#Postal Assistant

[postcard-from-the-past]

"The shop assistant"

French vintage postcard, staged and photographed by A. Bergeret

[everydayjobalert]

India Post Recruitment 2023: Golden Opportunity for 1899 Vacancies in Postal Services

Introduction: India Post, with its rich history spanning over 150 years, continues to be a cornerstone in providing mail and parcel services across the nation. The latest development is the India Post Recruitment 2023, offering a significant opportunity for 1899 vacancies across various roles, including Postal Assistants, Sorting Assistants, Multi-Tasking Staff (MTS), Postmen, and Mail Guards.…

[reiding-writing]

Are u willing to do a fic about an unsub!reader with early seasons Spencer? Like, the BAU has to team up with the unsub to catch another criminal with a similar M.O. to them and hijinks ensue (could be angsty hijinks or could be general scooby doo type situations) Idk!! I really like ur works and I've been thinking about this thing for days but my ass sucks at writing lol ;;

copycat—s.reid [1]

Summary:

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn’t work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: made up murder case, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide (actually murder), mentions of spencer’s addiction, sociopathic reader

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 4.5k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: sorry to the person who requested this because tumblr deleted the actual ask but i did have it copied so at least it wasn’t completely lost 😭😭😭

left it here because people tend not to want to read really long fics. if people want a part two i will gladly oblige but otherwise its a decent stand alone to see how spencer would interact with an unsub like this

“James Harden, 23, was found two days ago on the bench of a public park in Los Flores, Orange County,”

The BAU team, barr Hotch, all settled in their seats as JJ arrived in the room.

JJ pressed a button on the small remote in her hand, two photos, one of each wrist of the victim, appearing on the screen behind her. “Both wrists had been slit, and the cause of death was concluded to be blood loss,”

“So, why are we being called in exactly?” Morgan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee. The team was *tired*. They’d only gotten off a case three days before, and they were all in need of a break.

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish,” JJ shoots Morgan a pointed look to which he promptly raised his hands in surrender.

JJ presses the remote again, images of the victim’s wrists being replaced with images of his face.

There was a mix of reactions from the group, all of which perturbed, but some with more intent than others.

His head was laid limp over the back of the bench, his face pale and his lips white from the lack of blood flow to his head. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

His eyes however, were a different story, covered up by a pair of red roses that had seemingly had their stems forcibly pierced into the victims eyeballs, leaving a trail of oxidised blood down his cheeks.

Morgan and Garcia shared a concerned glance that they simultaneously turned towards JJ, who matched their expression with her own.

“They didn’t-”

JJ shakes her head at the beginning of Morgan’s question, and Emily and Spencer share a confused glance that they turn towards their three teammates who seem to be locked in a silent conversation that only they understood.

“I feel like i’m back in high school again,” Rossi pipes up at the three from his seat, inadvertently calling them out on their exclusion of Emily, Spencer, and Rossi from their conversation.

JJ sighs as she adverts her eyes towards Rossi, her shoulders sagging slightly. “We worked a case in 2004…” She hesitates to elaborate any further about the details, and Spencer takes the opportunity to voice is own curiosity.

“You didn’t solve it?” He tucks his hair behind his ear, eyes glistening slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in JJ’s direction.

It’d been three years since 2004, and the idea that an UnSub could go postal for that long with an FBI target on their back was- something, to say the least.

“No, we did-” Garcia nods her head determinedly, her eyes lingering on the screen as if she was more focused on the images than the conversation.

“So, a copycat then?” Emily adds her part to the conversation, clearly concerned for her friend’s wellbeing.

“Most likely,” JJ nods her head sharply, looking back at the screen once more. “There’s only been one recorded victim so far, but we want to stop whoever is responsible before anything else happens,”

“Are you alright Garcia?” Emily’s eyes remain fixated on Garcia’s face, her usually upbeat persona dwindling into something more solemn.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course my love bug, i’m alright,” Garcia shoots Emily a small smile as if to emphasise her point. “It was the first case I ever worked on is all, they just… stick with you ya know?”

Emily nods softly at her explanation. She knew what it felt like to have your first case stick in the back of your mind.

“Alright settle down everyone,” Hotch’s voice echoed through the conference room before he even stepped inside, and the team all diverted their attention towards him.

“I trust they’ve been briefed?” Hotch looks towards JJ, who gives him a nod before stepping aside so that he can take her place at the head of the table.

Hotch walks into the conference room with someone at his side. Someone who makes Morgan’s hand clench into fists and the small hint of optimism that Garcia had managed to keep fizzle from her eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” Morgan’s voice was stern and challenging as his eyes narrowed in Hotch’s direction. “Hotch-“

Hotch halts Morgan’s attempt at a rebuttal with his hand, raised in Morgan’s direction as he knits his eyebrows into a line. “They will be a valuable asset to the investigation.”

“You can’t bring a psychopath in here and expect us to just go along with it-” Morgan’s argument was interrupted by your voice from where you stood behind Hotch, hands clasped together behind your back.

“Sociopath.”

Morgan’s expression furrows further if that’s possible, eyes staring daggers at your face. “Close enough.”

“Actually, Psychopaths and Sociopaths are fundamentally different, with the only real similarity between the two being an extreme lack of human empathy,” Your eyes flicker towards Spencer as he corrects Morgan’s assessment, raising an eyebrow in his direction out of intrigue.

“Either way, you cannot expect me to be okay with working alongside a serial killer.” Morgan’s eyes don’t stray from Hotch’s as he speaks, not backing down from his standing.

“I don’t expect you to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that they will be joining us for this investigation.” Hotch’s tone marks the end of the debate, one that Morgan knew he’d lost before it even started.

Hotch gestures for you to take a seat at one of the empty chairs and you oblige, leaning the side of your left foot on top of your right thigh and relaxing back into the swivel chair as Morgan’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head.

The fact that you were even here was enough to spark the embers of rage in the back of his mind.

The fact that you were walking around freely with no restraints was even worse.

“For those of you who weren’t present, in 2004, the BAU team was called out to Malibu to investigate a series of murders that littered the city.” Hotch’s eyes flicker over to where Emily, Rossi, and Spencer were sitting.

“Eighteen people were killed over the span of ten days, crossing age, gender, and race boundaries typical of a normal M.O, with the only link being two roses in place of the victim’s eyes.”

Hotch’s eyes turn towards the images on the screen, yours following his own as you examine the photos with a small huff. “Are you sure that is person is copying me and that it’s not just a coincidence?”

“Putting roses in peoples’ eyes isn’t something we see in the field every day,” Hotch’s explanation is blunt and straight forward.

“My roses were white.” You tilt your head at him with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a pretty stark difference to just ignore.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a name for himself,” Spencer throws the idea out into the air at your observation, seemingly undeterred by your criminal history now that his head was submerged in the case.

“Then be original.” You face furrows with a roll of your eyes. “Don’t copy somebody else’s idea, it’s not that hard,”

“That’s enough,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the conversation, his arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss the details on the plane.”

Hotch picks up one of the open files on the table and tucks it under his arm. “Wheels up in thirty, i’ll meet you all there,”

A gesture of his head for you to follow him later, and he’s exiting the conference room with you on his tail.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You walk right past Hotch’s seat as you board the jet, opting to take a seat directly opposite the genius doctor that had managed to capture your attention in the conference room.

He looks up awkwardly as you sit down, not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do. Should he start a conversation with you? Should he continue reading his file and pretend he can’t feel your eyes pouring over his features like you were sizing him up.

He doesn’t have to think for too long.

“What’s your name?” Your tone lacks any social grace, but he supposes he can’t blame you. It’s not like it’s your fault you don’t feel or express your emotions in the same way that the majority does.

“It’s- uh- Spe- Spencer,” His awkwardness really shines through his tone, left hand scratching at his right elbow as a self-soothing strategy.

Two seconds into a conversation and he already wants to dig himself a hole and hide in it for the rest of eternity.

“Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid,” He purses his lips into a line once he’s settled on his full title, but it doesn’t stop him from blurting out more in his effort to get all of his thoughts out of his head. “Spencer’s fine though…”

“Doctor? Of what?” You skirt past his awkward introduction in your pursuit to know more, and he’s grateful that his completely lack of social skills doesn’t scare you off like it would most people.

“Well- I have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry,” Spencer tucks his hair behind his ear, his file falling over the side of his lap into the gap between his leg and the arm of the chair. “But i also have bachelor’s degrees in Sociology and Psychology,”

He shuts himself off after his over-winded explanation with a purse of his lips in your direction.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in Psychology,” Spencer’s eyes practically light up at your words, completely forgetting that you’re a convicted serial killer and instead hyper-fixating on your academic interests.

“Really? Did you do a Bachelor of Arts or Science?” You can almost feel the enthusiasm radiating off of his body as he leans forward in his chair slightly.

“Science,” You tap the side of your head with your finger and Spencer thinks he understands. It’s the same reason he studied psychology himself.

Because he was different.

Because his brain worked in different ways than other people.

He couldn’t even imagine how much more severe it was for somebody like you.

“How do you know so much?” Your tone isn’t chastising. It’s not questioning his knowledge because he’s ’too young’ or ‘doesn’t look like someone who would be an expert’ in niche academic areas. You genuinely just wanted to know.

“Well- I have a 187 IQ and an eidetic memory,” You’re eyes followed his as he explained his intelligence to you, chasing them to ensure the two of you maintained eye contact. “And I have a reading speed of 20,000 words per minute,”

You hum at his answer, seemingly satisfied as you lean back in the jet seat.

The silence between you doesn’t have time to get awkward before Hotch is calling the team’s attention to go over the details of the case thus far.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer spends most of his first night in Los Flores on a laptop.

Garcia almost has an aneurism when he asks her if he could borrow one of hers.

It takes him almost 30 minutes to figure out how to use it, face lit by the harsh white light of the screen and softened slightly by the warm yellow of the lamp on his hotel bed’s side table.

Once he manages to pull up the internet browser he spends the next multiple hours researching. Pouring over every news article and journalist report that he can about the 2004 Malibu case that had you in its centre.

The 2004 ‘Malibu Rose Killer’. One of the most prolific serial killers in California’s history.

Eighteen people dead in just ten days. An extremely rapid escalation that held no victim pattern of any kind.

A spree that only stopped when the police found both of your adoptive parents dead after a welfare check concerning your father not turning up to work. Your two first victims.

You’d told the courts that it was a manic breakdown. A symptom of your previously undiagnosed sociopathy. That you weren’t in your right mind when it happened.

It worked to a degree, swerving you of a death penalty, but the fact that your parents’ crime scene had shown signs of recognition for your actions halted your defence quite a bit.

Instead of slitting their radial artery and leaving them to bleed out, you’d severed their spines from the brain stem whilst they slept.

And instead of piercing their eyeballs with two roses, you’d instead chosen to lay one in between their two bodies instead.

That was enough for the prosecution to say you had at least some knowledge of the severity of your actions, and so instead of being carted off to a psychiatric prison you were left in a regular old high security prison to serve two consecutive life sentences for the murder of your parents with an annual mental assessment.

He assumes that’s why you agreed to be here. To gain a lenience on your sentence.

He didn’t know why he found your story so fascinating, but he knew that he’d only be able to refrain from asking you questions for so long.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Spit it out.” Your words snap Spencer out of his thought-filled dazed, blinking at you as he slowly regains his senses.

“Huh?”

“Spit it out. Whatever you have to say to me.” Your tone, as he’s come to expect over the last few days, is very flat and straight to the point, clearly agitated at his eyes lingering on you for what you’d deemed too long.

You walk around the small table at the Orange County’s Los Flores police station with your arms crossed, confined there for the majority of the case as to not possibly initiate any ‘aggressive urges’ that might spawn from seeing a replica of your past crimes.

Spencer’s left hand absentmindedly scratches at his right elbow at your glare, clearing his throat and averting eye contact with you, both out of embarrassment of his unintentional staring and self-preservation towards your proclivity to get angry without real aggravation. “I- It’s nothing really,”

Your head tilts at him, your eyes telling him enough that your patience was waining and that you would get whatever he was thinking about out of him.

“I uh- did some reading… about your case-” Your expression morphs into an emotion that he can’t quite place at his confession, and he feels an overwhelming pressure to keep explaining himself as well as to just sew his mouth shut so he can’t say anything.

“And?”

“And… um- there was a part about it that didn’t really make sense to me,” He’s thrown himself in the deep end now, any hope of changing the topic of conversation long gone as he watches your eyebrow quirk in curiosity.

“Your parents…” Spencer’s eyes scan your expression intently as he mutters out the words, gauging your reaction to his words before he dares to continue.

“What about them?” You remain indifferent if not mildly compelled by the line of thought running through his head, and he’s internally relieved that he hasn’t pressed any of the wrong buttons in your fragile emotional state.

“Why?” Spencer mirrors the short, straight to the point wording that you seemed to be so fond of, and he can see you blank expression waver slightly at the question, like you weren’t sure how to answer it.

He watches the wrinkle in your brow become more prominent, how your eyes seem to loose focus and flicker around the room, the way you subconsciously shift from one foot to the other.

He’s not entirely surprised by your reaction. Sociopaths were very capable of harbouring emotions like everyone else. Anger, happiness, sadness, love, and even fear. Even if the intensity of them and the way they were expressed was different.

Right now your expression read as confusion mixed with mild apprehension, like you were considering whether or not you wanted to answer his question.

You still didn’t seem angry, which he was grateful for. He might have been a qualified agent, but that was with the exception of him not having to pass a physical examination.

And he really didn’t want to risk having to physically defend himself against someone who managed to kill eighteen people in the span of ten days because he’d accidentally said the wrong thing.

“They didn’t deserve to live with the knowledge of what I was going to do,” You tone is a lot less apathetic as you come to your answer, stopping intravenously to collect your words.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your answer, not quite sure what to make of it.

“My turn,” Your eyes scan Spencer’s facial features, watching how Spencer’s eyebrows raise as you don’t give him time to compute your answer. “Do your higher ups know you’re an addict?”

The question is blunt, clear, and lacks any subtlety whatsoever despite the two of you technically being in a public place, even if you were the only people in the room.

Spencer’s eyes snap towards yours, surprise written all over his face. “You- I- Uh-“ His mouth falls open and closed like a fish as he tries to string a coherent sentence together, blinking at you with wide eyes.

How did you know that?

He falls short of an answer to your question, his eyes questioning you silently.

“Does your team know?”

Spencer shakes his head slowly. “If they do no one’s ever mentioned it..” He doesn’t know why he’s exposing himself to you like this, but theirs something in the look your giving him that tells him that he can’t lie to you.

“What great friends.” Your voice is practically dripping in sarcasm, and Spencer can’t help but subconsciously agree with you.

He’d waited and waited for someone to recognise that something was off with him. That he wasn’t all there.

But instead of it being one of his coworkers, some of which he’d known for years, it was a sociopathic serial killer that he’d known for 37 hours and 16 minutes.

Lucky him.

“They have more important things to worry about,” His hand returns to scratching at his elbow through his shirt, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by the misfortune riddling his life; Almost as if it was a private viewing of a feature film made solely for your entertainment.

“Stop doing that.”

Spencer raises his eyes towards yours once more at your words, wide and glossy and making him look like a pathetic little puppy who’d been told off for tearing up a couch cushion.

You wonder how deep that patheticness goes.

“Don’t scratch. It’s annoying to watch and it’ll make your withdrawals worse.” You depart from the room before he can give you an answer, shutting the door harshly behind you as you spot Hotch in the main foyer of the station.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m bored.” You swing your legs over the edge of the table you were sat on. You’d spent the last four days confined either to the hotel room you were sharing with Hotch or the small meeting room the OCPD had reserved for the BAU during the case.

You wanted a change of scenery. Desperately. You could only deal with monotony for so long.

At least back in your cell you activities you could engage in.

Instead you were just stuck as a fact checker for the details of each victim.

Five people had died now. Following your victim pattern to a T.

The first a young white man. The second a middle aged white woman. The third a male black college student. The fourth and fifth a young gay couple.

It agitated you. What happened to originality? Get your own random victims.

“You can accompany Morgan and I to the coroner’s office,” Spencer offered you a pursed smile at his suggestion, partly because he knew you’d be able to see more differences between the originals and recreations in person than through photos and partly because he wanted to crack you open.

He wanted to know everything about you. He wanted to know what made you tick. How you rationalised your crimes. How your sociopathy developed.

He was in deep. And his brain wanted answers.

“Absolutely not.” Morgan shot down the idea immediately with a stern shake of his head. “There is no way in hell we are bringing them with us,”

“They might catch something that we won’t be able to,” Spencer’s rationalisation wasn’t exactly wrong. Even in copy cat murders the offender always left a piece of themself behind. Something of their own personality rather than the killer they were trying to replicate.

It could be so tiny that no one would recognise it. Apart from the original offender of course.

“They might catch the bright idea to try and attack somebody.”

“Oh please-“ You roll your eyes at Morgan. “If I was going to have another mental break at seeing a recreation of my past endeavours I would have had it already,”

Morgan narrows your eyes at you calling your murder spree your ‘past endeavours’. You hadn’t published a book or painted some mural. You’d killed eighteen people.

“Reid’s right,”

He doesn’t have time to get angry at you.

“Hotch-“ Morgan looks completely betrayed.

“There’s only so much they can do to help us from here. We want to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.” Hotch’s tone is stern, leaving no room for argument.

“And if they do spiral out of control,” Hotch’s eyes flicker between Morgan and yourself. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of it.”

Morgan mutters something under his breath about ‘stupid hierarchies’ and how much he hated your guts as he left the meeting room with a huff, although more composed than you thought he’d be.

“Are you ready to leave?” Spencer’s question snaps you out of your revelling over Morgan’s distaste for you, although your small smile of satisfaction doesn’t falter as your eyes meet Spencer’s.

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

- part two !!

[moontyger]

It was a tip that brought a dog to the main post office in downtown Jackson, Mississippi. An employee there had reported seeing someone in the lobby putting pills into hot pink envelopes.

Hours later, Ed Steed, a police officer from the small city of Richland, just south of Jackson, walked into a back room at the post office where one of the envelopes had been set aside. Steed, a K-9 handler, arrived with Rip, his narcotics sniffer dog. Rip strode around and, when he got to the pink envelope, sat down. According to records obtained through a Freedom of Information Act request, Steed said this meant the dog had smelled narcotics. That claim became evidence to get a warrant to open the envelope.

This, though, was no ordinary drug bust. As it turned out, there were pills inside the package, but they were not the kind that Rip or other police K-9s are trained to detect. The envelope contained five pills labeled “AntiPreg Kit.” They were made in India, and their medical purpose is to induce abortion. Dwayne Martin, at the time the head of the U.S. Postal Inspection Service in Jackson, told me this was exactly what the initial tipster had suspected.

...

What will happen to abortion-pills-by-mail and the people who use them if Donald Trump is elected in November? As the accounts of the regional USPIS head and FOIA documents show, a piecemeal crackdown is already underway during a Democratic administration. Under a Trump regime, things might go much further.

Whoever is in power, the incident in Jackson provides a potential window into the future — one in which freelancing local Postal Service employees and officials can call on local cops to halt women from accessing reproductive care and potentially charge and arrest those providing or using abortion medication.

My FOIA request asked for records from past years of investigations of people who’d used the mail to send pills. The documents I got back show how a willing administration might go after distributors. The feds could even lend support to police in states that have criminalized abortion care as they pursue cases under local laws. Pregnant people who order the medications could get caught in the dragnet.

The documents I received after my FOIA request were highly redacted but still reveal many details about a federal investigation that began less than two years ago in Mississippi. Dozens of envelopes with abortion pills were seized. The bust followed on the heels of the Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade, and came after a group of anti-abortion doctors filed a federal lawsuit in Texas, arguing that abortion pills should be banned from the mail.

The Jackson investigation apparently also employed what’s called a mail cover: a little-known Postal Service method for collecting data about people suspected of committing crimes. Using an enormous database of images of the outside of envelopes and packages, postal inspectors can digitally compare names, addresses, and other information on one item to others. And the findings can be freely shared with almost any law enforcement agency that requests them. The return address for the hot pink envelope in Jackson included an unused post office box number, the sort of information postal inspectors can use to correlate parcels to each other.

Reproductive justice activist Laurie Bertram Roberts worries about an anti-abortion regime taking power. They direct the Jackson-based Mississippi Reproductive Freedom Fund, which assists fellow Mississippians with any reproductive decision they make, from having a baby, to leaving the state to go to an abortion clinic, to using pills at home.

In a state where abortion is strictly banned post-Roe, Bertram Roberts is also a doula. Along with other doulas, they have organized help for people at the end of their pregnancies, including those which do not come to term. Whether that end is due miscarriage or to abortion is immaterial. “We don’t ask,” they said.

The pink-envelope investigation came out of a sort of collaboration between the feds’ regional offices and a local official: U.S postal workers and a city K-9 cop. Though no one in Mississippi has yet been arrested for helping carry out an abortion, Bertram Roberts fears that synergy. They leaned forward and tensed their lips as I opened my computer and pulled up images I’d obtained from the FOIA request: photos the USPIS had taken, in a post office parking lot, of vehicles suspected of belonging to the person who mailed the pills. 

Bertram Roberts peered anxiously at the screen. “I don’t recognize them!” they said. Their face relaxed, but they shook their head. “The thing I worry about most is people getting criminalized.

...

Using local dogs creates risk for abortion-seekers. With the post office inviting local law enforcement to assist with federal investigations, local police could theoretically do their own investigations, by copying names and addresses from the mail. And they could pass that information to anti-abortion district attorneys. 

Police dogs, however, are trained to smell only the illegal drugs heroin, marijuana, ecstasy, fentanyl, and cocaine, not the ingredients in abortion pills, which currently remain legal. And the K-9s’ forensic reliability is suspect.

Why would a police dog alert on abortion pills in the first place, when they’re not narcotics?

Martel, the USPIS national spokesperson, speculated that the pills found in Jackson were contaminated in the manufacturing process by trace amounts of a drug such as marijuana, or perhaps someone was handling narcotics when they did the packing and left molecules behind that only canines’ super-sensitive noses can detect.

Theories along these lines are widespread among police, and they’re inherently impossible to disprove. Elisa Wells, a co-founder and co-director of Plan C, is skeptical. She said her group has conducted laboratory analyses of various brands of foreign-made abortion pills. They’ve all been pure, she said, and no one has ever complained about their containing narcotics.

There is another reason why a K-9 can zero in on a package that’s devoid of illicit drugs. Animal researchers call it “cueing.” Canines are exquisitely sensitive to the minutiae of a human’s posture, eye movements, and other subtle behaviors. Handlers wishing to develop probable cause to do intrusive searches for narcotics can coax their dogs into drug-alerting behavior. To get a reward, the dog will alert, even if nothing illegal is present. (Steed, the K-9 handler, declined to be interviewed for this story.)

Cueing can be deliberate, but it’s more often unconscious. In 2011, Lisa Lit, a researcher at the University of California, Davis, published a now-famous study in which she told the handlers of several police dogs that their K-9s would be searching for “target scents” hidden randomly in several containers. She put red tape on some containers and said it marked the targets. In reality, none of the containers had scents. Even so, most of the dogs alerted on containers, especially those with red tape.

[windvexer]

I'm frustrated at the healthcare insurance companies and while I can't do much in my personal life because I don't hold a high position in government or anywhere else (regretfully). I want to use magic against them. I hear that the book of Psalms are great for using for spells. Do you think it's worth my time to write down a specific Psalms on paper and physically mail my spell to their offices? It's a Psalms Against the Power and Malignity of Enemies. Should I add herbs or anything in the envelope that would assist?

I don't know which Psalm that is, to reference it's usually best to include starting chapter and verse number (e.g. Psalms 138:7).

However, no, I would not recommend mailing written spells to government offices in an envelope filled with herbs. This seems like a great way to get in actual trouble, although presumably you would be wise enough to not include a return address.

I just really doubt the efficacy of such an operation. Here is what I imagine would happen:

The minimum wage admin assistant will open your letter to scan it in and have it digitally delivered to the correct person. They will see it is a Psalm without reference to an ongoing claim, and without a valid business inquiry attached.

They will ask a supervisor what to do. The supervisor will check it, see that it is not valid business mail, and have it tossed without scanning it.

If you do include botanicals, it may induce panic in the admin who has just opened an envelope with unidentifiable crushed plant matter. If the admin has the rare misfortune to be allergic to a plant that you include, things can go south very quickly. Imagine you pop open an envelope and go into anaphylactic shock from cinnamon that a witch spooned in to target your boss's boss's boss's boss's boss.

Instead, try using the Psalms yourself as a focus point for petitioning angels or saints, working over effigies, enchanting candles, and so forth. Although many people believe the Psalms hold inherent power, generally they must be worked on to some degree; by praying and reading them with fervent belief, usually, and perhaps as part of a larger ritual.

I do not believe just writing and mailing a Psalm, with or without herbs in the envelope, would very much constitute magic. And there is probably more you can do at home without getting the postal service involved.

[lost-in-lamentation]

It probably isn't the best pair, but could I suggest "I'll take over from here, you go rest" with Mammon?

(Or with Lucifer if it comes easier)

(Writer's block is a pain, I hope you can defeat that beast soon and I wish you a good day)

a/n: thank you for the well wishes anon (´ω｀) also praying that i can defeat it soon ..

prompt #2: mammon + “i’ll take over from here, you go rest.”

content: tired reader who needs some extra help getting errands done.

warnings: brief dizziness for the reader.

comfort. mammon x gen!reader (you/your).

you groaned internally when your d.d.d. pinged with a loud notification. during your study time, you always kept it on silent, with the exception of lucifer’s contact allowed to bypass the do not disturb settings. if your phone was going off, it meant lucifer had another task for you. with a sigh, you tapped your screen awake, groaning again when you saw that lucifer wanted you to run to multiple stores. you replied back with a quick “okay”, not wanting to stir lucifer’s mood. before heading out, you stopped by mammon’s room, poking your head through the doorway. a call of his name had the room responding in silence, and you realised a few seconds later that his car wasn’t in the room either. guess he’s out doing who knows what, you thought to yourself.

adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you set out for your first errand, which in hindsight, should have been your last. you weren’t sure what went through your head when you decided on the grocery store first. the amount of food for beel alone had you stopping for breaks as you carried the bags around. the second stop wasn’t much better; lucifer had definitely underestimated how many packages were at the postal office for pick up. the demon at the front desk had half a mind to ask if you needed assistance to take everything back, but with the cost of extra shipping, you end up grumbling “no thanks,” before putting on a strained smile and hauling your belongings out to the street.

you weighed your options once you got outside. beel would definitely be able to carry most of this, but he’d snack on the groceries before you even got halfway home. lucifer was not to be disturbed, of course. satan would most likely be holed up in his room reading, while levi would be playing games. mammon was nowhere to be found, and as for asmo and belphie; “out of the question,” you huffed. sighing despondently, you stuffed as much as you could into your backpack before sliding all the bag handles around your forearms. the weight made you dizzy and had you teetering dangerously from side to side. your teeth broke skin as you bit down on your lip, the effort of staying up and trying to hold everything going far past your abilities. finally, you took a shaky step forward, but a particularly heavy bag swung too far in front, sending you barreling towards the ground. you had given up, accepting your fate of crashing into a muddy puddle when a shriek from up ahead caught your attention.

you felt arms circle tightly around your torso, and your head landed on a shoulder you were very familiar with. “oh, mammon?” you practically slurred the question, your mind not all where it should be.

“that’s all ya have to say?!” mammon shouted at full volume, despite being right next to you. “seriously human, what are you even doin’ with all this?” he grunted with the effort to set you upright, tugging the bags off your arms and forcing you to get rid of the backpack that was dragging you down.

“lucifer asked me to run errands,” you said quietly, your hand clasping mammon’s shoulder to stabilise yourself. you failed to notice the red dusting mammon’s cheeks as you gripped even tighter.

the white haired demon hooked an arm around your waist in response, holding you up. “and you decided that you could carry all this?” mammon chided quietly when you shook your head, his gaze softening when he saw how quiet you were becoming. “okay, okay, come on. can you walk? my car’s over there.”

you blinked your vision back into focus, now seeing the way mammon had parked. you weren’t sure if you could say he parked at all, with the way it was practically on the sidewalk. “mammon, why’s your car-?”

“don’t ask, just get in there. i’ll take the stuff over,” he muttered, pushing you gently away before leaning down and grabbing a number of the grocery bags. by the time you had settled into the passenger seat, mammon was back with the second round of items, piling it into his trunk carefully. he headed back again for the remaining few, throwing what couldn’t fit in the trunk onto the backseat. “that would be a lot for even beel, ya know,” he exhaled, getting into the driver's seat next to you. “what else is on that list from my dear, older brother?”

“eh? weren’t you going out somewhere else?” you asked, not wanting to interrupt his day off.

“don’t be stupid,” mammon scoffed. “you nearly died just trying to hold everything.” you opened your mouth to protest, but mammon had his hand covering it before you could utter a word. “no. you look like you haven’t slept in ages so… i’ll take over from here. it’s just errands anyway. you need to get some rest.” mammon wasn’t gentle in his scolding, but the concern in his eyes told another story. “i’m taking you home.”

you pushed his hand away, giving him a hard stare. “i’m coming with you.”

the second born cursed his sin; of course he would let you stay. greed came in the way he never wanted you to leave. the tips of his ears turned pink, admitting defeat before he could. “fine. but you’re sleeping in the car until we get to the next store.”

“mammon, the next store is like, five minutes from here.”

“shut up. i’m taking the scenic route.”

a/n: and so, mammon drove around for an hour instead of taking you directly to the store

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

prompt list here.

[tomorrowusa]

Just 71 days until Election Day.

The continuing spread of early voting and postal voting over the past decade has moved up the crucial period when people will be making choices. 47 states plus DC have some form of early voting. Pennsylvania, for example, has early voting 50 days before Election Day. So becoming active in a campaign is something which shouldn't be put off.

We need to identify solid Democratic and leaning Democratic voters so we can get them to vote. Some voters may need transportation or other assistance which we can then provide. We can't afford to lose a single friendly voter.

It's not too early to look into volunteer opportunities to get out the vote.

Volunteer | Kamala Harris for President

[raini-day]

Fantasy manga reccs for folks that liked Freiren, Dungeon Meshi, and Witch Hat Atelier

1. Is what you liked about DM dwarves promoting good lifestyle habits and giving exposition about monsters? You might like Soara and the House of Monsters! A girl raised to be a monster hunter meets a group of dwarves who build houses for monsters and stars traveling with them.

2. Did you know Dungeon Meshi isn't Ryoko Kui's only series? The Dragon's School is on Top of the Mountian is a collection of oneshots all packed with the Ryoko Kui charm.

3. Do you enjoy fun magic item crafting and a relationship between a long-lived elf and a human? you might like Elf to Shuryoushi no Item Koubou! Magritte is a magic item craftsman who, along with her assistant and bodyguard Yura, fulfills all sorts of requests for magic items.

4. Do you like when series really delve into the how and why of logistics? You might like The Dragon, the Hero, and the Courier! It follows the daily life and trouble of Yoshida the half-elf, a dedicated postal worker who delivers all sorts of strange and mundane letters.

5. Did you know witch hat has a cooking manga spin off? now you do! Witch Hat Atelier Kitchen is extremely cute & domestic.

6. Shinozaki-kun no Mente Jijou is a modern fantasy about an ordinary office worker finding out there's a lot about himself he never knew about - turns out his body has been modified to hold all sorts of magical machinery. The thing with machinery though - it needs maintenance

7. Shoulder-a-Coffin Kuro follows Kuro, a strange traveler who carries a coffin on her back, two shapeshifting twins she's adopted, and the talking bat who lives in her coffin as they wander the land looking for a certain witch. Whimsical & melancholy, this is one of my all time favs.

8. Akagami no Shirayukihime follows the life Shirayuki, a herbalist, and the people around her. It's kind of hard to sum it up with one thing because it's a pretty long series where a lot happens! It's got really lovely art, fun worldbuilding & extremely charming characters

9. Hakumei and Mikochi are two teeny women who live in a house nestled in the roots of a tree. Lots of them cooking, building, exploring and visiting friends in strange places. I really love the background designs and detailed art of objects! My fav chapters are the market visits. This one's another of my all time favs!

10. Otherwordly Izakaya Nobu! More food in fantasy because you can never really get enough of that. A bar in modern japan inexplicably opens its front door into a fantasy city. Each chapter different people come to the bar to talk about their lives and enjoy japanese food.

11. Radiant, a pretty classic fantasy shounen by a french artist - it's on this list primarily because I looooove the art, especially the backgrounds. It's got some fun magic item worldbuilding as well.

12. And to finish off these reccs, Wandering Witch: The Journey of Elaina. This one's closest to Freiren in terms of who I think will like it. It's about a witch, her slow paced journey around the world, and the people she meets along the path.

[minervakarsh]

So I remembered the existence of the “describe it in exactly 9 words” challenge. And I decided: why not do this challenge with EVERY Ace Attorney case? Warning - may be a little cringe. Also no TGAA

1-1: Friends help friends even if said friends are stupid

1-2: You lost your boss but you gained your assistant

1-3: About kids and adults but most importantly about fans

1-4: Save him - from his mentor, his past and himself

1-5: Fighting corruption with science, sisterly love and wriggling plywood!

2-1: A lawyer with no memories is still a lawyer

2-2: Secluded villages produce spirits, murders and deeply traumatized girls

2-3: No one is the villain. Except apparently borderline pedophilia

2-4: Poor Phoenix, you will doubt everyone… except your friends

3-1: He who gets weird clients once himself was one

3-2: A tale of Cinnamon Roll and his foe Spamton

3-3: A shark can be a tiger… a loan shark

3-4: No one wins, except the devil who was arrested

3-5: Of the mountains and the clan and the coffee

4-1: Ace Attorney but Ace stands for the bloody ace

4-2: Full of noodles, doctors, gangsters and thieves of panties!

4-3: A particularly messy concert of Klavier Gavin, now colorized

4-4: Let me take you back to seven years ago

5-1: Finally, at last! The victim actually wrote the message!

5-2: The prosecutor looks more demonic than the actual demon

5-3: My Little Lawyer: Friendship is Magic. Also school! Yay!

5-4: Yeah, I understand Apollo. I would go postal too.

5-5: When you chase phantoms, look who has your back…

5-6: Fish, orcas, penguins, pirates, shanties - and a happy end!

6-1: What to do abroad? Risk your life in court!

6-2: Magic? Troupe Gramarye?? TRUCY AS A DEFENDANT?! HELL YES!!

6-3: Ah, Khura’in. Crispy mountain air, magatamas, prayers, rebels, murders…

6-4: Lots of food, sake and rakugo performances! And Uendo!!

6-5: First a theft… then murders, revolutions, family drama. Classic.

6-6: All friends here! And the case is about love!

I1-1: A dead body? Nah, the folders are more important

I1-2: Edgeworth and his worst nightmare: being surrounded by women

I1-3: Badger madness versus Yatagarasu coolness! Also, Lance is there.

I1-4: Little Franzy! Little Kay! Slightly littler Edgy! CALISTO YEW??

I1-5: At least Manfred was cool. This guy is INSUFFERABLE.

I2-1: Bodyguard? Fake. President? Fake. Tabby? Lloyd. Love this case!

I2-2: A new defense attorney, prosecutor and judge. Full collection.

I2-3: Aw, guys, look! His son is practically him copypasted!

I2-4: Something is wrong. Deeply wrong. Because Excel Document exists!!!!

I2-5: Remember that one little guy? Well, remember him again.

…my reason for making this is unknown to anyone, and especially myself. Enjoy!

[thecodywanzine]

THE ZINES HAVE ARRIVED!!!

The zines have arrived and they are absolutely gorgeous!!!

Now the the zines are finally in our (Chicago based) hands, we can start to prepare for shipment!!!

Packaging should begin this weekend with the first packages dropped off at USPS by next Wednesday (July 5th).

Please note that Tuesday, July 4th is a Federal Holiday in the US. The US Postal Service is closed and Mod Travis and assistant Mod Percy will be taking a little R&R that day.

Nevertheless, our goal is to get a good chunk of orders mailed out next week! Please stay tuned for updates. It might take a couple weeks to fully finish, as there were 500+ orders!!!

REMINDER: This Friday, June 30th is the last day to submit an address change.

Thank you to everyone, from our contributors to our supporters! This wouldn't have been possible without all of you!!

[rendy-a]

Hi.

I love reading ‘A Blooming Romance’ that you did. Can I request a similar situation but with Riddle, Silver and Deuce?

Hope you have a good day❤️

Thank you for the request.  I’m so glad that you’ve enjoyed my flower piece enough to ask for more. I hope you enjoy this one just as much!

Another Blooming Romance

Forget-me-nots: Faithful love, undying hope, memories

You see Riddle pick up the package of stationary from his mail slot and turn it over.  He fingers the delicate blue blossoms lightly.  “Prefect,” he calls to you, “do you know who sent this to me?”  Of course you do, it was you but you don’t intend to tell him that.  “Ah, no.  I didn’t see anyone come in with that.” You lie so smoothly that the dorm leader doesn’t question you.  He purses his lips and regards the package one last time, “Forget-me-nots.  How shall I remember them when I don’t even know who they are?”  He does not wait for an answer but turns sharply and walks from the mail room with a sharp click of his heels echoing along the corridor.

You felt a brief wave of guilt for having been dishonest with Riddle.  Ah, Riddle.  You smile as you think of the studious dorm leader of Heartslabyul.  You had admired his determination, both in class and with his personal growth, seeking out ways to become closer to his dorm students.  You’d watched from the sidelines as the earnest dorm leader had become more friendly with Ace and Deuce; but not much with you.  Not that he was rude, it was just that you had limited reason to interact outside of the few brief moments you might cross paths; mostly in the common room of Heartslabyul when you visited your first-year friends.

So, it was a relief when Crowley placed another odd job on your shoulders; to sort and deliver the school mail.  You might think that a magical place like Twisted Wonderland would have magical mail service but surprisingly, you set out each morning from Ramshackle with a cart to the front gate to collect a bin of letters from a postal worker.  Then you hauled the load back to the main campus building where there was a small room filled with numbered cubbies for each student to receive mail.  You had struggled at first to learn the system but, over time, you’d gotten the hang of the organization.  You could now quickly tell from a letter what section it belonged to (the second for Savanahclaw) and what rows (sixth through eighth for a second year) and sort your mail out before classes even began.

You never did though.  Crowley had given you permission to miss the first period study hall and attend to your mail delivery duties instead.  By lingering all period long, you’d discovered you had the opportunity to be in the mail room after first period when HE arrived.  Riddle lived by a schedule so consistent that you could set your watch to it.  Every school day, he arrived five minutes after the end of first period to collect his mail.  It was the highlight of your day.  You watched him with a secret smile as he entered the small space and ran his gaze along the rows of cubbies, searching out his box.  Riddle was always polite to you, greeting you properly each day. 

“Good morning, Prefect.” Riddle greets you with a small smile.  “Good morning, Dorm Leader Rosehearts,” you greet him in return.  You aren’t as close as you’d hope but each day you try to learn a little more about him.  “How is the rose-painting going?  I hope Ace and Deuce haven’t slacked off on you!”  Riddle gives you a long-suffering sigh, “I wish my own dorm students were as hard-working as you, Prefect.  We could certainly use some of that spirit when preparing for an Unbirthday Party.” 

He hadn’t exactly said he wanted your help but he also hadn’t said NOT to help either.  Only, you pondered throughout the day, how could a magic-less student possibly assist a great mage like Riddle?  The answer had come a day later when Riddle had off-handedly commented on the need to go to the school shop on the weekend to replenish his stock of stationary.  He lamented the need to delay until the weekend, at all times preferring to accomplish tasks with utmost promptness, but his busy schedule had not afforded him time for idle shopping until then.  You agreed with Riddle that it really was QUITE a shame but secretly were overjoyed at the prospect of finding a way to help out your crush.

On the way back from the school store, you took a short cut through a field of wildflowers and came across some small blue blossoms.  Forget-me-nots.  You smiled at the little familiar flowers.  So, they existed in this world as well.  It was like a gentle wish from your past not to forget all of the good moments.  On a whim, you pulled up a sprig of flower and tucked it in the wrapping on the stationary.  You hoped that Riddle would receive the sentiment as you had, and not forget the good moments you shared together. 

That first special delivery had left you conflicted.  You’d been too shy to give your gift in person, instead choosing to leave it as a secret admirer.  Only, Riddle had seemed so troubled by the idea of receiving a package from an unknown sender.  “I don’t understand,” he told you the next day, “why wouldn’t you sign your name so the recipient can properly thank you?”  He sounded so forlorn.

“Ah, maybe they are too intimidated to talk to you.  You are the one who represents the great spirit of the Queen of Hearts, after all.” You try to encourage Riddle to a better mood but your attempt only makes him frown at you.  “Is that how you think of me?  Like some unapproachable figure?  I’m just a person, Prefect.”  You are left gaping at his response as he turned heel and left you alone to contemplate your situation.

Had you mis-stepped?  You had not intended to confess to Riddle, but rather to just admire him silently during your morning rendezvous.  Are you wrong?  Is it selfish of you to leave him wondering about you while you sit on your secret alone?  It was a thought that stayed with you all day and into the next.  You think about this as you return to the school store.  Ace had off-handedly mentioned that Riddle had a torn glove on his riding uniform and you wanted to help him by gifting him a kit to mend it. 

On the way back to the mail room for your daily shift, you grab another sprig of forget-me-nots and add them to your gift.  Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical of you, but it was your special thing now.  You looked sadly at the blooms that represented all your hopes for your relationship and yet knew when you arrived, you’d slide the package into the mail cubby anonymously again.

You waited guiltily until Riddle arrived to pick up his mail, as reliable as always.  He sees the package and tenses, an angry expression crossing his face.  “Prefect, I though I had made myself clear,” he speaks to you in a heated tone.  “Wha…What do you mean?” you ask nervously.  He looks at you with a disappointed look, “I live in a dorm with Cater.  Did you really think you could keep this secret?  Rosaria had been so eager to gossip about it.”  You flip your eyes to the painting that hangs across the hall and notice the occupant of said painting was eating up this drama like it was high value entertainment.  You suppose that when you are stuck in a painting, any drama is probably high value.  Of course, she would have taken the opportunity to mention it to her acquaintance, Cater, and hope for some additional amusement.

You shoot the painted girl an annoyed look and shut the door, depriving her of the satisfaction of a scene.  You cast your eyes downward and turn to face the angry Dorm Leader.  “I’m sorry Riddle.  I just didn’t think it did any harm.  I could help out and you could still be free to study and complete your dorm responsibilities.  That is all I wanted, just to help.” His brow furrows but his color returns to a normal shade, indicating that while vexed, he was considerably less angry.  “All my life, decisions are being made for me.  First by my mother and now by you.  All I want is to be able to make my own choices for once.  Is that too much to ask?” 

You gasp and look up at him, shocked by his admission.  And really, he was right.  This should be his choice.  “Riddle,” you shakily start, “I like you.  I like you a lot.  You are so smart and brave and…and…I just can’t forget you.”  Then you bow your head and wait for his response.  He lets out a little huff.  “Straighten that posture, Prefect.”  A hand enters your vision holding the spring of flowers.  “Forget you?  How can I when I have this?”  He gestures for you to take it.  You blush and accept the flowers.  “Meet me later for tea?  Don’t forget.”  You flash him a beaming smile and tightly grasp the stem.  No, you wouldn’t forget.

Heather: Protection, wishes will come true

There was something about Silver, you thought as you picked a sprig of wild heather and handed it off to a bird.  He was charming and kind, just like the princes of fairy tales you’d read as a child.  You liked to walk with him on your way to class when you could.  He was naturally quiet, so you chattered away at him instead.  You once asked him if he minded the way you monopolized the time and he told you that he was actually grateful for your company; it keeps him awake!

Not only was Silver charming, but he was also safe.  A magic-less student in a school like NRC attracted a lot of unwelcome attention.  Your first week had been a nightmare; students from many dorms had sought you out to gawk at the odd student.  Some had done more than gawk; causing you to take more than a few bruises.  That was how you’d first met Silver. 

“Where are you going little mouse?” mocked the brawny student stalking you.  You had ducked into a closet and waited, hoping he’d overlook your hiding spot.  You’d hoped in vain.  With a sudden jerk, the door flew open.  You raised a hand, blocking the light that blinded you, only to have the student grab that hand and use it to pull you out of your hideaway.  You’d cowered, waiting for a blow to fall but it never did.  When you dared raise your gaze, you’d seen a vision straight from a tale.  A silver-haired knight standing between you and your attacker. 

And from that day on, that was what he was to you, your Silver knight.  His mere presence was enough to intimidate most students and, for those foolish enough to challenge him, his skills proved worthy of his reputation.   You still fondly remember the panicked look on that student’s face as he ran down the hall.  Silver never gloated though, he only turned to you with that calm look and asked if you were alright.  Yes, you thought, you were more than alright. 

You handed off another sprig of heather off to a squirrel as you remembered the soft, sleepy look Silver had as he escorted you to class that morning.  He had taken it upon himself to guard you in addition to his young master, when he was able.  There was little you could do to properly thank him for such a service.  One day, you’d asked a small songbird that you felt followed Silver around to deliver a wildflower you plucked to your knight.  The bird had given you a proud shake of feathers, as though thrilled to be chosen for such a mission.  Then, it took the flower and flown off.  When you encountered Silver later, he had tucked the flower behind his ear.  Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you thought Silver had a small smile upon his somewhat stoic face.

From then on, you took to picking and sending Silver flowers via the cute forest creatures that had befriended him.  Rook had come upon you picking flowers one day and joined you.  While choosing flowers, he had regaled you with the many meanings of the wildflowers you’d found.  One had especially caught your attention.  Heather was a perfect flower for your knight.  It expressed the appreciation you had for his protection and your secret wishes that you’d manage to someday make him your own Prince Charming.  You usually sent a variety of flowers but always included a sprig of heather.

A cold wind tousled your hair and caused you to frown.  An owl gave you an inquisitive hoot and you turned to him, “Fall is coming.  Soon the last of the wildflowers will be gone.”  You hold a flower in your hand and regard it with a melancholy expression.  “I’ve sent him these flowers all season long but soon I won’t be able to anymore.  I wonder if my feelings will continue to reach him then.”  The owl gives you another hoot and you take it as encouragement.  “I know, I believe that too.” You smile and hand off the last flower to the owl.  “Go and deliver him my flower and love.” 

You smiled gently as you watched the owl fly off and then set off back to Ramshackle.  You wandered slowly, enjoying the last of the warm weather on your way back.  Before making it back to the dorm, you were surprised to hear a fast packed clipping of boots on the cobbled path.  It was rare to see other students on this out-of-the-way path.  You paused and turned to see who it might be and were surprised to see Silver hurriedly striding your way. 

Your heart started pounding; there was little reason to be coming down this path if not to see you.  You look at him expectantly and, sure enough, he comes to stand in front of you.  “Ah, Silver.  I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” you offer in a questioning tone.  He smiles a small sheepish smile and places a hand to his temple.  “Mr. Owl gave me your message and I had to come.”  You looked at him confused but then noticed the flower in his hair.  It was the same one you’d handed to the owl before coming home for the night. 

“The…the owl.  Right,” you add nervously.  You vaguely remember saying some embarrassing things to that owl.  Surely, the owl couldn’t have actually TOLD Silver what you’d said, could it?  Silver blushes a small amount and pulls the flower from his hair and hands it to you.  “I feel the same.”  You only hesitate a moment before accepting the flower.  “You, you do?”  Silver smiles at you gently.  “Yes.  I’ve been hoping for you to confess for a while now.  Fa..Lilia told me it was best if I waited until you were ready.  I’m so glad you finally decided it was time.” 

You glance around and see the owl looking at you from a nearby tree.  When you meet its eye, it raises its wings as though to say, ‘Good for you two!’  You turned your attention back to Silver, who was patiently waiting for your response.  You hesitantly hold out your hand and Silver grasps it and tugs gently, inviting you to come closer.  So you do, leaning gently against his chest as he wraps his arms around you.  “Is it really ok to be this happy?” you ask him in a dreamy voice.  Silver’s voice reaches you ears, “Yes, for now and ever after.”

Gladiolus: Strength of character, sincerity, generosity

You and Deuce were a lot alike.  People were always telling you that.  Perhaps it was the earnest spirit you possessed, the one that made you want to work hard to prove yourself as the magic-less Prefect of Ramshackle dorm.  Or maybe it was just how naïve you were.  You and Deuce had secretly smuggled the eggshells out of the Heartslabyul kitchen the last time you helped Trey bake.  Deep in the rose maze, you held a little funeral for the chicks who might have been before burying the shells in the compost heap.  You felt like you might cry and turned to Deuce to see he was already letting heavy tears fall upon his cheeks.  You had smiled and held his hand, knowing you had found a kindred spirit.

There were some differences though.  While Deuce was athletic, you were sort of clumsy.  Which felt really unfair; you already had no magic and now you suck at the regular portion of gym class too!  Deuce was always supportive of you, even when you fail miserably.  “You can do it, Prefect!  FIGHT ON!”  You turn and look at him, “Deuce, I appreciate the cheer but I’m only waist height up this rope.  I don’t think I’m going to make it to the top.”  Deuce gives you a startled look before putting his fist to his chest and very seriously remarking, “Don’t worry about it, there are plenty of fish in the sea.”  It made no sense really, but somehow, it still makes you feel better.  You give your dear, dear friend a gently smile from where you cling desperately to the rope, “Thanks Deuce, I needed that.”  He perks up happily, always pleased to have assisted you.

You just wish that you could find a way to help him out too.  It felt like he was always the one encouraging you and never the other way around.  At least once, you’d like to be the one cheering him on, helping him find that extra oomph to pull through.  Only, you were barely in the same lessons.  Coach Vargus was always giving you remedial tasks for your class while the athletic Deuce was running laps or taking flying lessons with the rest of the students.  You could shout from across the field, but how would he know the shouts were for him? 

“I’m just here to help you stretch,” Jack says to you with some confusion as to why you are saying all this aloud.  You look up at him and sigh, “I know but you are such a good listener.  I just can’t help but want to talk out my problems when you are around.”  Jack looks away and puts a hand in his hair, rubbing his head in embarrassment, “You know you could always come to our track meets.  I’m sure Deuce would like to have you in the stands cheering for him there.”  You jump up and clasp your hands in front of you, “Jack!  That is a great idea!”  You give Jack an enthusiastic hug and then bound away, your spirits mightily lifted.

You spent that night thinking about how to best show your support for Deuce and came up with an idea.  You vaguely recall that the way to congratulate a race winner was by putting a wreath of flowers around their neck.  You were a little unsure if this was just for horses but figured that it was the thought that counted most.  You weren’t entirely sure where you could come up with a flower wreath but figured you’d go where everything was…

“IN STOCK NOW!!!” Sam assures you when you tell him of your needs.  You were relieved that Sam seemed to understand what you’d been going for when you explained your idea to him.  He even gave you some helpful suggestions on flowers based on flower language, which was a mystery to you.  Sam asked you to tell him about the person the flowers were for; not just his personality but what he meant to you. 

You had tried to capture the feeling, but it was difficult; how do you describe a person who is like your best friend, brother, and partner all in one?  You tried though.  You told Sam about how Deuce always tried his best, even when it was something he knew he wouldn’t succeed in.  You told him about how Deuce isn’t afraid to tell you about his mistakes.  You value his honesty and feel inspired by the way he looks forward to how he plans to improve rather than dwelling on his failings.  Lastly, you tell Sam about the events that inspired your gift; the way Deuce always goes out of his way to give you support.  Sam smiles at you kindly, “So you need a gift for your boyfriend.”  You jump back, “N.N.NO!  He’s not, I mean we’re not…Ah, it’s not like that!”

Sam chuckles at you mischievously but let’s your awkward denial stand.  “Of course, little imp.  I have just the thing to encourage a…special friend and it’s IN STOCK NOW!”  Your relief was palatable; both because you’d found a way to encourage Deuce and because you hadn’t been forced to look too deeply at your relationship with your friend.  Because you were just friends and…and that is all you want…right?  You shake your head, banishing any wayward thoughts and smile at the suave businessman, “Yes, I’ll take it.  Thank you, sir!”

When the day of the track meet arrived, you returned to the Mystery Shop to retrieve your item.  When you saw the bright red flowers braided into the wreath, you gasped in delight.  “Sam, this is perfect!  He’s sure to notice me from the stands now.  I’m sure my feelings will reach him!”  Sam passes you a knowing smile, “Good luck, little Imps.  And if you need anything in the future; notebooks, shoes, …rings; you know where to come.”  With a last wink, Sam withdraws into the shop and you jog off. 

You arrive at the track and field area where bleachers have been set up to hold spectators.  You climb up to the very top of a set, hoping the height will make you even more visible.  Your gaze scans the students warming up below, searching for Deuce.  “You came to my meet!” an excited voice exclaims to your side.  “Ack!” you yell in surprise, nearly taking a tumble off the back of the bleachers.  “Whoa!” Deuce exclaims as he grabs your arm, steadying you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

You laugh sheepishly, clutching your gladiolus wreath before realizing you were perhaps crushing the flowers.  “Oh, OH!  This is for you!” you say as you thrust the wreath out to him.  “Ah!  Thanks?” Deuce says in confusion.  “I wanted to congratulate you on your win!”  Deuce seems satisfied with your answer but rubs his head and remarks, “But I haven’t won anything yet…” You jump in surprise, realizing you’ve made a silly error after being startled.  You pull the wreath back into your hands, “Ah! Then, then I’m just going to hold it here until you do.  So go win and then come back so I can congratulate you!”  Deuce gives you a beaming smile with his fist to his chest, “That’s right!  I’m all fired up now!  Just you wait!”  Then he runs off, still smiling, to join the rest of the runners.

You were hoarse from shouting your encouragement by the end of the event.  Both Deuce and Jack do well but Deuce only manages to take home second place in the sprint.  You find him afterward leaning with his forehead against a wall.  “Deuce,” you call out uncertainly.  Deuce doesn’t look at you and instead slides down into a squat.  “I didn’t win.  I disappointed you.”  You hurriedly rush to his side, “Not at all!  You did so well!”  With a flip of your wrists, you toss the wreath over his head.  “Congratulations Deuce.  You didn’t win the race but I’m sure you’ve won something.” 

Deuce looks up at your suddenly with a blush settling on his cheeks.  “Did I?” he asks nervously, “I’ve been trying to for so long that I’d almost given up.  I thought you didn’t think of me that way but now,” he slides his hand over the bright flowers, “I see I was wrong.”  He gently takes your hand and lets out a breath that is have laugh and half sigh of relief.  When he squeezes your hand, your heart thumps wildly, turning your feelings into a pit in your stomach.  Then Deuce laughs again and this time it is fully joyful, rising all the way to his eyes, crinkling up his cheeks and showing where he will someday have laugh-lines.  When you hear the sound, it settles in you and suddenly you no longer feel confused.  You find yourself laughing with him, squeezing his hand back tightly.  Ah, so that was it.  You were in love with Deuce; your best friend and partner.  You wonder mildly if anyone else noticed.  Probably not.

[therealemaskye]

okay to preface this real blackbright stans know copernicusjones from ao3 for their extremely outstanding contributions to the blackbright community. a sort of amalgamation of “going postal,” “the road less traveled,” and all of the fics in their blackbright and chill series are basically my blackbright bible. my canon timeline.

if you haven’t read their fics… oh my god. i cannot recommend them to you enough.

if you haven’t played dual destinies PERIOD, this is all just spoilers so my word vomit is under the cut.

so anyway, basically they have this long history together, from working together on simon’s first case to being simon’s correctional officer to being the only person to advocate and believe in simon. of course, EVERYTHING has an added dash of homoerotic tension (both resolved and unresolved). as we get closer to canon, i completely throw out bobby being an unidentified dead body. that’s no fun! i like to believe the phantom came later rather than sooner, and found it especially beneficial to disguise themself as bobby fulbright not only because of his close relationship with simon, but also the fact that bobby was getting close to discovering more than he should about the phantom. instead of murdering him, i think they instead kidnapped bobby and retrieved information from him over the course of events in DD. this could have some added trauma for simon, since i’m sure the phantom would use what they knows of their intimate relationship to their advantage. in the end, the phantom is still uncovered and killed, and the whereabouts of bobby fulbright are unknown: he is pronounced dead.

an honorary funeral is held for the detective, and life must go on for simon blackquill.

bobby, on the other hand, is recovered by interpol while they were retrieving evidence about the phantom. upon discovering just how much bobby is informed about the phantom and his determination to finish what he started, they offer him a place in the bigger picture. since the game is kind of vague about who the phantom works for, i headcanon an underground organization who works with corrupt government officials around the globe, whether it be starting wars with other countries or causing discord and terror in their own. interpol has a mission to end this organization to prevent any more destruction they bring into the world, and bobby is recruited into those efforts. to him, this is the most logical path: he has no family to go back to, everyone thinks he’s dead, and most of all he does not want to cause simon anymore problems than he already has. bobby is now partnered with kay faraday, interpol agent extraordinare.

years go by, and eventually, simon is asked by interpol for assistance on their last stretch of the mission. the action, the drama, the humor, the tension, oh my!!! it would be awesome. simon blackquill: investigations here we come baby.

so that’s my blackbright timeline! i had to vomit it out into the void for my own sanity. i love them so so much.

[bloodgarnet]

my contribution to smoshblr: some open-ended ianthony-but-really-mostly-gen not!fics. three different AUs, too short to post on AO3 (and I can't be fucked to ACTUALLY write them to completion sooo...). will post the other two when I get around to them.

1/3 – Dungeon Chumps

Shayne sometimes finds himself missing their old travel companions.

In the dungeon diving world, it’s normal for parties to split up after a successful (or unsuccessful) raid, then attempt to reconvene only to find out that their cleric found a higher-paying gig, or the frontliner decided to settle down with a tavernkeeper. Even still, nothing can tarnish those golden memories of Noah and Keith jostling over their pot around the campfire, or Olivia's off-key attempts to sing to woodland creatures. He wonders where Courtney is now.

You know who he doesn’t miss? Ian. Because Ian never really leaves.

It was almost a running gag ever since his first proper five-person mission when they’d decided on hiring a dungeon guide, and Ian had been the only one in their budget. Like, suspiciously cheap services, in that way that was only more suspicious because it turned out, if anything, he was probably way overqualified for his job.

It took a while for them to warm up to him, which is to say that after that first mission, they separated with a somewhat guilty sigh of relief, though Shayne immediately felt guilty afterwards. It was the dungeon, nothing else. They were so ready for a nice, long break. Yeah.

But no need to worry! There Ian was again, just… hanging around outside the next dungeon, boredly asking if any adventurers needed assistance. So they took him on again, and then the next time, and the one after that.

It’s not like they couldn’t manage without him, but at this point, he’s basically their unofficial sixth member. And every time they crawl back up to the surface, Ian bids his farewells, and then—bam!—he’s just there at the next location as if waiting for them the whole time.

Damien seems entirely unbothered and calls it ‘big NPC energy’, whatever that means.

Ian is a bit of an awkward goofball but unfailingly professional where it counts, fleet-footed with an eye for traps and extensive knowledge of the history of dungeons. He can talk for hours about natural spike formations and how gruesome body collections are (really, he could talk less about that part), but god forbid you ask him a personal question.

Anyway, group members have changed over the years and Shayne had cheerfully welcomed newcomers Angela and Chanse alongside Amanda and Damien’s more familiar faces. As usual, they accepted their guide’s services at the entrance and several days later were taking their time cleaning up the lower levels, scrounging around for every last morsel of loot.

“Do you have another job lined up after this one?” Chanse starts the conversation, polite in the way that newbies often are. It’s a good question.

Amanda is the one who answers, “Oh, I’ve heard there’s a new dungeon west from here. I have a friend on the coast who’s been telling me all about it via snail mail.”

“Are you sure it’s actually new if the snails are carrying it?” Angela says doubtfully, trudging along in the rear. “I don’t get why the postal service can’t pick a better animal.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be around six or seven years old by now, I think,” Amanda clarifies. She raises her voice a little, mindful of the echo because you never know what’s up ahead, and calls out to the guide, “Hey, Ian, do you know anything about it? It’s the one in the Lost Angels province.”

From his position, Shayne can make out Ian’s silhouette coming to a halt for a brief moment, then continuing on as if nothing happened.

“The Sacramento Dungeon. I know of it. The name comes from ‘sacrament’, a religious symbol or rite in which spiritual power is transmitted through material elements. A bestowment of divine grace.”

His words are flat, detached.

Shayne raises an eyebrow and drawls, “Thanks, I was really curious about the name, man. Do you know anything interesting about the dungeon itself? What caused it, types of monsters, if it’s worth visiting…”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

That’s surprising. Chanse looks curious and prods further, “Even though it’s newly formed? What’s there to be worried about?” Shayne notes with respect that he’s being genuine rather than foolhardy. That’s often a worry with younger adventurers, but he’s proven to have a good head on his shoulders.

Angels adds, “Yeah, we could totally take it on! We’re total badasses!”

They discuss it further and Shayne watches Ian’s face turn grimmer with their growing resolution. He brings up a few tentative dissuasions but obviously can’t think of a concrete reason they can’t go. Even stranger, his comments seem to imply that he’ll be coming along for the ride, which he doesn’t have to do if he’s so against it.

Ian gives them a warning hand gesture and retreats to the back of the party. Shayne steps up to the front and confirms, “Final boss up ahead.”

“Finally, I’ve been meaning to say something to this fucker.” Amanda stretches her arms out, readying her weapon.

The aged iron door opens slowly with a loud creaking whine. Nobody hears Ian muttering to himself.

“I have something to say to that guy, too.”

[probablyasocialecologist]

The International Labour Organization (ILO), a UN agency, said the UK needed to “ensure that existing and prospective legislation is in conformity” with international rules on freedom of association, and added that the government must seek technical assistance from the agency’s experts. The ILO also concluded the government should allow unions to electronically ballot workers – rather than relying on strictly controlled postal votes. It should also improve consultation with unions and limit government powers to ensure they “do not interfere with the autonomy and functioning of workers’ and employers’ organisations”. The Trades Union Congress (TUC) described the ILO’s conclusions, delivered last week by a committee on labour standards, as a “hugely embarrassing” reprimand for the UK government. [...] The ILO intervention comes ahead of the first anniversary of the biggest wave of industrial action seen in Britain in three decades. During the unrest, which began on 21 June 2022 with a strike by rail workers, workers across the private and public sector have protested for higher pay and better conditions, , with warehouse and port workers, Royal Mail employees, junior doctors, teachers and even barristers taking action. The committee’s conclusions represent a blow to the UK government, which had repeatedly denied accusations of making deliberate attacks on the right to strike, and had even argued that the ILO backed its rules.

[jcjenson-official]

I fucked around and now my drone speaks exclusively in voicelines from postal guy. assistance?

Anonymous,

Just hit it until it gets reset.

-JCJenson