happened to be your long term crush and close friend. 

His green hair sparked so many ideas and inspiration in your mind, you had to control yourself and pay attention in class and not drift towards his messy hair. His wide and bright green eyes made your stomach twist like an acrobat, making you feel like so flustered that your face would heat up to no end.

You let out a soft laugh and shook your head, deciding to stop all your endless thoughts of Izuku. It was time to focus on your artwork. You were about two hours or three into your work, blending with your finger and smoothing outlines when your phone rang.

A shocked gasp left you when you noticed the caller ID. It was Tsuyu! 

''Fuck!'' you cursed. You had forgotten that you were going to help Tsuyu out with a school project! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

''Oh my god Tsu, I'm so sorry-'' you began to apologize quickly, feeling shame and regret bubble in your stomach.

''It's okay, Y/N. Ribbit. Don't worry about it, Uraraka came over and she's helping me out. Though, you should start on that school project Aizawa-sensei gave you,''

Panic began to take over your body as your breathing became heavier and slower.

''Um, y-yeah. You're right. Th-thanks for reminding me, I'll see you tomorrow.'' You quickly ended the call and threw your phone on your bed. Muffling a scream, you began to pull at your hair as you walked in circles in your room.

''Oh my fucking god,'' you breathed. ''Why do I screw everything up?'' 

You bitterly stared at the incomplete artwork that sat on your desk, Izuku's bright smile staring up at you. You had been drawing Izuku in a sunflower field, but now it seemed that your project would be paused. 

Your choice had been based on the thought that Izuku was like a sunflower. He was beautiful, warm, and bright, and he would always face the sun. Determined to reach light and happiness. And where there wasn't any sun, he would reach out to those who surrounded them. Izuku was an inspiration- he would always help those in need, no matter who they were or the consequences he would receive. 

A strangled noise of sadness escaped you as you began to close and put away your art supplies. Once your desk was clear, you began to pull out your school materials. You glanced at the time and much to your dismay, it was 9 PM. 

It was so late! And you still had to write down that essay that Aizawa had tasked you with- the history and categories of quirks. 

''Oh god,'' the words left your lips as a weak whimper. ''How am I supposed to finish this and get some sleep?'' you sighed as you rubbed your temple. ''I guess I'll just pull an all-nighter.''

A defeated sigh left your lips as you began to write the essay, feeling your eyebags become deeper and more pronounced with each hour of sleep that you missed. It wasn't until three hours later that you heard a soft knock on your door. You jumped in your seat but made no noise as you approached your door.

''Who is it?'' you called out warily. Who in their right mind would visit your dorm at midnight?

''Oh, it's me, Izuku, Y/N!'' Izuku's cheerful and soft voice called out.

A bright smile took over your lips as you opened the door. ''Hey Izuku! What brings you to my dorm at midnight?'' you cock an eyebrow at him, smiling at his bashful reaction. 

''U-Uh, I just wanted to help you out!'' he stammered. The tip of his ears burned red and you chuckled. ''I thought you might need some help with your essay...?'' he cocked his head to the right and smiled sheepishly.

Eyes widening, you nodded vigorously as you opened the door wider to let him. 

''Of course!'' you exclaimed. ''Thank you so much! I was caught up with my shitty artwork, so I totally forgot about the essay,'' you huffed, shaking your head in disapproval. 

Izuku offered you a small smile and opened his mouth to intervene, but he was too late since you had already sat down and looked at him expectantly. 

''So, I have about a third of the essay done, but I'm not good in this area,'' you scratched the back of your neck sheepishly. ''Do you know about quirks and all that stuff?''

Know about quirks? Izuku nearly scoffed. He was an expert in quirks! His entire life had consisted of writing down notes, rambling like a madman, studying his favorite heroes, and their quirks. Quirks were such an interesting and diverse subject, how could he not know about them?

''Of course!'' he said with a bright smile. ''So we should start with the origin of quirks and that means...'' Izuku continued talking, but the way his eyes shone with passion and how his green curls bounced constantly had you distracted.

How could you focus on what he was saying when the mere sight of him left you speechless? 

''-N? Y/N?'' Izuku's confused expression snapped you out of your trance. You straightened your posture as you blinked and nodded several times.

''Huh? Oh, sorry Izuku,'' you smiled awkwardly. ''I got distracted.''

He nodded and continued to explain and this time, you tried your best to listen to his words and not focus on his bright green eyes. They shone like the most beautiful emeralds-

Stop it! you scolded yourself. Focus.

Once Midoriya finished his explanation, you had a decent grip and idea of the subject and the two of you began to compose the essay. Hours flew by as the two of you chattered and wrote down parts and bits of the essay in your notebook.

''Okay!'' you exclaimed. ''I think we have everything covered...now I just have to glue it all together and make it cleaner...'' your voice trailed off. Staying up late drained the energy out of you, and you could feel your eyelids drooping.

''Y/N?'' Izuku cautiously reached out his hand and tapped you on the shoulder. ''Are you feeling okay?''

You coughed awkwardly as you nodded and began to write down the essay quickly, despite the lack of energy in your body. You refused to meet Izuku's gaze.

''Yeah!'' your voice was unnaturally squeaky. ''I'm just a bit tired, but I'll get this done quickly.'' you offered him a quick smile before returning your gaze to the paper.

Midoriya nodded and stayed at your side as you wrote down the essay, much to your dismay. Now that the two of you were quiet, you became painfully aware of how close Izuku was. Your arms brushed against each other and his warm breath hit the side of your neck. You slightly squirmed in your seat. His breath made you ticklish.

The last thing you remember from that night is writing the essay but the more you wrote, the tired you felt and before you realized, you had fallen asleep on Izuku's shoulder.

The boy frowned when he noticed you had stopped writing only to realize that you had fallen asleep against him. His face reddened and his heart sped up. You were so...so...close to him!

Your body was so warm. With a shaky breath, he inched forward and made sure to not wake you up. Izuku figured that you had worn yourself out today, so he decided that he would finish your essay. He spent another hour sitting next to you, trying his best to replicate your handwriting and carefully choose his words to finish the essay.

Once he was done, Midoriya slumped back as his body relaxed. He carefully maneuvered around you and picked you up. Once he had laid you on your bed, he quickly turned off the lights and ran out of your room. It took him a lot of courage and strength to carry you and now his face was beet red. Izuku sighed loudly as he speedwalk towards his dorm. Your perfume was all over him and now he couldn't think of anything but you!

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

When your phone began to ring with your alarm, the first thing that you noticed is that you were in...your bed?

You groaned as you tried to collect your memories from yesterday. Midoriya was the first thing that came to your mind and a smile tugged at your lips.

The essay! You jumped out of bed and stared at the piece of paper on your desk, only to find it complete? Your eyes widened as you stared at the details of the handwriting. Midoriya must've finished it! you thought as you shoved it inside your backpack. 

''Oh man...'' you mumbled as you raced around in your room, preparing to head out for class. ''I have to thank Midoriya for this! He's so thoughtful...'' 

You raced out of your dorm and picked up your speed when you noticed that nearly everyone had already left for class. Once you reached the U. A building and spotted a familiar green-haired boy, you raced towards him and wrapped him in a tight hug.

''Hey, Izuku! Sorry for dashing in like this, but thank you so, so much for this! I owe you one!'' you continued to blabber and once you finished, you pressed a soft and tender kiss on Izuku's freckled cheek.

You pulled away with a wide smile.  Izuku's jaw had dropped open and he could only stare in you in shock as his entire face bloomed bright red.

''Oh! I'm sorry! Did I make you uncomfortable?'' you mumbled. You wrung your hands together and lowered your gaze to the ground. You felt your once ecstatic heart drop to your stomach. 

''No! No, no that's not it Y/N!'' Izuku's voice was squeakier than usual and you raised your head with a frown. ''Um, I'm very glad,'' he smiled softly. 

''Could you um...'' he scratched his head and lowered his eyes to the ground.

''Could you make it up to me with a-a da-da...'' he stammered several times. You grinned and tilted your head to the side.

''Do you mean a date?'' your grin grew wider when you saw his bashful expression.

''Yeah...'' he mumbled.

You giggled happily and pressed a kiss on his cheek. Izuku's eyes widened and you could sense the waves of heat from his face.

''I'll be glad to go on a date with you, Izuku.''

i hope you guys enjoyed!! have a good day! 

[saphiiiic]

So it was nicely set up earlier on in the episode with Eve beginning to look into Dasha and her work (even though she doesn’t know who Dasha is at this point) she does know that Villanelle replicated one of her kills and makes the connection that whoever she is could lead her to the twelve.

As Suzanne has said and as many people have been speculating Eve won’t believe that Villanelle killed Niko. Not only because the note left is very Un-Villanelle like and it’s not the same handwriting but also because Eve has studied Villanelle for so long now and she’s built up an innate connection and understanding of her and how she works. Remember 2x05 when Villanelle told Eve how stupid she had been to put a hit out on herself? “What if I hit you with a car? What if I shot you?” Eve replied very calmly “you wouldn’t”. She KNOWS Villanelle and especially when it comes to how she is with Eve.

We also can’t forget that Villanelle had the chance to kill Niko before but she didn’t, she only killed Gemma and Eve will remember that. Villanelle knew that Eve would never forgive her if she did and it would hurt her so badly. She doesn’t want to hurt Eve. She wanted Niko out of the way but she would never bring herself to kill him and Eve knows that.

We see in season three how Eve is really beginning to spiral, Niko is the only thing that tied her back to a ‘normal’ life that everyone else has and she was desperately trying to cling to that, to him. With Niko brutally murdered in front of her eyes I think we’re going to see a switch to a much darker Eve. So much has happened to her and she’s going to want VENGEANCE. Niko was a good man and he didn’t deserve to go that way. Not to mention the fact that she’s already lost a good man (Kenny) this season already. A good friend and now her husband have been brutally snatched away from her and who does she have left now? Only Villanelle.

Eve will delve deeper into her research for sure and will eventually find out who Dasha is... with the help of Villanelle I feel? Villanelle will find out that Dasha has been trying to keep her away from Eve and that she tried to frame her for Niko’s murder trying to drive a wedge between her and Eve. She WILL NOT be happy and with Villanelle’s knowledge of Dasha I can just see them working together (as we know they are going to) towards the end of the season to take down Dasha and attempt to begin the process of taking down the twelve.

Konstantin mentioned that Villanelle had always wanted to kill Dasha. What if, in the final episode or even sooner we get a stand off where Villanelle has the opportunity to take Dasha out but Eve is with her and she asks if she would rather do it? For VENGEANCE. Therefore taking Eve even further down this dark path that this season has been starting her down.

Dasha, Konstantin, her family? Everyone has betrayed Villanelle. Eve? She can’t trust Carolyn and everyone else is gone. They only have each other, the only people they can trust are each other and in contrast to the season two finale where Eve refused to go with Villanelle. Perhaps season three ends WITH Eve following Villanelle. Finally admitting what Villanelle said in season two, that they are the same. Finally admitting that she does have feelings for Villanelle. Finally admitting that the only time she feels complete is when she is with Villanelle.

[onenerdtwonagas]

Cultural Exchange

It had been nearly a month since the demigod moved in to Uriah’s apartment, and yet it didn’t feel nearly as odd as the young man had expected. Lessons on human etiquette were going surprisingly well, and it only took a week for Orpheus to stop growling or flinching every time an appliance beeped, or a car horn sounded from the streets below. Learning to use said appliances, however, would still take time, but Uriah was at least confident that Orpheus knew not to try operating any of them on his own just yet. He wasn’t stupid, by any means, just very new to the advances of human technology. It was like teaching a toddler to read or spell for the first time.

That being said, feeding and caring for a naga demigod was not always so simple. Uriah could and absolutely did his best to make sure Orpheus got enough to eat, though it was making a bit of a dent in his grocery bill. Finding clothes for him for the first time was a trial, too; he couldn’t very well take Orpheus with him, so finding clothes meant buying various styles and brands and having to traverse the stores multiple times to return whatever wasn’t going to work. And it certainly tried his poor nerves having to watch Orpheus in so many snug shirts and pants. A man can only take so much.

All the extra food and shopping expenses meant more work was needed, and until Orpheus was versed enough in human culture to have a job of any sort, that meant overtime for Uriah. He felt terrible, not being able to spend more time with Orpheus, but bills didn’t stop coming just because he wished they would. When he came home, Orpheus was always waiting for him, smiling and boasting whatever he’d managed to accomplish on his ‘homework’ assigned by Uriah. The first day he’d managed to memorize the alphabet, he’d been practically giddy.

Uriah recalled that evening as he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, smiling to himself. The eagerness in Orpheus’ eyes when he’d asked to be shown how to spell Uriah’s name... The last ‘assignment’ he’d been working on was handwriting. Uriah could only imagine how excited Orpheus would be to show off his improvements.

“Babe, I’m home!”

He re-locked the door and shrugged off his jacket, cracking his neck to the left, then the right. The lights in the kitchen were on low, but it was quiet. His brow perked.

“Orpheus?”

Silence answered him. Odd. Normally he’d be halfway smothered in coils at that point, doing his best to fend off an almost-too-affectionate naga. Uriah set his small work bag on the counter and smoothed out his t-shirt, glancing into the living room space as he rounded the corner to the hallway. The only other light on came from the partially-open bedroom door, which Uriah cautiously eased in to.

“...Orpheus?”

The naga didn’t respond. He was reclined on the bed, tail sprawled partially on the mattress before spilling out on to the floor, and surrounding him were about half a dozen sheets of paper and a discarded pen. His bare chest rose and fell slowly, sound asleep, practically dead to the waking world.

Uriah snuck past the lazily wound tail on the floor and peeked over at the papers. Glancing up to make sure he hadn’t disturbed his lover, he leaned over and pulled the pages one by one, and turned them over. They were absolutely littered with Orpheus’ rough, but mildly improved handwriting, with hundreds of attempts at spelling Uriah’s name. Uriah muffled a sheepish groan with the pages pressed to his face as he caught sight of several flocks of hearts scribbled around what he assumed were Orpheus’ favorite attempts.

Good God, he’s so...

Uriah slid the papers down and peeked at Orpheus, still dozing. Usually, Orpheus made it a point to be the last to fall asleep, either by convenient hypnosis or Uriah’s own exhaustion. He liked to, as he put it, watch how peaceful he looked. It was a sweet sentiment, if not terribly embarrassing. But for the first time, Uriah got a good look at his sweetheart in the vulnerable state of sleep, all of his features softened and at ease. He’d never taken in Orpheus’ features like that before. The gentle, natural curve of his mouth, the length of his eyelashes, the way his silver hair fell across his face...

Uriah carefully eased up on to the bed, setting the papers aside and sitting close to Orpheus. It struck him how absolutely, completely, infinitely fortunate he was, that a demigod would love him so much. That someone, anyone, mortal or otherwise, would leave their home to be with him, to take the time to learn his culture, to understand an entirely new society’s way of doing things. Orpheus, heir to an immortal title of Night God, loved him, a mere human, so much that he spent hours practicing how to write his name, and littering the spaces between with fond scribbles of affection.

He smiled, watched Orpheus for a few moments more, and then reached out to brush his hair behind his ear. The naga stirred, his breath catching for a moment before his eyelids lazily fluttered open. It was almost a shame to wake him.

“Hmm...? Uriah?”

“Hi.”

“You’re home,” he said thickly, blinking. “What time...?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Orpheus shifted, looking up at Uriah. Something came to him.

“Oh. Oh, I uh—“ He stifled a yawn, barely hiding his fangs. “—practiced your name today. I wanted to show you.”

“I saw,” Uriah chuckled. He held up the papers briefly. “You must’ve been at it for a while.”

“Guess I was. Fell asleep doing it.”

He cocked his head slightly when he noticed Uriah’s eyes hadn’t left his face.

“What is it?”

“You,” Uriah said simply.

“Me? Do I have ink on me somewhere, or something?”

“No. It’s just... I realized how lucky I am, with you.”

Uriah stroked the line of Orpheus’ cheekbone with his thumb.

“How lucky I am to have met you, and that you love me, and how unbelievable it is that you’re mine. And you’re doing so much to learn how to live with me.”

Orpheus turned his face in to Uriah’s palm and nuzzled affectionately.

“I’d do anything for you, love.”

He shifted to sit up, but Uriah placed his hand on his chest.

“No, stay there. I want to enjoy this,” Uriah whispered, leaning over him. “Having a demigod all to myself...”

Orpheus smirked up at him, resettling into the pillows as Uriah hovered over him. He purred as Uriah closed the space between them, lips meeting for a blissfully long, tender moment. Uriah’s fingers combed through his hair, taking his time drawing sighs out of the naga beneath him.

“Mm...Not that I’m not thoroughly savoring this, but aren’t you tired? You worked all day,” Orpheus murmured. He traced a finger along Uriah’s jaw.

“No. I’ve got time for you. Especially after how hard you studied today. Ive gotta ask, though, but what possessed you to add all those goofy hearts?”

“You call those little things hearts?”

“What did you think they were?”

“Well, I assumed they meant ‘love’, at least, but I didn’t know what they were called, exactly,” Orpheus admitted. His cheeks tinted a mildly purple hue as he blushed. “They...they do mean ‘love’, don’t they?”

Uriah forced himself not to laugh.

“Yes, that’s what they mean.”

He paused, only mildly aware Orpheus was still touching his face.

“Do your kind have a symbol like that?”

“A love symbol? Of course, but it’s nothing like the one you humans use,” Orpheus answered. His hand dropped from Uriah’s cheek to stroke a knuckle along his collarbone. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I...just figure it’s only fair I learn about your culture, if you’re learning about mine.”

Orpheus’ smile grew a little wider.

“Let me see... Naga culture is fairly diverse, mind you, but there are a few universal words and symbols within our language.”

“Nagas have dialects?”

“Oh, dozens, hundreds. A naga from the desert will be infinitely different from one born in the mountains, or a river basin. And some will have accents within that.”

Uriah nodded.

“But the symbol for love tends to be rather similar, with just a little variation for some,” he continued. Orpheus’ hand dropped from Uriah’s collarbone to the center of his chest, a single claw tracing out the simple but twisting shape. He stared into Uriah’s eyes after, his gaze soft.

“That’s ‘love’. The two bound together, and space in the center containing all that is between them.”

Uriah felt warmth tingling across his face, and radiating beneath Orpheus’ finger where it remained on his chest.

“So...like this?”

He gently traced the same winding shape on Orpheus’ chest, looking into his face afterwards. Uriah wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the naga so smitten with him before.

“Just like that,” he praised.

“A-And, um...do you have a name for it, too?”

“We do.”

Orpheus bent up, his cheek brushing seductively against Uriah’s, and whispered into his ear in a language he couldn’t name. It was soft, lilting almost, with a silken hiss. He wouldn’t have been able to replicate it even if he tried, he was certain; no one could make it sound as sweet as it did coming off of Orpheus’ tongue. Uriah closed his eyes and repeated the gesture of the symbol on the naga’s chest.

“Say it again?” he asked shyly. Orpheus obliged and retraced the shape himself before kissing Uriah’s cheek, warm and affectionate.

“I-I wish I could pronounce that,” he confessed, a feather-light laugh escaping him.

“Maybe I can teach you,” Orpheus purred, beckoning Uriah back down with him. His strong arms wrapped around him, hands tracing over the man’s spine, coaxing his head onto his chest.

“It sounds beautiful. I’ve never heard you use that language before.”

“That’s the ancient tongue. It’s simplified quite a bit over the years, and in some areas I know we’ve mingled with human languages. Latin, for one, which sounds divine when you use it, by the way.”

“Oh, stop. I only know it for science jargon.”

“Divine jargon.”

They both shared a laugh, brief but sincere, before Uriah settled more comfortably against Orpheus. He loved laying with him like that, with his head over his heart, listening to his strong and steady pulse. Orpheus’ claws glided effortlessly through his curls, just barely ghosting against his scalp. Uriah loosely twirled a strand of his lover’s hair around his finger and let himself melt.

“I’m going to love learning with you. Every little thing.”

“I’d love nothing more.”

[tired-college-student-writing]

Tim’s Secret Weapon Pt. 4

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav​ ‘s Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damian brings a new friend home.

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4 (HERE)

Part 5

_______________________________________________________________________

“Yup!” Jason popped the ‘p’ before holding up the book Tim had given him, “Who’s ready for storytime?” 

“What do you mean Tim is afraid I would throw him out?” Bruce pushed even as Jason led them towards one of the desks, “I want to help him with-”

“Yeah I’m gonna stop you there,” Jason cut him off, eyes hard as he set the book down with an uncharacteristic amount of care,“Tim was very offended by what we thought was going on with him and it just made him more sure that all of us were going to leave him behind as his shitty parents did. So let’s just cut to the chase and cool off before he seriously decides to run off before we can go talk to him because I’m pretty sure even after talking to him for twenty minutes, he’s still around seventy-five percent sure that’s going to be a better option than waiting around.” 

Jason had never seen the energy of a room shift so fast, the anger and bloodlust that had been suffocating since Dick uncovered the file on Marinette vanished into a deep rippling uncertainty. If there was one unspoken rule of the household, it was that no previous trauma will knowingly be replicated. It’s why Jason always makes a point of leaving his guns in the cave and never points them passed Bruce unless it’s life or death. Why no one touched the trapeze unless Dick was going up with them and they always used a net, no matter how good their aerial skills were. Why no one spoke to Jason in angry or stern Arabic. No one told Damian he was overreacting, especially when it was about illness or injuries. 

No one was allowed to make Tim think they were abandoning him.   

Dick looked stricken at the very idea, “Jay, why is Tim so scared?” 

“Short answer? Tim’s Meta.” 

The whole room froze, eyes flying wide, making Jason chuckle, “Yeah that was my response to.”

“How long?” Bruce asked, hand gripping the back of his chair so hard, Jason wondered if he was going to break it. 

“From what he said, he was born with his power, it’s always on and pretty impossible for him to block out.”

Damian’s face scrunched, “And father always made it clear that he doesn’t like Metas in Gotham.”  

“Fuck,” Dick swore, turning to punch the cave wall, “How the actual shit did we miss this? We’re fucking detectives goddamn it!” 

Seeing Dick lose it like that made Jason pause. It was rare to see the carefree brother truly get mad about anything, let alone for him to cuss up a storm, he always did prefer those filler cusses that make the rest of them groan. 

But then again Damian looked pained and Bruce was sinking into the Bat-computer chair looking lost as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I never meant it like this,” Bruce whispered, “I just didn’t want anyone else coming to Gotham expecting to be able to fix it overnight. Did I really come off anti-meta?” 

“I…” Jason winced, stopping to think, “I never thought so, but I can see how Tim thought you might be. We all need to talk to him, but I promised I’d explain some of this shit like Tim did to me, and look through his book so that we don’t all bombard him with questions.” 

The four shared a look before they all surrounded the table as Jason began. He told them of the numbers, the skill Tim had that he never shared. After they opened the book they found that it was more complex than just that. 

The entries started off very rudimentary, clearly written by a small child, the dates claiming that Tim began this journal when he was merely six years old. They detailed the color, font, and number of the person he had met. A few of the higher ranks having little ideas next to them on the cause, but as the list grew and the handwriting even outed, there were itemized lists on the reason for each number above a 5. 

By the time they reached Bruce’s they were pretty dumbfounded as they read through Tim’s confusion and fear at the number that broke the code he’d knew through his whole life, his reason section was filled with sentences of ideas, instead of the short bullet points, trying to ration it out. 

The most confusing part of it was he ruled things out that he couldn’t have known, insider trading and corruption would have been a logical conclusion for him to draw of the Billionaire he knew nothing about but he ruled them out instantly, not even bothering to consider they might be part of the reason. 

Not to mention when he actually put it together. 

“His power works on broadcasts as well?” Bruce mused, “I know I never saw he was never on the streets when I was out during this time period,” 

“Adding it to the list of questions,” Dick said as he typed it out into the sheet he had made when they started asking too many questions only Tim could answer.  

“Never mind that,” Damian brushed off, “Look at the traits he listed, all listed at the same time from the looks of the ink but if the date is to be believed, this is from before Todd was debuted as Robin, how did he know you had a mastery in hacking, spoke multiple languages and stunt flight?” 

All of them froze at those words, hunching over it to look at the words. 

There was no logical way Tim could know any of those things. Most of Batman’s skill set could be guessed through out the rumors and gossip that flew since the caped crusader started his reign of the city, but those skill sets still weren’t widely known to the public. 

“I…” Bruce shook his head, “Add it to the list, we have a lot more of the book to get through to worry about this now. We should try and finish the book. 

But the issue popped up again and again as the pages went on, each hero he met he knew their skills down to the littlest detail, things he shouldn’t be able to know, especially before he became the third Robin. 

He knew Clark was Superman when he met the reporter first.

He knew Diane was made of clay before the woman had ever given away that little tidbit.

He knew that Barry was a wiz when it came to criminology before the speedster had ever given up his identity. 

He knew Arthur had low-level empathic abilities that went beyond sea life before Arthur was even considered a hero. 

They were only two-third of the way through the book, arguing over how The Commissioner could possibly know their identities, let alone why it would make his number rise so quickly when not even Bruce’s number had done so when he learned the other League member’s identities, when a stern voice cut through their thought. 

 “Gentlemen, There’s a bit of a situation that Master Tim and I discovered that could use your attention.” Alfred cut in, making them turn, stopping when they saw Tim practically sprint to the Bat computer, pointily looking at the wall to avoid looking at them, his shoulders so tight they shock.

“Tim?” Dick asked, concern dripping from his words as he started towards the younger man only to freeze as Tim visually flinched away from the word, curling inward as he frantically typed away on the keyboard. 

Before any of them tried to break the silence again the giant screen lit up to show a battle play out. A young girl dressed in a red and polka-dotted outfit flipping and twisting out of the way of the pages thrown like ninja stars at her, a yoyo used to propel her, eyes filled with laughter behind her mask. Her moves were agile and practiced, as another figure, a boy her same age dressed in skin-tight black leather entered the frame. 

“I figured out why Marinette is a 15,” He finally managed out, making the bats’, minus Jason, heads snap to him.

A 15? 

The brat couldn’t just have a normal girlfriend, could he?

No, he had to have someone that shattered Tim’s power completely.

 And he had no idea why, until now. 

They really couldn’t blame him for being obsessive. 

“I couldn’t find out why Mari was so powerful,” Tim rambled on, “But Alfred helped me realize that she’s a hero too. A hero with the power of the god of creation on her side, which makes sense for why she completely broke my, uh, my power. She’s been-” 

“Tim,” 

“-fighting a supervillain,” Tim just continued as if he hadn’t heard Bruce, his voice skipping up a few pitches, “ who also uses the power of a god to help him make others into villains to do his bidding. They’ve been locked in battle for years now. Years! We really should have noticed before now, but better late then never right? Heh, she has some allies though so it’s not like she was fighting on her own or anything, and-”  

“Drake,” Damian cut in, ducking past Dick to grab Tim by the shoulder to spin him, staring into his eyes with the type of harsh determination only the demon spawn seemed to be able to, ignoring the quacking fear in Tim’s own eyes, “I am the byproduct of the daughter of one of Father’s greatest enemies drugging him. I was raised will one goal in mind, to be the ultimate weapon to take down all that stood in the way of the League of Assassins, and yet Father, Grayson, Todd, Pennyworth and you gave me safety and taught me why my grandfather was wrong. Todd was murdered by a clown with psychopathic tendencies, was brought back by the magic that my grandfather has a monopoly on, went crazy with Lazarth sickness and thought the best course of action was to become a crimelord in the very city he vowed to protect, going as far as trying to shoot Father, the man he saw as an older brother and you, the boy he was convinced Father had only brought into the circle to die as he had, and yet once the sickness faded Father welcomed back in with open arms, shedding tears for the child he thought he had lost. Father may have made it clear that he’s not a fan of metas operating in the city, but you’re a moron if you believe for a second that means he’s going to disown you or take Red Robin away from you. You’re also lost all my respect if you think this means I or any of the others that dawn the bat moniker are going to feel any different about you for having these powers.” 

Tim’s mouth opened and closed several times after Damian’s speech had come to a close as the others waited for him to break the silence of the cave. All he could feel was his hands trembling as his eyes welled up. 

Damian was still looking at him before sighing, “You really are an idiot,” 

He wanted to retort, wanted to bite out a response as he blinked back the tears but he suddenly found Damian’s arms wrapped around his waist, a tight grounding embrace, the younger boy’s chin resting on his shoulder. 

Tim wasn’t sure he was breathing, his whole body shaking like it was trying to shatter into a million pieces. The brat, Damian, the one person he thought would gladly cast him aside given the slightest of reason to was… 

“You’re family, Tim,” Damian stern voice cut through his mental frenzy, “If I’ve learned one thing since moving to Gotham, it’s that you don’t give up on family, not for anything, and certainly not for something like this.”   

Tim felt something inside him break and the next thing he knew he was sobbing into Damian’s shoulder the pair on their knees in the middle of the cave, gripping Damian back like he thought if he let go the boy would vanish. Slowly as he felt his breathing calm down and his sobs fade he could feel more arms surrounding him. The entire bat family was surrounding him, silently holding him through his breakdown. 

He pulled back, scrubbing his eyes as his family slowly untangled from around him. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, voice scratchy from the tears, “I guess I should have known none of you would hate me but… I’ve been so scared that I’d lose you guys too. I didn’t want to risk it, I couldn’t risk it.” 

He flinched slightly when a large hand squeezed his shoulder looking up into Bruce’s eyes, softened by a love that could destroy the world if his child was hurt. A love that none of the Waynes needed to put words to because of looks like this. 

Glancing back to his brothers he saw the love in Bruce’s eyes reflected in theirs, all of them accepting him and loving him still. 

The weight Tim had carried for as long as he knew to grow lighter as a small smile worked its way onto his face. 

His eyes burning with the same intense love for his family back at them. 

For the first time in a long time, Tim knew without a doubt 

It would be okay. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Tim couldn’t stop the whimper from falling from his lips as Marinette’s class came pouring out of the doors of the school.

All of the Wayne boys had decided to surprise Marinette by showing up at her class when it let out, in addition to not wanting to wait to reveal they knew her secret. It wasn’t hard to get all of them to Paris merely days after Tim’s secret came to light, especially since Bruce was planning on checking up on the Paris branch of Wayne Enterprises the following week before everything happened. Expanding the trip last minute to include all of them had taken little effort, and all of their suits were tucked away in their hotel suites, waiting to be dawned once they got Marinette alone. 

Tim was ready to turn back now though and for a very good reason. 

 In the normal sea of threes and fours, normally Marinette stood out with her overwhelmingly soft pink 15, but now...

The tanned girl that had hoards of kids surrounding her had an obnoxious copper 9 floating above her, the font looking like a tiger had scratched it into the very fabric of space. 

A trio of students, a bulky boy, a small pink-haired girl, and a dark-skinned nerdy-looking boy, were messing around as pale numbers circled their heads, a pair of stark white 12s over the boys and an icy blue 13 over the girl. 

A pair of girls, one blonde and one of Asian descent, were bickering as they made their way down the steps,  a canary yellow daintily drawn 14 for the blonde and deep burgundy calligraphed 13 for the more stoic girl.   

And the blonde boy Marinette was happily conversing with, looking even more softspoken and sweet than the baker girl.

He had a venomous green 15 swirling over him in it’s rounded bubble-like font. 

His brothers glanced at him warily. 

“Everything okay Timmy?” Jason asked, eyes flitting over the crowed on instinct, looking for the threat that spooked him. 

“I’ll tell you later,” He groaned back, “... but keep an eye on the girl in the orange jacket, she feels slimy from all the way over here,” 

His brothers nodded, but even so, Tim felt a migraine coming on. 

For once Tim wished for an alien invasion so he didn’t have to deal with this bullshit.

_______________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @iggy-of-fans @mewwitch @roseinbloom02 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @mochinek0 @royalchaoticfangirl @09shell-sea09 @mystery-5-5 @derpingrainbow @aloha-posts-stuff @hauntedfreakdeputyhero @maribat-archive @blue-peach14 @kae690 @zazzlejazzle @vincentvangoose @be-happy-every-day-please @xxmadamjinxx @celestiacq @peculiarlylostdreamer @dani-ari @melicmusicmagic @themcclan @nyctamaximoff @nataladriana9 @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonna @urbanpineapplefarmer @graduatedmelon @lexysama @hecate-hallow @ki117h3dr4g0n @vinerlover @interobanginyourmom @bluefiredemon @imanerddealwith @tinybrie @clumsy-owl-4178 @shizukiryuu @whogavemeaninternet @schrodingers25 @lunar-wolf-warrior @urbanpineapplefarmer @xxmadamjinxx @crazylittlemunchkin @littleredrobinhoodlum

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Private - Nov 18

Question: why the heck are Sir Pentious and Alastor posting a weird drawing of a pink cube?

Short answer: two dorky old men griping about Kids These Days resulting in an experimental attempt to replicate modern shitposting habits.

Long answer:

11/15/2020

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 GOOD NIGHT, ALASTOR.

11/18/2020

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I TOLD YOU GOOD NIGHT AND YOU NEVER ANSWERED ME!

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 My deepest apologies, my friend, I didn't see it! Let me make up for it, let's see... good night, good morning, good night, good morning, good night, and another good morning! I think we're caught up now.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 HA! GOOD MORNING

dontasktheradiodemon

OwwO

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 WHY ARE YOU OWWO-ING ME

🐍 ㅁ]:3~

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I'd already said good morning, I couldn't say it a second time!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I RETURNED THE GREETING, AS I AM A HELLISH GENTLEMAN! WHY WOULD YOU NEED TO SAY IT AGAIN

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I wouldn't! Which is why I OwwO-ed instead.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 PERHAPS YOU SHOULD TRY TO CREATE AN EMOTICON OF YOUR OWN FACE. ALTHOUGH, PERHAPS IF IT LOOKS TOO ACCURATE, IT WILL DESTROY THE EQUIPMENT!!!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 ㅋ    ㅋ

🐍 ㅇl w l

🐍 THERE

🐍 YOUR ANTLERS, YOUR MONOCLE, YOUR EYES AND YOUR MOUTH

🐍 ㅋ    ㅋ

🐍 ㅇl w l 🍖

🐍 NOW YOU ARE EATING

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Ha! Wouldn't that be something, a few characters that break machines. But I'm just fine with the one I made—it has my smile with a surplus of teeth, that's the most important part!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 MINE HAS A MONOCLE, SO IT IS MORE ACCURATE

🐍 ㅋ                  ㅋ

🐍 ㅇl wwwwww l

🐍 THERE

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Ha!

dontasktheradiodemon

ψ          ψ o̗̟̘̝̯̝OwwwO

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 NYA HA HA!

🐍 THERE, YOUR TUNING FORKS

🐍 NOT ENOUGH TEETH THOUGH

🐍 ㅁ]:3=~

dontasktheradiodemon

ψ                ψ o̗̟̘̝̯̝OwwwwwwwO

🎶 How's that? Just about enough this time?

🎶 My antlers don't seem to want to line up properly when I send them!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 THEY LOOK FINE TO ME?

🐍 MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET A BETTER EMOJI

🐍 📻

🐍 🦌

🐍 🍖

🐍 👄???

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 OH IT IS A MOBILE THING

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶📻🦌🍖👄 Arrange all five in a pentagram to summon the Radio Demon! How's That for modernizing?

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 THEY ARE FINE ON MOBILE ONLY! ON THE SMART PHONES

🐍 CAN YOU BE SUMMONED VIA EMOJI? HMMM

🐍 LET'S TEST IT NOW!!!

dontasktheradiodemon

((There is now a Radio Demon in Sir Pentious's room. Poof.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( HE CACKLES

(( and sends a text anyway,

🐍 DIGITAL MEAT WORKSS JUST AS WELL!

dontasktheradiodemon

((He just sorta reads it over Sir Pentious's shoulder.))

🎶 Doesn't taste half as good, though!

((And Sir Pentious gets to witness in person that Alastor just, talks out loud, no evidence of a phone, and a moment later a message with the same text in it arrives.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( O     O..............

(( Pentious LOOKS at him like. What the Fuck! I wanna do that!!!

(( "ARE YOU A SPEECH TO TEXT MACHINE"

dontasktheradiodemon

(("Only a speech machine!" He Grins. Look at him, so mysterious. He's got a secret and he's smug about it.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( "YOU MUST HAVE A RECEIVER HIDDEN IN YOUR HAIR! OR IS IT JUST YOUR ANTLERS..."

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 You mean my antennae?

((He says and sends it at the same time. And he's grinning Even Wider, he's obviously still hiding something.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( HE HUFFS

🐍 DON'T YOU W MOUTH AT ME IN REAL TIME

(( Pentious also texts out loud sometimes, but this time, he is just doing that Cobra Breathing Thing as he looks more like an accordion than a Snake

🐍 YOUR TUNING FORKS

dontasktheradiodemon

((He is OwwOing))

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 STOP IT

dontasktheradiodemon

((He goes OwwwwO. And then he takes mercy, holds a finger over his mouth and winks—shh, we're being secretive—and pulls a phone out of his pocket. It's already on and set to microphone, so it's just. Already listening.))

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 But pay no mind to the man behind the curtain!

((And the text appears as he speaks. It somehow apparently presses "send" itself a moment later.))

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍

(( Sir Pentious whips an eggboi at Alastor

dontasktheradiodemon

((Well now there's a mess on him! òwó))

dontasktheradiodemon

((With GREAT dignity he magically peels the mess off his clothes.))

🎶 I'm going to make an omelet and I'm not going to share.

hiss-and-vinegar

(( HE'S LAUGHING, can't type, laughing too hard.... Doubled over..... Goodbye

dontasktheradiodemon

((He patiently endures it. And tries to pretend the laughter doesn't wipe out his irritation.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( weakly typing,

🐍 YOU DIDN'T DODGE IT LIKE I THOUGHT YOU WOULD

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Most people who lob projectiles at me are a lot farther away and like me a lot less! I had my guard down.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 APOLOGIESDEERCHUM

(( oh god everything hurts from laughing so hard, he's wheezing

dontasktheradiodemon

((He pats Sir Pentious's back. There there.))

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Keep this between us, would you? I've got an image to keep up, and it doesn't involve cellular phones! That, and I don't want to attract telemarketers.

hiss-and-vinegar

(( "WHICH PART................" he is hastily deleting a post from his blog

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 The part where I have a phone.

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 There's a good portion of Hell that thinks I'm completely incapable of handling new technology! Me, a man who was on the radio before most people had radios. Insulting, but sooner or later I think it'll be useful to me for the general public to think I'm far more bumbling about all this than I really am.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 OH I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN

🐍 APPARENTLY IT WAS NEWS TO MOST PEOPLE THAT I, GENIUS INVENTOR SIR PENTIOUS, YEARS BEYOND MY PEERS WHEN IT CAME TO TECHNOLOGICAL KNOW-HOW, KNEW HOW TO USE CURRENT TECHNOLOGY!!!

🐍 WHAT, LIKE IT IS HARD????

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Really? You, of all people? Ha!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 I WAS MASTERING TECHNOLOGY BEFORE THESE CRETINS WERE EVEN AN IDEA

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 Why is it that people assume that the kind of person who was on the cutting edge in his own time is somehow the kind of person least likely to keep up with later cutting edges? As if a man who spent the 1880s farming instead of building airships is somehow going to be better at using a computer just because the public doesn't automatically associate him with "airships"!

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 LIKELY BECAUSE, MY DEER CHUM, WE ARE OLD.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 THESE CHILDREN ARE NOT DIFFICULT TO UNDERSTAND, THEIR SENSE OF HUMOR SEEMS TO BE COMPLETELY UNHINGED! I COULD POST A PICTURE OF A CUBE, AND WRITE IN BEAUTIFUL HANDWRITING "CUBE", ONLY FOR IT TO EITHER BE A SMASH HIT, OR NOT AT ALL.

🐍 TRYING TO STAY AFLOAT OF THESE "TRENDS" IS EXHAUSTING, BUT, IT ISN'T AS THOUGH I HAVE NO FREE TIME

dontasktheradiodemon

🎶 I believe it's not just that we're old, Sir Pent, it's that we're associated with old innovations! Most people, I've noticed, can't advance onward to technology that post dates what they grew up with. But they make the mistake of thinking that the innovators are the most calcified instead of the least!

🎶 And a cube-labeled cube is hilarious. It should be a smash hit.

hiss-and-vinegar

🐍 HA! YOU THIN K SO? THEN I'LL CREATE IT. WE WILL SEE WHAT IT LANDS!

(( he is pulling out his laptop and sitting on himself so that he can use it. It's like a jet taking off when it starts up

dontasktheradiodemon

((He's been sorta leaning around Sir Pentious to try to read as he types so he doesn't have to pull out his Secret Phone, so it's nice to be able to just bend over to look at the laptop screen over Sir Pentious's shoulder.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( it turns on with the turn of a key, and he's holding a pen in his mouth--it's not REALLY pen, just looks like one. There's a cobra head at the end of it with sharp teeth bared--looks like they fit in two holes at the corner of the keyboard itself. There's a holder for the pen, but Pentious appears to like having it in his mouth instead. Enrichment. He's grinning as he starts making something incredibly dumb

dontasktheradiodemon

((Just two old dorks grinning together while they make a shitpost))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( It's done. "EUREKA!" he shouts,

dontasktheradiodemon

((What the fuck does that say. What the FUCK does that say. He's genuinely shaking from trying not to laugh as he processes Le Kjub))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( Sir Pentious looks SO excited, raising a declamatory finger to explain it. "LE, AS IN THE FRENCH MASCULINE FORM OF 'THE', CUBE. THAT IS THE PHONETIC ALPHABETICAL SPELLING OF CUBE! PRONUNCIATION AND ALL OF THAT. AND!!!" He gestures to the screen, "IF YOU WILL LOOK HERE, DEER CHAP, THAT-- YOU SEE IT? THAT FAINT WORD? IT READS... CUBE!"

dontasktheradiodemon

((He SQUINTS. "... So it does!" This is KILLING HIM it's so deliberately terrible.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( Just idly polishing his talons on his suit coat, "AND NOW TO POST IT!"

hiss-and-vinegar

(( He STOPS, "OH, WAIT, ONE MORE BIT..."

dontasktheradiodemon

((Alastor braces himself.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( "THEY SEEM TO LOVE THIS KIND OF EFFECT."

dontasktheradiodemon

(("... You made it blurrier? Are you trying to protect its identity??"))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( "APPARENTLY, THIS IS TO MAKE IT HAVE A CERTAIN IT.... 'CRYPTID' LIKE QUALITY. ALL THE RAGE WITH THE LATEST GENERATION, ALASTOR."

dontasktheradiodemon

((He vaguely knows what a cryptid is by virtue of having been called one. "... Pfff—!" This is it, this is what kills him. He can't handle the thought of a hot pink cube being a cryptid. He's gotta sit on the floor and laugh.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( His head swivels around to watch Alastor laugh on the floor. His hood floops up, but he's grinning so wide!!!! He made the Radio Demon laugh!!!! But it was on his terms, and he's happy about that. Cobra Prrrrrr.

(( "WELL! SHALL I POST IT??? WHO KNOWSSSS WHAT WILL COME OF IT!!!"

dontasktheradiodemon

(("Yes! Put it up! René Magritte couldn't do better."

hiss-and-vinegar

(( Click click, type type. No caption, no anything just. Cube.

(( And POST!

dontasktheradiodemon

((PULLS OUT HIS PHONE to reblog it.))

dontasktheradiodemon

((He taps the screen with his pinky claw tip. Sophisticated.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( GASP. Support. He's beaming so much his entire head is smiling.

dontasktheradiodemon

((BEAMS BACK. Chums support chums' shitpost art.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( It's literally the worst shitpost, too much work went into this.... but they are happy. And he takes the pen from his mouth in order to sink the pen's fangs into those previously mentioned holes... and with that, the laptop shuts down.

dontasktheradiodemon

((Oh now that's a neat trick! "What did those fangs do, did you poison that poor machine?" He's Delighted.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( "I DID! IT ISS DEAD NOW." Prr prr prr, "BUT ACTUALLY, THERE ARE SSWITCHESS LOCATED WITHIN THE MACHINE ITSELF THAT MUSST BE PRESSED BY THE FANGS, THEY ARE FITTED."

dontasktheradiodemon

(("How clever!" Admires it. "And far better looking than the trash currently on the market. Most modern machines look like they've been carved out of panels of public restroom stalls."

hiss-and-vinegar

(( Sir Pentious begins to laugh again, and he places the laptop onto the nearby vanity, "RIGHT! THESE 'SLEEK" DESIGNSS HAVE NO STYLE AT ALL! I WANT IT TO BE SOMETHING SOMEONE WOULD WANT FOR THEMSELVESS, NOT DISGUISED TO BE PART OF A BOOK SHELF."

dontasktheradiodemon

(("Well, stylish it certainly is!" He gets up! He's probably messed around enough in here for the time being, hasn't he?

hiss-and-vinegar

(( Sir Pentious is turns to fully face Alastor now, "WELL, IT IS ABOUT THAT TIME ISN'T IT. YOU ARE WELCOME FOR THE SSSSUMMONSSS, ALASSSSTOR."

dontasktheradiodemon

(("Thank you for the brief entertainment!" A bow. "And to you, Sir... Good morning!" Grin grin.))

hiss-and-vinegar

(( "GOOD MORNING, YOU DOUBLE-YEW FACED DEERMAN." He tips his hat, "NOW GET!"

[wish-upon-a-sapphic-star]

Love Letters - Part 1

Read it here or on ao3

~

Dear Sirius,

I know you’ll never see this, but... I think I’m in love with you.

It’s not something I can control. It’s not even really something I was looking for. One day I was just minding my own business and then suddenly you were the only thing I could think about. Your laugh, your smile... they appear in my head unbidden and I go weak at the knees. 

I think that’s why they call it falling in love, because... it really was unintentional. I must have stumbled somewhere, and then I was falling too fast to stop myself, and I hit the ground hard and now I’m too dazed to think about much of anything other than you.

I blamed you for it for a long time, you know. Or, well, you don’t know—that’s kind of why I’m writing this—not that you’ll read it anyway so I don’t even know why I’m writing this—but I digress. I was so mad at you. I went from functional human being to hopeless lovesick idiot, all because you were just... there. You spread light everywhere you go and you made me stop wanting to live in the dark, and I was so, so mad at you for it. For making me want more than what I have—what I allow myself.

I don’t blame you anymore, you’ll be happy to know. I mostly just blame myself for what I’ve become. Our friendship is lovely, and then I have to go and be the douche who wants to change it. Great job, Remus. Great fucking job.

I’m sorry, is what I’m trying to say, I suppose. You never asked to deal with this. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. If I could stop loving you, I would. God, if I could stop loving you...

It doesn’t really matter. I can’t. I’ve tried. Every time I stop thinking about you my mind just drifts back. Every time I think I’m over you, you smile at me, and my heart does that stupid fluttery thing and I’m head over heels again.

It’s just so impossible not to love you. You bring warmth wherever you go. If I’m sad or scared you’re there, and you can make things okay again even when they shouldn’t be. Your voice is a rock I can rest on, a sound that keeps me here, keeps me alive. Your laugh is a melody that I wish I could replicate. Your embrace is more like home than anywhere I’ve ever been, and—fuck it—you smell fucking amazing. (Please don’t take that in a creepy way. I have a heightened sense of smell, it’s really hard not to notice. I mean, you literally sleep in my bed sometimes. Oh dear God that made it more creepy, didn’t it. Oh God. Okay. Okay, I’m just... I’m just going to pretend I didn’t say any of that.)

I just... I love you. I love you too much to ignore. Look at this. It’s the middle of the night and I should be studying, but no, I’m writing love letters in my fucking Charms notebook. You make me write love letters, Pads. Love letters. What have you turned me into?

You smile at me and my heart skips a beat. You wink at me and I just stop having thoughts entirely. Even just the slightest brush of your hand and it feels like I’m on fire, like you’ve enchanted me.

I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you. You make me want to scream it from the rooftops or something else embarrassing and excessive, and I wouldn’t even fucking care because I love you too damn much. 

But as much as part of me wants that... I won’t. I love you too much to ruin what we have now. Maybe it makes me a coward, but I’m not ready to face that part of myself yet. Not outside of this notebook.

That doesn’t change the fact that I love you. There are so many horrible things in this world, but you... you’re one of the good things. One of the few absolutely wonderful things.

I sometimes think life isn’t worth living, but then I think of you, and I can’t imagine not living. You give me breath. You give me a reason to want to live. Not just survive and slog through the days, but really, truly live.

I love you. I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t know what to do beyond it. I’m just in love with you.

Love,

Remus

P.S. Please love me

Don’t read that. I never wrote that. That never happened.

P.S. You are literally everything to me

P.S.

No. No post scripts. Note to self: Post scripts = bad.

Remus tossed his quill aside, rubbing his temples. It was late, and he hadn’t studied at all. They had a test in two days and he wrote a love letter instead. A fucking love letter. Bloody idiot.

A love letter. He wrote a love letter. And he had no intentions of sending it either! He just wrote it and wasted time for absolutely nothing.

Remus gathered his things from his bed and quietly stepped onto the floor, setting his quill and ink on his bedside table and tossing his notebook into the Charms pile. The Marauders collectively kept all their notebooks together, organized by class, that way they all remembered which notebook was which and nobody (James) would lose their notebook in their own individual chaos. It was a bit of an odd system, but given everything they had done together Remus had never even considered it strange in comparison.

He clambered back in bed and pulled the blankets over him, berating himself. A love letter. That was how he used his time when he should have been studying. He had written a fucking love letter.

He was hopeless. Utterly fucking hopeless.

~

Somehow every single one of the Marauders overslept, sending them scrambling to put clothes on and rush to class the next morning. They grabbed their notebooks and sprinted, taking every shortcut they knew, and it was just enough to get them there mere seconds before Professor Flitwick started his lecture.

Remus flopped into the seat next to Peter and rested his head on his notebook. Charms was usually somewhat of a drag, but without food? He had been there half a minute and he already wanted to leave.

Peter tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. You hungry?”

“Starving,” he whispered.

“Here.” Peter held out a chocolate bar.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, take it. I literally keep it for you.”

Remus smiled his thanks and tried to eat the chocolate bar as discreetly as possible while also eating it as quickly as possible. Given the looks he got from some of the other students, it was safe to say he failed. Not that he cared. He just appreciated how thoughtful it was that Peter kept chocolate around for him.

Upon finishing the chocolate, he flipped open his notebook, dipping his quill in ink. Professor Flitwick had just said something about the test... What was it...

Remus looked down at the page before him. The right side was blank, but the side on the left... that wasn’t his handwriting.

His stomach plummeted to his feet. That wasn’t his notebook. Someone else had his notebook. In his rush he must have switched with one of the others and now they could read his love letters. 

His hands started shaking as he glanced down again. He would recognize that handwriting anywhere. Which could only mean...

Sirius had his notebook.

He looked over towards Sirius. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t taking notes, and it looked an awful lot like he was reading whatever Remus had written.

Fuck. Shit. No, no, no. It was all crashing down. It was all fucking ruined. His heart was hammering in his chest, palms sweating. Sirius knew. Sirius knew, and Sirius would hate him, and Remus was fucking doomed.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. There was nothing he could do about it now. He just had to get through class and face the consequences afterwards, as horrible and terrifying as they were certain to be.

He took a deep breath—which did nothing to help—and looked back at Sirius’ scrunched, jagged writing.

His eyes widened, reading the words over and over again, checking if he was hallucinating or if it was all just a dream. But it was real. What Sirius had written was real. It was real. It was actually real.

His heart stopped, the words failing to process.

Dear Remus,

I know you’ll never see this, but... I think I’m in love with you.

~

Part 2

[ofclaires]

stolen lullabies | self para.

characters: claire walsh, jude park, delilah jones, amelia taylor, maggie walsh, martin donovan, kassandra sutton, antoine (chinchilla)

locations: gallagher academy, berlin

triggers: night terrors, blood, murder, character death

summary: claire can’t sleep.

claire is no stranger to dreams of dead girls. she used to dream about amelia all the time. lifeless laughter as she would run down the hallways in a flash of blonde hair, pleated skirt, swaying in the wind. in these dreams, amelia is always running. and claire is always chasing.

i didn’t hang around kass because i thought she was cute. i was far more interested in you. 

you’re sick, amelia. you make me sick.

claire follows trails of blood to a precipice where she stands at the edge. not exactly a bridge, but close enough. sometimes, she dares to jump. in one way, these are preferable to the dreams she used to have, martin’s twisted and bloodied face, the ruined oriental carpet, the sound of her mother’s screams echoing in her ears. amerlia’s face is a harsh reminder – or a bad omen – of all the people she might never save. but it’s still better. so, whenever claire sees her, she chases. even it means certain death. 

it’s always better to run forward than step back.

claire prefers sleep to be dreamless. in berlin, claire thinks she might be healed. she’s faced her demons at home, avenged amelia’s murder, and she sleeps soundly, curled up beside kass in their hotel room. sometimes, claire doesn’t even want to wake up. her alarm will go off, kass will groan in annoyance, and claire will comply, shutting it off for at least ten more minute’s rest. when the second alarm goes off, sometimes kass will stir and look at claire with sleepy eyes and a lazy, half-hearted smile. claire feels lucky to be awake after all. she doesn’t miss the dreaming.

it’s just a band-aid. claire is not healed.  

sunday, august 23, 2020: she wakes up in a cold sweat, a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. her fingers are red from gripping so hard and it aches to flex them again. it feels like she’ll never be able to slow her beating heart. 

it was only two days ago that she received jude’s letter. it’s not long, but that’s the worst part: watch your back. and realistically, claire knows that it’s probably nothing. after all, jude park and delilah jones loved to play games, but that’s precisely why she has to sleep with one eye open. these are the sort of girls that would hire a hit post-mortem, just for the last laugh. they’re also the sort of girls that wouldn’t give up and jump off a bridge at all. within the day, claire has memorized every curve and loop of jude’s handwriting, she could probably forge the signature herself. she can replicate it, but she can’t make it go away.

claire decides not to sleep. she lays awake on her side, watching the clock, and she twitches at every sudden motion, every sound. the halls of gallagher are old, and she should be accustomed to the way the floorboards creak in the night. chinchillas are nocturnal, so every time she hears antoine scurry, her eyes flutter open once again. 

claire doesn’t even think it’s possible that she’s drifted off, but she must have at some point, because she feels the scratch of cold, gentle fingertips tracing lines and shapes up her spine until they’re scratching at her skin. the sound of wicked laughter reaches her ear, turning over to see delilah’s frame lying in bed beside her, dark hair splayed out over the pillow like the shadow of a halo. 

don’t you wish you gave me a goodbye kiss?

it’s hard to forget the taste of her lips, kissing her like they’d consume her if they could. a touch that burns like it could leave a scar, a trail of kisses that leave destruction in their wake. delilah jones is not a normal girl, and now every memory feels more haunted than the last. 

you’re not supposed to be here, claire whispers. that makes delilah laugh again. claire never knew that she was so damn funny.

i thought you liked how it felt to forget. her voice sounds like an echo, it’s the right sounds, but they’re hollow. like she’s talking to a ghost. i can make you forget. claire has only ever outrun her demons, unsure of what to do when they catch up to her, so instead of chasing, she relents. she allows the spectre to touch her, hands ghosting over every inch of her skin until she’s on the precipice of ecstasy, anticipating release. it doesn’t come. 

what? you thought that would be fun for you? delilah laughs, and claire looks down to see a familiar dagger sticking out of her chest. she tries to speak, but it comes out like a choked gasp, blood pouring out of her lips as delilah twists the blade. it’s suddenly like claire’s watching the scene from the window, pounding on the pane from the outside, trying to open the latch as she watches delilah plunge the knife into her chest over and over again with animalistic glee. 

mary’s dagger glints so beautifully in the moonlight.

delilah always did like to play with her prey, jude park’s voice lilts from beside her, a familiar and coy smile on dark red lips. and that’s when claire wakes up, once again in a cold sweat, trying to catch her breath as her skin tingles. her heart races like it needs to remind her that yes, it’s still beating. she bursts into tears. 

the dreams are enough to make her miss amelia’s ghostly form, laughing in the trees, running around in the woods barefoot. maybe she’ll always dream of dead girls. she doesn’t know how to exorcise them from her memory, to get them to stop haunting her. 

so, claire stays awake at night, just in case something’s coming for her. she’ll be ready. the dark circles are just a symptom of the larger problem, like the bottle of anestasia she nurses in her arms on the rooftop, just like her mother used to. she’s thinks she’s more in danger in her dreams than her realities, but maybe it’s the other way around. next time she needs to save someone, she’ll be awake. 

[flipomatic]

Internship Chapter 24: Day 19-20 - Emira

Author Note: This chapter marks the end of what would be the second arc.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

____________________________________________________

It was Friday night, and Emira planned to sleep in tomorrow. She was currently working on her illusion magic, touching up on spells she’d been neglecting for the firework spell.

The most important of those was an invisibility spell. The layers of it had to be just right, or being invisible turned into being very easy to spot. She was practicing outside in the dark, using a light spell to cast a shadow. She could look to see if it was completely gone or not, while the spell was cast. The set of spells she had been using still left a hint of a shadow, so she wanted to work on improving it.

That was easier said than done, as the shadow was turning out to be quite persistent.

Emira had been working on it for a while when something at the house grabbed her attention. One of the upstairs windows had been opened, and a paper airplane came flying out of it.

It flew in a steady trajectory directly towards Emira. She raised a hand to catch it; it was light and empty. She unfolded it and saw that there was a note. It said, “attic, 5 min” in Ed’s scrawled handwriting. After she looked at it for a moment, it burst into a puff of magic smoke.

Edric had seemed put off when she talked to him earlier, and said it was a long day. It seemed like she would get more details now.

Emira deactivated her light spell and walked back into the house. She passed by where her parents were in the study, declining to speak with them, and headed up towards the attic.

Ed was already there when she climbed up. He had changed out of his Emperor’s Coven uniform and was wearing his casual outfit. He looked at the attic wall while he waited for her, sitting on a box that could barely hold his weight.

“You called?” Emira grabbed his attention as she shut the attic hatch.

And then Ed told her the story of what happened that day. He told her about how strangely the dispatcher was acting that morning, how he was sent with Frederick to bring a dangerous witch in for questioning, how Luz and Amity had been at the construction site, and how they had fought with the suspect. He mimed holding the sword in defense as he recounted the battle.

“It was so weird, after.” He mimed putting the fake sword back on his belt. “Frederick’s arm got burned, but he didn’t heal it until way later.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Emira didn’t know enough about Frederick to cast judgement.

Ed explained, a slight frown on his face. “He specializes in healing, it would’ve taken him like 60 seconds to take care of it.” He crossed his arms, slouching against the box once again. “But no, he was so focused on going to yell at the dispatcher that he didn’t.”

“What did he say?”

“That the job was too dangerous.” Ed shrugged. “Which, yeah I guess it was.”

He didn’t seem too committed to that notion, but Emira agreed with Frederick. “The suspect was armed; I’d say that’s pretty dangerous.” She wondered if it was more dangerous than the slitherbeast they had fought at The Knee.

“Yeah…” Ed’s voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands as he thought. Emira waited for a moment, allowing him to process. “He said the order came from the Emperor, but I really doubt that. So, here’s what I’m thinking.” He looked up at Emira and continued speaking. “There’s something weird going on, and I need to know what it is.”

A smile crept onto Emira’s face. “Time to snoop then?” She asked, already knowing where Ed was going with this.

Despite often cutting class, the Blight twins were no slouches when something needed to be done.

Ed’s smile mirrored hers. “You know it.” He straightened up, brushing off the back of his pants.

They started to make their plans, when and how to investigate. They settled on the next day, a Saturday. They would figure out what was going on in the Emperor’s Coven.

Emira had a couple things she needed to do to prepare before the event.

__________________________________________________________

Emira slept in the next morning, as she always did on Saturday. Sure, she needed to get ready, but she had plenty of time to do it.

She had one spell to practice for today, an illusion to make her look like an Emperor’s Coven member. Edric had created a photo for her to model it after, an image Frederick. Emira would try to match it perfectly, so she could enter without facing resistance.

She practiced it during the day, and was able to replicate the look with just one spell. It even made her look taller, to match Frederick’s height. The spell was intangible, so it wouldn’t hold up under contact, but it would do just fine for some sneaking.

They waited until the evening to go, when there wouldn’t be as many coven members in the building. It was easy to get out of the house; nobody cared what they did on the weekends.

The twins arrived at the jail as the sun was setting over the horizon. Ed was wearing his coven uniform, so he didn’t need a spell to blend in. They stopped out of sight of the jail to finalize their plans.

“Just follow me once we’re inside.” Ed had spent his day drawing a small map of the building. He had labeled a couple locations with stars, which were the places he wanted to investigate. “We’ll stop at the dispatcher’s office first.”

“Did you really spend all day on this?” Emira squinted at the hand drawn map.

“Isn’t it great?” Ed ran a finger over his creation, showing the route.

Emira didn’t quite agree. “It’s fine I guess.” She drew a spell circle, casting the illusion spell necessary for sneaking in.

Ed nodded at her as it took effect. “Lookin’ good.” He said approvingly. “Just don’t say anything and no one will notice.”

Emira gave a mock salute, and then they set off towards the building. Ed led the way into the lobby, then through the Emperor’s Coven door. The lobby was empty except for one clerk, who didn’t so much as glance at the two as they passed by.

Once in the wing, they passed the offices and walked to the dispatcher’s office. Emira had to admit, the map Ed drew was pretty good. He had drawn the right number of offices in the hallway.

When the reached the dispatcher’s office, Edric knocked on the door. As expected, there was no answer. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Locked.” He muttered, bringing his hand up to cast a spell. After a spin of one finger he tried again, successfully pushing the door open. “Bingo.”

They entered the room, both casting a light spell to help in their search. Ed went over to the desk and started ruffling through the papers on it. There were papers scattered across the surface, a very messy display.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Emira asked, figuring it was safe to talk for the moment.

Ed didn’t bother to look up as he replied. “Anything out of the ordinary.” That wasn’t terribly helpful.

Emira walked the outside of the room, trying to find anything that matched that description. There were closets full of palisman staffs, various weaponry, and what looked like car keys. None of those things struck Emira as abnormal.

She joined Ed at the table, where he had flipped through a number of the papers. Emira picked one of them up and read it over. It looked to be some kind of criminal profile, listing details and the last known location of a suspect. The next page had a schedule that was full of names. Emira handed it to Edric, to see if that helped.

“This is from last week.” He said as he looked it over. “Wherever you see Anderson on these, that’s Frederick and I.” He dropped it back on the table, leaving it behind.

They looked for a while longer, but it all looked normal to Emira. Profiles, schedules, and a few flyers littered the table. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her.

“I’ve got nothing.” Ed admitted after flipping through nearly every page on the table.

“Same here.” Emira stepped back from the table. “Should we keep looking?”

“Yeah let’s go.” Ed ruffled the papers one last time, trying to return them to the same level of disarray as before. He led the way back to the door, and when they exited he cast a spell to relock it.

They walked back towards the offices; he had marked Kikimora’s office on his map. If they were to find anything, that was a good second place to look.

They hadn’t counted on Kikimora actually being there. When they neared her office, they could see that not only was the door shut, but light was coming out from underneath it.

“She’s never here.” Ed whispered, gesturing for Emira to come closer to him. “Can you make us invisible?”

Emira nodded, and started to cast the spells. It was harder with two people, but she could do it by casting more powerful versions of the usual layers. She even implemented the layer she was working on yesterday.

While she did so, Ed was activating a spell of his own. He cast a spell on the door, which made it so they could hear what was happening on the other side.

Much to their surprise, Kikimora’s voice wasn’t the only one present. A male voice was with her, one Emira didn’t recognize.

“Isn’t it about time to finalize my promotion?” The male voice sounded agitated.

“That’s a patrol witch, Nick, I think.” Ed whispered, quietly as not to be heard by those inside. Emira wondered what kind of promotion he wanted.

“Finalize? How presumptuous.” Kikimora’s voice was scathing. Both voices were clear and easy to understand through the spell Ed had cast.

“The role of coven leader has been left empty long enough.” Nick countered with a hard tone.

Kikimora tutted at him. “That is the Emperor’s decision to make.”

“Well it’s time for him to make one! Despite all of the secrecy, I’ve been doing a great job running things.” Nick’s composure was slipping, the volume of his voice rising.

“I’m not so sure.” Kikimora, on the other hand, maintained a level tone. “The dispatcher was complaining about your orders the other day.”

“He doesn’t have the authority to…” Nick’s voice cut off mid sentence.

“And, you have yet to recapture the Owl Lady.” Kikimora had cut him off, lobbying another criticism his way. Emira didn’t know much about the Owl Lady, besides the fact she was teaching Luz magic and had recently escaped from being turned to stone. “Let alone Lilith.”

“I have my best officers working on it.”

“With no results. The Emperor was right to put you on a probationary period. He is still considering others for the role of coven leader. If you want it, you’ll have to earn it.” Kikimora was starting to sound irritated with him.

Nick’s response came after a pause. “Yes Ma’am.” He finally said, voice much quieter than before.

The sound of footsteps moved quickly towards the door. Emira stepped quickly out of its path before it opened, barely avoiding getting smashed in the shoulder. A man dressed in the coven uniform stepped out and shut the door behind him, his face concealed by the mask. He turned down the hallway, luckily away from where Emira and Ed were hiding, and walked away. His steps were short and tense.

He disappeared into another office, leaving the twins again alone in the hallway. Emira double checked that he was gone, and then dropped the invisibility spell. Once it was down, Ed signaled for her to follow him towards the exit. They tried to maintain a casual pace as they left the wing and crossed the lobby. The same member was there as before, still not paying them any mind.

Once they were outside Emira allowed herself to walk a little faster, to work through the jitters she’d developed while trying to avoid being noticed. She dropped the final illusion spell once they were far enough away from the jail, the coven member façade melting away.

“I knew it wasn’t the Emperor.” Ed started the conversation, bringing up what he’d mentioned earlier.

“That guy, is he important?” Emira knew very little about the coven structure at the Illusion Coven, let alone the Emperor’s Coven.

Ed shook his head. “I didn’t think so, but I guess I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “The strange orders came from him.”

“What’s next?”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Ed didn’t even stop to think about it. “And I’ll try to get some info out of Frederick. Discreetly, of course.”

Emira would keep an eye out for information as well, though she didn’t expect to find anything.

The twins walked home, continuing to discuss the topic. How strange it was that Nick was making decisions for the coven as a probationary leader, who the other candidates for coven leader could be, and why he had sent Ed on a dangerous arrest.

They had come away from the evening with more new questions than answers.

Next Chapter

[just-another-t-word-blog]

Blue Christmas

Fandom: Guardians of the Galaxy

Hey guys! Here's a fic for this year's Squealing Santa. Thank you so much @ticklygiggles for hosting this year! This fic was written for @tickletastic, it's not great but I hope you like it!

Summary: despite Peter Quill's years in space, Christmas time always brings back some sweet memories turned sour. His newfound friends, however, can't bear the sight, and do their best to embrace this strange earth tradition and give him a holiday he'll never forget.

"Whats wrong with Peter?"

Gamora stood in the doorway, looking expectantly at her fellow guardians, excluding Peter of course. Drax turned to face her, shrugging, nudging Rocket to do the same. "I am unsure," Drax spoke "I didn't notice anything different." She glanced at Rocket, who shrugged and went back to tinkering with an unidentifiable machine in front of him.

"I am Groot." A small voice called from the floor. Pulling on Rockets pant leg, the small tree creature pointed at the paper calendar that Peter still kept as a keepsake from earth. "Well how should I know what the circled square means? I doubt that has anything to do with Quill."

"I am Groot." The child persisted. "So what if that day is this week? He's probably just pissed or tired or I don't know." Gamora perked up at this, wandering to the wall where the calendar hung. Sure enough, the circled day was just a few days away, something labeled "Christmas". She took it from the wall, the worn pages shuffling in her hands. Could this be a Terran celebration? "I'll go ask Quill," she interjected, the bickering between her friends not slowing when she spoke. Keeping her thumb on the page, she closed the small booklet, walking to find Peter.

She found him in a remote corner of the ship, staring at the wall in front of him with music blaring in his headphones loud enough to hear down the hall. Carefully, she approached, taking his headphones off and placing them around his neck. Peter looked up, slapping on a fake smile. "What's wrong?" She started before he could speak. His smile faltered before he perked up again, trying to keep his image. "Nothing, why-" "Peter you've been acting strange for weeks." He sighed, sitting up. "Nothing is wrong, I promise. Just-" he took a breath "there's this holiday back on Earth. When it comes around all I can think about is my mom and my life before I left. I'll be fine." His voice shook a little at the end of his sentence, redness rising to his cheeks as he tried to supress his emotions. Without replying she sat next to him, putting an arm around him and pulling him to rest his head on her shoulder. Peter hesitantly did so, appreciating the gesture from the normally closed off woman. She couldn't just ignore this Terran holiday, not if it meant this much to him. It broke her heart to see him like this, but if she wants to do something about she'd better get help.

A few days later, Peter woke up to the sound of crashing. Though a fairly normal occurance on the ship, it still startled him. Groggily rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stood, shuffling to the door of his quarters and slapping at the wall to find the light switch. Shirtless and barefooted, he stumbled through the door as it slid open, waking up a bit as he was met with an unexpected sight.

Twinkling Christmas lights.

Well, kind of. It was an extremely long strand of lights that had been either replaced with a colored light, painted, or covered with something colorful and translucent. The strand ran nearly everywhere, making a messy web across the ceiling. Peter stared up at them while he wandered down the hallway, having to duck as some of them were lower than the height of an average human. As he wandered the "decorations" were becoming more and more obscure, random objects hung from string or hooks off of the light strands. Screwdrivers, pieces of metal, trinkets from his console and various other things dangled precariously above him, making him wonder if this was all some strange lucid dream. He rounded a corner into one of the main rooms and stopped dead in his tracks.

The crew didn't notice him at first, all focusing on trying to get the decorations finished. In the corner sat a hacked up plant, probably from a planet they recently went on a mission to, some chairs and boxes placed in a circle near it to make a small sitting area. Objects wrapped in whatever paper they could find sat under the plant and lights were strung around it, holding it to the wall as it shared the same strings. Rocket clung to the strings of lights on the wall, putting up his homemade ornaments with obvious frustration and confusion, Drax and Gamora huddled around a counter off to the side, seemingly trying to figure out a recipe as ingredients covered the surface in front of them, and Groot was doing his best to cover things in paper and put them under tree. Peter felt himself start to cry.

Gamora heard Peter sniffle. Turning towards the noise she set down the unfamiliar vegetable in her hand and strided towards him, picking up the pace as redness flooded his face and tears began to fall. "What's wrong? Is this not correct?" She asked, worried. She pulled him into her embrace, surprised when he hugged her back tightly. He let go and let Gamora guide him to sit down. The others joined and looked to him expectantly, thinking they had done something wrong. Peter wiped his tears, sitting up straight, though his breathing still shook. "We did our best, we tried to research all we could and tried to replicate what Terrans would have done." Gamora said. Peter nodded, smiling. Groot pulled gently on his pants leg to get his attention, holding up a messily wrapped rectangular object. He took it, holding back another onslaught of tears. "I just-" he looked at his friends, at a loss for words. "Thank you," his voice cracked "thank you so much." He fidgeted with the present in his hand, looking up towards them, beaming. "Y'know, every year mom would still wake up before me on Christmas to put everything together. Even when I was old enough to not believe in santa or magic she still did it." He sniffled, wiping at his face. "That was magic enough to me- and since I left I hadn't felt the same about Christmas until now." He licked his lips and scrunched up his face, trying not to cry again. "She would have been thankful for all of you doing this."

They smiled, relieved. Peter looked back down at his gift, turning it over in his hand. Without hesitation he picked at the corner of the wrapping, peeling the paper off with excitement. Inside there was a white cassette tape labeled "best of maddonna" in sloppy handwriting. "That was harder to get than I thought it would be" Rocket mused "dude I got it from wanted a ridiculous amount of credits for it. Lucky for me he wasn't an observant guy. You'd think he wouldn't leave something that expensive out on a desk." Peter smiled, thanking him and slipping the tape into his pocket for safe keeping. He stood, taking in his surroundings again. Despite the mess it was awfully sweet and beautiful in its own way. He could feel his face heating up again.

"C'mon now, don't be like that. I thought this was supposed to be a happy holiday." Gamora teased, giving a few playful pokes to his bare side. Peter flinched away, batting at her hand. She gave him a sinister grin. "Hey, don't look at me like that!" Rocket glanced up at her, catching on and cracking his knuckles, following Peter closely as he began to back away. "Drax, please, get them to knock it off?" The human began to raise his hands in defence as he backed up, shuffling around chairs. "No, I believe this is for your own good. What was the saying that went with this celebration? Merry Christmas? You don't seem to be too merry." Despite his nervousness he began to giggle, the sound only bubbling up louder as his back collided with the wall. "I am Groot!" A small voice chimed in. "You too?! Traitor!"

"Drax, hold him down."

Peter shrieked as the larger man ran at him, bringing him to the floor with ease. Before he could protest, his arms were above his head and his friends were hell-bent on making him laugh. And laugh he did.

Gamora straddled his waist, running her nails over his ribs and sides as Peter shook his head wildly and did his best to wiggle away from her reach. She grinned when he snorted at the light scritching at his stomach. Rocket put his claws to good use at his knees, scratching lightly and quickly at the backs making him kick out and yell protests. "Ah!! No, stop! You all suuuhuhuck!!" He whined through his laughter, shrieking when Groot began to wiggle his small fingers into his neck. "I've got an idea" Gamora spoke mischievously. "How many ribs do you Terrans have again? Let me count them." Peter shook his head, beginning to plead before her fingertips collided with the very top ribs right under his arms. "Lets see here; one, two, three-" she counted as her fingers bounced over each bone, digging in lightly as Peter began to cackle. "No no no no no!! Stohahap! Enough!!" He squirmed and bucked, trying to throw her off, neck scrunched trying to block Groot's attempts as well. "Fine, fine, one more thing and we'll stop." She scooted down, hands still scribbling at his sides, lurching forwards and taking a deep breath before blowing a long and strong raspberry right into his tummy. He screamed before fallling back into light giggles, the group letting up and allowing him to recover. "All of you suck." Peter griped between greedy gasps for air. "But-" he sat up, pulling Groot into his arms and standing. "Thats what family is for." He could feel the eye roll that swept through the room, though he didn't regret what he said.

They were family enough to him, after all, they saved him from another blue Christmas.