#they’re so special tome

[happi-dreams]

the sillies the goofers the 💥💥

this is offically a hyperfixation now thank you funny bird for your essay

[wonderjanga]

idea: billy keeping Important League Stuff in miss bambis apartment for safekeeping cuz the rock of eternity has WAY too much evil stuff, and now all the magic users think that miss bambis magic-catwoman

Miss Bambi: “Billy, whats that?”

Billy: “Space cancer in a bottle!”

Miss Bambi: “Oh… I see.” *takes a drag of her cigarette* “Well, put it with the others.”

Billy: “Thanks, Miss Bambi!” *runs in and puts it with the other bottles full of space cancer*

William Joseph Batson is the World’s Mightiest Mortal. He’s also a 12-year-old boy who doesn’t have many adults in his life that he trusts. That’s why he leaves highly dangerous mission stuff with Miss Bambi. Because he trusts her. Also because he doesn’t think he should have a bunch of dangerous stuff in the Rock. Some of it should be in other places.

Anyways, other magicians who visit Fawcett all get concerned whenever they pass by a shitty apartment complex that has a bunch of evil and negative magic radiating from it. Specifically a single apartment.

This is the apartment complex I told you about.

Marvel: *staring at the building, thinking they know* “I see… and why are we here?”

Random Magician: “Wha- because there’s a bunch of evil magic practically oozing from it!”

Marvel: “And?”

Random Magician: “And what! That person could be extremely dangerous!”

Marvel: “I assure you, they’re not.”

Random Magician: “Yes they are! Magic can only become this bad through numerous evil rituals and sacrifices and spells!”

Marvel: “Look, just trust me, okay? It’s nothing.”

That magician did in fact, not trust him, and instead went to go check out the location of the source of the evil magic.

Random Magician: “Who’re you??”

Miss Bambi: “You can call me Bambi.” *looks them up and down judgmentally* “Are you one of Billy’s friends?”

Random Magician: *doesn’t know Billy is Cap* “No?”

Miss Bambi: “Oh.” *slams the door in their face*

The magic user eventually tried to suddenly ask about her and this Billy character.

Marvel: “That’s uh… My name?”

The magic user proceeded to go and tell everyone they knew because what the heck? This random, potentially very evil lady knows the champions real name? Also, the Champion’s name is Billy??

That’s how the “Oh, she must be magical Catwoman” thing cropped up.

From then on, they all had utmost respect for her cause the Champion is insanely powerful, so by stealing from the Rock of Eternity of all places that means she has to be pretty powerful herself. There’s also the fact that they can sense almost no magic from her so clearly she must be at least skilled to hide it that well.

Every single wizard that is evil is trying to curry to her favor.

Evil Magician: *looking extremely suspicious* “Mistress Bambi-”

Miss Bambi: “I told you weirdos not to call me that.”

Evil Magician: “-I have come to tell you about a special artifact that I think will interest you. It’s the eye of the Bermuda Triangle.”

Miss Bambi: *smoking, looking at them like they’re an idiot* “Yeah… Thanks…”

Evil Magician: “Your welcome, mistress-”

Miss Bambi: “Again, told you not to call me that.”

Later…

Miss Bambi: *chilling outside the apartment complex*

Billy: *jogging over so he can go inside

Miss Bambi: “Hey, Billy!”

Billy: “Yes, Miss Bambi?”

Miss Bambi: “Another one of those creeps came around and told me about some Eye of the Bermuda Triangle?”

“Another evil artifact? Dang. Well, I’ll hop to it! Thanks, Miss Bambi!”

See, the unfortunate thing is that an evil magician would tell Bambi about an evil artifact, and then Billy would go search for it and then give it to her for safekeeping. So they’d think she stole it, which would continue to feed the magical Catwoman rumors.

By the way, all the artifacts besides the ones that sound explicitly dangerous like the space cancer and a bottle, or just scattered about her apartment. Like, she has multiple evil pendants hanging from her ceiling fan because they look pretty and add to the ambience. She has an evil magic tome under one of the legs of her coffee table, so it keeps balance. She does not care.

Also, John Constantine eventually met her, and they vibe.

[the-quaint-quail]

jade leech -

-likes to think he’s found a kindred spirit.

you both playing this little, game every time you grace the monstro lounge with your presence.

the tea game, he muses to himself one day.

sitting you down in a cicular booth facing the giant aquarium, jade would hand you a small, black leather menu and the monstro’s signature plum leather menu. both having gold dipped edged you’d use to peel them open and look at their insides.

the smaller menu, the one you would only get and your friends would crowd around you once it was in your hands, trying to peer inside at it’s secrets- was a special menu.

a secret one.

only jade and azul had the authority to give out these menus- floyd showing time and time again that he’d hand them out just to screw with the two, had his privileges revoked.

it always made jade smile when he’d set down your special meal, your friends eyes lighting up the cool, dim lighting of the resturant. their eyes hubgrily eating up every detail of the dish.

honeyed ham

seasoned sea food boil

shrimp ala- whatever.

while your two friends from heartslabyul were stuck with the ‘surf ‘n turf,’ you were out here eating like a king.

jade’s quick, gloved hands ready to slap away any sticky fingers- paws that tried eating from your plate. his plate.

jade could care less about the roasted lamb, or the fish heads packed with flavors.

your relationship blossomed from tea. the leaves that jade would expertly mix and seep into a perfect blend for each customer. his own inventions being placed on the secret menu, or promotions for a monstro event that had the customers vying for more.

jade would watch with a baited breath as you took a sip, lashes fluttering closed so you could focus on your taste buds.

a scrunched face meant you didn’t like it, lifted brows meant you were pleasantly surprised, and when you would swoosh it around your mouth like mouth wash? well, that meant jade had won.

the first few tomes you were at the lounge you would order a different tea and a light snack- sometimes a salad and other times 3 whole crabs for you and grim. jade remembers that day, when it was you 5 in a booth, very clearly.

have you heard about the joke where you, grim, and 3 crabs walked into a bar?

besides the point-

jade was watching you scan the menu, a stink on your face as you were stuck on the teas.

he remembers floyd calling you ‘weird’ when jade brought the order to the kitchen. ‘who orders tea with crab?’ his face contorted in disgust as a minnow swims around floyd. he always had a way of bending his environments to his will.

but jade just stares at the ticket, ���yes,” he says, “how weird indeed”

“oi get that creepy smile off yer face. yer creep’n me out”

as usual jade seeps your tea and you drink it. he knows you. your tea.

there’s something so intimate about knowing exactly how someone likes their tea that gives jade satisfaction.

you put your trust in his hands. his cynical, conniving hands.

he could spit in your tea ya know. he’s done it before to especially annoying customers. who think they’re in control because he’s serving them. mix up with a pinch of salt, or a dash of sriracha sauce and he’s grinning ear to ear as they down it.

oh lovely.

—

but he’d never do that to you.. he hopes he doesn’t have to anyways.

it takes you 3 more visits and a menu change to finally convince azul to let you in on the monstro’s little secret.

jade, as he brags, harassed azul to put more teas on the menu. when he did add 2 more jade deemed it, ‘not good enough.’ azul buying into it (for profit) added teas to the daily specials.

“not good enough. i have an audience to apease and you are stifling my creative endeavors. i will not tolerate such a-“

“just give her the menu jade! sevens above!-“

if jade leech ever did skip, he’d be on his way over with a hop in his step and a click of his heel.

so you can obviously imagine his grin as he places the leather book in your mitts, your friends asking where theirs is- only to get ignored.

“please do not share the contents inside with other parties. this is strictly for our monstro vip’s and will be confiscated if you cannot follow our rules.” he bows in thanks as you voice your agreement.

turning his heel he can practically hear the chaos ensuing as your friends try reaching and peeking.

“tropical darljeeng, wonder how’ll it’ll work” you grin as jade jots down your order. you had told him to give you whatever he wanted to give you. ‘dealers choice’ to be more specific.

…what jade won’t ever tell anyone is that he made that tea thinking of you.

it was a black tea, infused with an opposing flavor. tropical against a woodiness

, you and him. a child of the sea and child of the land. never meant to work and mix yet has a unique addicting flavor to it.

non tea enjoyers would know that darjeeling is more… robust.

it can turn off people just from the description- tropical tea with a black tea?? are you nuts?!

yes. yes he is.

and so were you it seems

so jade is pleasantly surprised when you ask him for another cup the moment you took a sip…

he leaves his number under the tea mug, and gets a text an hour later.

how amusing

[sodasletterr]

(qpr) pony and johnny are so Special #tome

- ponyboy letting johnny see his drawings

- pony letting johnny read some of his writing (he asks if it’s good knowing johnny will say anything of his is good.. still nice to ask though lmaoo)

- cuddlers. cuddling all the time. sorry can’t get up pony is on top of Him. asleep

- this is canon but whatever—pony reading to johnny (he’s dyslexic guys.. leave him alone)

- okayokay guitarist ponyboy is so real so ponyboy is writing songs and some are about johnny because hah it is the 60s and this kid cannot figure out his feelings ever and he knows he feels something more than just a normal friendship but he can’t really figure it out so … music, hah.

(he plays it for johnny. johnny loves it. way too much.)

- most annoying people Ever. i’m sorry they’re so loud when they’re alone together they are CACKLING!!!! everything is suddenly funny when they’re together

- attatched to each other’s hip. duh. Obviously. wherever ponyboy is, johnny’s there. wherever johnny is, pony’s there.

- sometimes sodapop walks in and johnny is passed out, sleeping on the end of the bed, and ponyboy is quietly humming to himself while drawing (he might’ve accidentally hummed johnny to sleep. Hah. 😓)

- johnny adjusts pony’s glasses (pony wears glasses truther guys hear me out!!!) when they’re falling off his face. YAY!

guys there’s so much more i love them

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

Hello everyone!! This is the first lesson of the long awaited unofficial season 4 of Obey me Nightbringer written by yours truly <3

I will post lessons every 10 days.

I hope you enjoy it (it came out a little long but I hope it's not a problem)

Please make sure this finds other obey me lovers and people who don't want the series to end.

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

Unofficial season 4 Obm NB: here

@arie2faced wanted to be tagged so there you go!

Lesson 61: “Echoes of Change”

Preparations for the Grand Gala

The story begins with you and the brothers preparing for a grand event in the Devildom—the Infernal Gala, a highly anticipated celebration hosted by Diavolo to showcase unity and strength among the three realms. The brothers are busy with their individual tasks, and you help them throughout the day, making sure none of them are slacking off and checking the quality of their work.

Morning with Mammon

You find Mammon frantically trying to pick an outfit in his room, clothes scattered everywhere. He groans as he holds up a jacket, glaring at it like it personally offended him.

Mammon: “This stupid thing doesn’t fit right! What if I don’t look good enough? Diavolo’ll never let me hear the end of it!”

You: “You’re overthinking it, Mammon. You look great in anything.”

You pick up a sleek black jacket with gold trim from the pile and hold it up to him.

You: “Here, try this one. It suits you.”

Mammon grumbles but puts it on. When he turns to the mirror, his expression softens.

Mammon: “Huh. Guess it ain’t too bad… But y’know, it’s only ‘cause you picked it. You’ve got good taste.”

He pauses, scratching the back of his neck as he glances at you.

Mammon: “I dunno what I’d do without ya. Don’t tell the others, but… you’re my good luck charm, so stick close, alright?”

Afternoon with Leviathan

Levi is in his room, staring nervously at a stack of invitation cards. You peek in and see him pacing.

You: “Levi, what’s wrong?”

Leviathan: “It’s the Gala! There’s gonna be so many people there. What if I mess up? What if someone tries to talk to me and I freeze up?!”

You gently take his hands, grounding him.

You: “You’ll do great, Levi. And I’ll be there if you need me. We’re a team, remember?”

Levi calms down a little, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

Leviathan: “Y-Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, with you around, I don’t have to worry as much. You’re like my Player Two in this crazy multiplayer game called life.”

He hesitates, then smiles shyly.

Leviathan: “Thanks. I mean it. You’re, like… my favorite rare find.”

Library with Satan

Satan is in the library, scanning a shelf filled with ancient tomes. He looks up when you enter, a small smile playing on his lips.

Satan: “Perfect timing. I was looking for this.”

He hands you a book bound in emerald green, the title in golden script: "The Legends of the Infernal Gala."

Satan: “I thought you might like to know more about the Gala’s history. It’s fascinating, really—did you know it started as a peace treaty celebration?”

You sit together, flipping through the pages. At one point, your fingers brush, and Satan pauses.

Satan: “You always surprise me. You’re curious, thoughtful, and unafraid to stand by us—even when things get complicated.”

He leans closer, his voice softer.

Satan: “I hope you know how much that means to me."

Dressing Room with Asmodeus

Asmo is in his room, surrounded by a dizzying array of outfits. He twirls in front of the mirror, striking a pose.

Asmodeus: “Tell me, which one screams ‘absolutely irresistible’? This one, or…”

He switches to another outfit, beaming at you.

You: “They’re both amazing, Asmo. You always look stunning.”

Asmodeus: (grinning) “Oh, you always know just what to say. But you know what? I think I’ll wear something that complements you. After all, we’ll be the center of attention together.”

He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Asmodeus: “You have this way of making me feel… special. Like I don’t need to try so hard, because I’m enough just as I am. Thank you for that."

Kitchen with Beelzebub

Beel is in the kitchen, preparing snacks for the event. You help him arrange platters of food, the smell of freshly baked bread filling the air.

Beelzebub: “Thanks for helping. I usually just eat everything, but it feels nice to make something for others.”

As you finish, Beel offers you a piece of chocolate from the tray, his expression soft.

Beelzebub: “You’re always looking out for us. It makes me want to do the same for you.”

He smiles, his usual straightforward honesty shining through.

Beelzebub: “You’re like family to me… but also more than that. I’m glad you’re here.”

Attic with Belphegor

Belphie is lying on a pile of blankets in the attic, staring at the ceiling. You join him, and he shifts to make room.

Belphegor: “The Gala’s gonna be exhausting. Too many people, too much noise. But at least you’ll be there.”

He closes his eyes, his voice soft.

Belphegor: “You’re the only one who makes all this bearable, you know. Stay with me a while. Just you and me, away from everything else.”

You rest beside him, and for a moment, the world feels quiet.

Study with Lucifer

Lucifer is in his study, reviewing event schedules and security measures. He looks up as you enter, his expression softening.

Lucifer: “Ah, I was just going over the final details. It’s a relief to see you—you have a calming effect, even on someone like me.”

You share a quiet moment, the crackling of the fireplace filling the silence. Lucifer pours you a glass of Demonus, his movements elegant.

Lucifer: “The Infernal Gala represents unity, strength, and peace. But for me… it’s also a reminder of how far we’ve come.”

He gazes at you, his eyes filled with warmth.

Lucifer: “You’ve been a part of that journey. More than you realize.”

The calm shatteres

The next morning, you are in the gardens of the House of Lamentation, enjoying a rare moment of peace. The sky is a deep, rich purple, with faint stars twinkling above. Beelzebub joins you, carrying a tray of snacks.

Beelzebub: “You’ve been quiet today. Something on your mind?”

You: (smiling softly) “Not really. Just thinking about how calm everything feels right now. It’s… nice.”

Beelzebub: (sitting beside you) “Yeah. Feels like it’s been a while since things were this peaceful. Lucifer hasn’t yelled at anyone today, and Mammon hasn’t set anything on fire… yet.”

You both share a laugh, but before the moment can last, a faint tremor shakes the ground. Beel jumps to his feet.

Beelzebub: “What was that?”

A ripple of energy passes through the garden, and several flowers wilt instantly. The air feels charged, heavy. You feel a faint pulse from your pact mark, though you don’t fully understand it yet.

You and Beel rush inside the House of Lamentation, where chaos has already begun. Furniture is floating, magical items are malfunctioning, and the brothers are in disarray.

Mammon: (running around) “Somebody fix this! My wallet turned into a bat and flew off! That’s my life savings in there!”

Leviathan: (clutching his D.D.D.) “Do you know how many hours of gameplay I just lost?! This is worse than the Great Reset of Akuzon Prime!”

Lucifer: (trying to remain composed) “Everyone, calm down. Panicking will accomplish nothing.”

Belphegor: (yawning) “Wake me when this is over. Or don’t. I’m fine either way.”

You notice your pact mark faintly glowing whenever the chaos intensifies. Asmodeus steps in, looking alarmed.

Asmodeus: “Is it just me, or does the energy in the house feel… weird? It’s like something’s out of sync.”

Before anyone can respond, the chandelier shatters with a loud crash. Lucifer’s patience snaps.

Lucifer: “Enough! Everyone, to the Demon Lord’s Castle—now. Diavolo needs to hear about this immediately.”

Emergency Meeting with Diavolo

The group arrives at the Demon Lord’s Castle. Diavolo greets you all with a worried expression, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a more serious air. Barbatos stands quietly by his side, his gaze sharp and observant.

Diavolo: “Ah, you’ve arrived. I trust you’ve noticed the disturbances, then?”

Lucifer: “Noticed is an understatement. The House of Lamentation is in complete disarray. What’s causing this?”

Diavolo’s expression tightens, and he motions for you all to take a seat.

Diavolo: “It’s more than just your house, Lucifer. The magical ley lines that run through the Devildom are experiencing unusual fluctuations. Spells are failing, spells are overloading… and the environment itself is becoming unstable.”

Diavolo remains silent for a short while before speaking again.

Diavolo: "Remember when a few months ago the Devildom moon begun moving closer to us? And how MC stopped it with the help of (name of the brother you chose in lesson 60)? I think it might be somehow related to all this.

Barbatos: (nodding gravely) “We’ve been monitoring the situation for the past few weeks, but the source remains elusive. The ley lines should remain stable, but we are seeing powerful surges in energy that we cannot explain.”

Simeon: (calmly interjecting) “It’s a troubling situation, indeed. I’ve been sensing something off as well, but I can’t make sense of it.”

Solomon: (looking up from his scrolls) “The balance between the realms is delicate. It’s entirely possible this disturbance has something to do with the convergence of magical energies—perhaps even beyond our realm’s control.”

Luke: (clutching his little angel staff nervously) “So... we’re all in danger?”

Mephistopheles: (snickering from the corner) “Well, that depends on what you call ‘danger.’ There’s always a way to spin these things to our favor, you know.”

Raphael: (stoically) “We need to investigate this matter thoroughly. If there’s a threat, we’ll need to handle it swiftly, for the sake of everyone’s safety.”

Thirteen: (suddenly appearing with a slight chuckle) “It’s always so serious when you guys talk like this. How about we enjoy the chaos a little bit?”

The group’s attention is drawn back to Diavolo, who remains focused despite the tension.

Diavolo: “We’ve heard your concerns. But I must ask, how does this all relate to the Infernal Gala? If these disturbances continue, it could be catastrophic.”

Lucifer: “The Gala is already under heavy scrutiny. If the realm’s stability is at risk, Diavolo, this could be a catastrophic blow to the reputation of the Devildom.”

Asmodeus: “Oh, I can’t imagine the disaster. The Gala’s atmosphere would be ruined if the magical energies continue to fluctuate like this. People will notice, and chaos would break out if they suspect anything is wrong.”

Beelzebub: (his voice low and serious) “If things continue like this, there’s a real danger of even the food and drinks being affected. Imagine the mess if everything starts malfunctioning at the event.”

Lucifer: “Exactly. And with all the high-profile guests we’re expecting… We must act swiftly.”

Diavolo stands up, his usual warmth replaced by a rare intensity.

Diavolo: “For now, I ask all of you to stay vigilant. If you notice anything unusual—anything at all—report it immediately. The Gala must go off without a hitch, for the sake of maintaining peace and stability. But we must also prepare for the possibility that something more sinister is at play.”

Barbatos: (calmly) “We will continue investigating, but please, if you feel anything strange—if there’s any oddity you experience—don’t hesitate to tell us. The more information we have, the better.”

Lucifer: (looking directly at you) “You, especially. I’m sure you’ve felt it, too. These disturbances seem… connected to you.”

The room falls silent again as all eyes shift toward you. You feel a weight settling on your shoulders, the pressure building.

Diavolo: (smiling reassuringly) “You’ve done well so far. But now, we must prepare for whatever comes next. The Gala is crucial, but our first priority must be understanding the root cause of these events. If there’s a connection between you and this instability… we’ll need to address it quickly.”

As you nod in response, a sense of foreboding fills the air. The once-bustling preparations for the Gala seem like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the uncertainty surrounding the disruptions.

A talk with Solomon

After the emergency meeting, you wander through the halls of the House of Lamentation, the weight of the situation pressing on you. The magical disturbances, the instability in the Devildom... you feel like you're on the edge of something bigger, but you can't quite grasp it.

A soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

Solomon: "You're still awake, huh? I figured you might be here."

You turn and see Solomon leaning against the doorframe, his usual playful expression replaced by one of concern. He steps into the hallway, his gaze never leaving you.

You: “I don’t understand any of this… It feels like everything’s connected, but I don’t know how or why.”

Solomon walks up to you, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He looks at you with a knowing look, as though he’s been waiting for this conversation.

Solomon: “I can see why you’re confused. The fluctuations... the disruptions in the ley lines, they’re not random. They’re a result of your presence here.”

You: (frowning) “My presence?”

Solomon: (nodding) “It’s complicated. There’s something about your connection to the brothers, your dual pacts, that’s causing the instability. It’s as if the power between you and them is... too much for the realms to handle.”

You feel a jolt of realization. The dual pacts. You hadn’t thought about the significance of them, but it makes sense now. Solomon's words seem to echo in your mind, each one a small revelation.

You: “So... you think the dual pacts are the reason this is happening?”

Solomon hesitates for a moment, then nods, his eyes serious.

Solomon: “I’m beginning to suspect that’s the case. The way your power interacts with theirs... it’s creating more energy than the ley lines can accommodate. It’s like a pressure building up, and when too much energy is focused in one place, the balance of the realms starts to break down.”

You swallow, trying to process it all. Your mind races through everything you’ve experienced—the strange pull of the pact mark, the disruptions, the growing tension. It all leads back to the pacts.

You: “But why now? Why is this only happening now?”

Solomon: (with a sigh) “It didn't start now. Actually it's been going on for a while now. Remember how the moon was getting progressively closer and closer a few months ago? I suspect that's also due to your magic. But for all I know the dual pacts were never meant to be this powerful. They’re an anomaly.”

You: “So, everything that’s happening... it’s my fault?”

Solomon: (softly) “Not your fault. But your presence, your bond with the brothers—it’s a key factor. I should’ve been more cautious. I knew the pacts were risky, but I didn’t expect something like this would happen.”

You feel your heart race as you try to understand the magnitude of what Solomon is telling you. The chaos, the disruptions... you feel like you’re at the center of it all, and it’s terrifying.

You: “How do we fix this?”

Solomon takes a step closer, his gaze softening. His hand gently rests on your shoulder, and you feel a comforting warmth from his touch.

Solomon: “We’ll figure it out. Together. The brothers... they’re linked to this too, and we’ll need their help. But we can’t do it alone. The dual pacts are too unpredictable.”

For a moment, you both stand in silence, the weight of his words settling in. The chaos, the stakes... it feels like everything is changing too fast. Yet, with Solomon’s presence, there’s a sense of calm. You find comfort in his understanding.

You: “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Solomon smiles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that makes your heart flutter, though he doesn't say anything for a moment. He simply pulls you into a gentle embrace, holding you close, offering a silent promise.

Solomon: “You’ll never have to find out.”

You lean into his chest, the tension in your body slowly melting away. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, and for the briefest moment, the world outside feels a little more bearable.

Solomon: “We’ll fix this. We’ll make sure the Gala goes off without a hitch, and we’ll find the cause of all this. But until then... just know that I’m here.”

You look up at him, your voice quiet but firm.

You: “Thank you, Solomon. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like I’m... not alone in this anymore.”

Solomon’s smile deepens, and he leans in, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead.

Solomon: “You’re never alone, MC. Not with me by your side.”

The Pact’s Secret Emerges

Later that evening, while the brothers are asleep, you are drawn to the library by an inexplicable force. You find an old book glowing faintly on the shelf and open it. The pages are filled with ancient symbols you can’t understand. Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupts you.

Barbatos: (appearing silently behind you) “Curious, isn’t it? That book is one of the oldest records in the castle. It documents the nature of pacts and their potential… consequences.”

You jump in surprise, quickly closing the book.

You: “Barbatos! You scared me. I didn’t mean to—”

Barbatos: (smiling slightly) “You needn’t apologize. It’s no coincidence that you were drawn to this book.”

Barbatos steps closer, his gaze calm but piercing.

Barbatos: “Tell me, since your return from the past, have you noticed anything… unusual? A change in your magic, perhaps? Or a resonance with the brothers’ powers?”

You stiffen.

You: “What do you mean by ‘return from the past’? How do you know about that?”

Barbatos: (tilting his head slightly) “I am the steward of time. There are few events that escape my notice.”

Your eyes widen. You clutch the book tightly, unsure of how to respond.

You: “I… I haven’t told anyone except Solomon. How much do you know?”

Barbatos: “Enough to understand that your journey was no mere coincidence. It was necessary, though its ripple effects are only now beginning to manifest.”

You: “Ripple effects…? Are you saying all of this—the disturbances in the Devildom—are my fault?”

Barbatos: (softly) “Fault is a strong word. Responsibility, perhaps. But do not misunderstand—your presence here is essential. You hold the key to stabilizing the realm.”

Barbatos’ gaze sharpens as he steps closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

Barbatos: “However, I must warn you: secrets have a way of surfacing when the time is right. The truth will not remain hidden forever—not from the brothers, nor from yourself.”

He gestures toward the glowing book.

Barbatos: “Keep this between us for now. But be vigilant. The bonds you share with the brothers are deeper and more intricate than even you realize.”

After the encounter, Barbatos is in his room, standing over a magical map of the Devildom. Glowing lines represent the ley lines, which are flickering and unstable. He traces his fingers over the map, frowning as he notices a disturbing pattern.

Barbatos: (to himself) “The fluctuations are growing stronger, converging toward a single point. If this trajectory continues…”

He pauses, his expression darkening.

Barbatos: “…even the combined power of the brothers may not be enough to stop what’s coming.”

The map reveals the convergence point glowing ominously—a location deep within the Devildom that remains unidentified.

[mcls899]

Not the Marinette makeup analysis

I should be sleeping but instead I’ll talk about how much I love Marinette’s makeup throughout the show :’)

So, the og animation had her wear mascara and smudged gel/shadow eyeliner only— her lips were always peachy pink and glossy. Assuming my girl got into C-Beauty, the Judydoll lip liner and gloss duo in W01 looks an awful lot like what she has on

I can’t believe they had her sleeping with her makeup on but I’ll give them a pass just because it’s so damn pretty. I’m glad we’re getting some change but this holds a special place in my heart.

Anyways, this is the lightest makeup Mari has ever had because Movie Marinette was low-key an eyeshadow master?!

Like fuckkkk… maybe the movie was set in 2016 and we have no idea. They really had her showing up everyday at school with a full face— one could argue she only had eyeshadow one but I don’t think so. I don’t know one person that wears an elaborate, ombré eyeshadow with nothing beneath first of all, that calls for eyeshadow primer, or, if you’re broke/too young to care about details, concealer. So I’m assuming concealer, and you’ve got to set that with powder, so I believe she’s interested in makeup enough to at leaaaaaast do a nude lip herself.

Marinette’s lips look peachy-ish on some pictures depending on the lightning but nope, they’re nude beige… and matching her eyeshadow may I add, which I doubt was unintentional. So, brown eyeshadow, smudged black shadow (looks too thick to be gel liner #tome), nude lips… and I SEE SOME BLUSH. Which is nice because 2015-2016 was the time of no-blush-makeups. This could be contour/bronzer based on the shade alone but I don’t know one person that puts their bronzer on the apple of their cheeks/below their eyes. Nope that’s a natural, almost brown-ish blush. Think Blushbaby by MAC.

Last but not least, S6 Marinette makeup, my beloved… Ohhhh I love what they did so much. It’s like they took Movie Marinette and just . made her makeup even better.

First of all, the eyeshadow. You can see it best in these :

It’s basically Movie Marinette’s eyeshadow, but toned down. Her usual smudged black liner is still there if you look closely, but it’s much thinner, very tightly lining her eyes. Her eyelids only have a warm brown shadow to mimic her eyeliner.

I would say her makeup got lighter, but the movie isn’t canon… so Marinette is actually wearing a lot more makeup than before LOL

Her blush and lip color changes throughout the episodes because of the lighting, but no matter what, her eyeshadow looks a lot warmer than the rest of the colors she’s used. So, taking that in consideration, I’d go for a more pinky color than her previous blush… Think Mocha or Desert Rose, still by MAC. I’d link them but I can’t add any more pics :(

The application is the same as the sunburn look that was so popular in 2020! Below the eyes, then on the tip of the nose.

The lips also differ depending on the lighting, but there’s usually two colors that come on top :

1- A brown-ish pink (Pink Mauve by Bobbi Brown or Kiko 534 since we’re in France after all and if you live here too you might know it was sold out for nearly a year 😕 For lipsticks I’d say REM Bubbly or CT Pillow talk)

2- A peachy-nude, only darker than usual (like Super Cindy lipstick by CT) — her lips are also much less glossy than in S1 (S6 and movie Marinette have like no gloss on), love her matte lips era, very time accurate LOL

Erm that’s it… this was so long for no reason and I don’t think there’s really any demand for this (except maybe on Tiktok . shit I should capitalize on that) but this is the only place where I can ramble about my two fav things, MLB and makeup 🤞🤞 I just love that Marinette’s a makeup girlie

[whalesongsblog]

Okay I was getting a few questions about Mira and I wanted to write out Ominis and Mira’s general lore since I’ve taken a lot of liberties with the universe building. I did this instead of my assignment so I really hope y’all like it lmaoo 😭🫶🏾 this is super surface level and train of thought style. There’s so much detail I want to go into tbh. I’m also working on the next chapter of Princess and the Parselmouth finally!! Anyways, I hope y’all like what I’ve come up with for my girl! Please feel free to let me know in the comments.

Third in line to the throne of the Surya empire, born to King Ashok and Queen Durgavati Surya Lakshmi, Miradevi was pampered and doted on from the very beginning. The princess has two older brothers; Crown Prince Arjun, and Prince Bharat. She is the youngest, the only daughter, and is very happy with the special treatment that affords her. If she sneaks off to steal some laddoos (Indian sweets) from the kitchens, you can bet she’s getting away with it scot-free. The empire itself is fictional, inspired by ancient Rajasthani fortresses and culture. 

Her family are muggles. So when the princess began showing signs of having magic at an early age, they were appropriately shocked. The king was even more shocked when delegations of wizards and magic beings from his own empire began showing up at the palace gates with advice on raising the princess and honing her magical abilities. Slowly, the Surya empire became the first nation to have full muggle-wizard integration. All manner of beings and people alike get along in the empire, and the stability of the nation threatens the pureblood dynamics of wizarding Britain, where propaganda against muggle-borns and nonhuman magic creatures is challenged by the Surya empire’s economic and general success. 

A branch of government was formed solely to deal with the wizarding aspects of society, with representatives from every faction in the kingdom (goblins, elves, centaurs, humans, etc.) Magic works very differently in India. It is not about waving a wand, speaking an incantation, and casting a spell. Magic is about drawing on energy in and around you, reshaping reality to be whatever you deem. 

The princess completed her ‘high school years’ so to speak through private tutoring in muggle subjects such as literature, mathematics, physics, biology, history, etc. alongside the fundamentals of magic. She went on the attend the Bodhi College of Magic Excellence, majoring in wizarding politics. Afterwards, she attended Hogwarts University of Witchcraft and Wizardry to get her Masters in wizarding diplomacy, essentially. This is where she meets Ominis Gaunt, a PhD student. 

OKAY. She and Ominis have a romance speedrun. They’re charmed by each other from the get-go, despite being almost polar opposites. Where Ominis is cautious and reserved, the princess does not hesitate to speak her opinions in a manner that gives away the fact that she was raised in court. She is supremely easygoing in a way that is fascinating to Ominis. Mira will happily step up on the debate stage, dive headfirst into controversial conversations surrounding the use of dark magic, and perpetually have a little gift for Ominis whenever he sees her. Be it a flower she found, a nicely textured rock- or sometimes a priceless, ancient tome she had lying about the palace that she commissioned to be translated to braille. 

She refuses to wear European clothes. She perpetually dresses in elaborate saris and silks, her crown always on her head. If she’s flying, she charms it to shrink and fit on her finger. Speaking of flying- she’s used to riding dragons, not brooms. 

Ominis does not know how to deal with her. She shines bright and unapologetic, and I feel that he is deeply traumatized, not being able to fathom not constantly living in survival mode. He’s distanced himself from his family but they loom perpetually over him, haunting his narrative. He does break that cycle and Mira is there to support him through the journey, but ultimately that is his arc and something he has to take control of himself. Miradevi does not act as a savior or any such thing. She’s just the anchor he needs, the light at the end of the darkness he’s been accustomed to his whole life. 

Together, they are both sickeningly sappy and extremely formidable. Would one of them sacrifice themselves for the other? Hell no. They’re both ganging up on the idiot who thought it was a good idea to challenge them in the first place. Mira’s specialty is reality bending and Ominis is a master of blood magic. If you attack one, be rest assured that the other will aim to kill without a second thought. 

Miradevi and Sebastian have an interesting dynamic. She has a low tolerance for BS and an even lower tolerance for people trying to tell her what to do. Some aspects of Sebastian’s personality grate on her and he does get a little out off by the fact that she doesn’t bend over backwards for him. They squabble sometimes, taking their frustration out through little mini duels after Mira assures him that he won’t be sent to prison for dueling a member of a royal family. They get along for the most part and sometimes enable each other’s recklessness.

Miradevi loves her girlies, and her best friends are Natty, Poppy, and Imelda. They will hang out together and discuss classes, try on clothes in each other’s wardrobes, and have late-night gossip sessions where they enjoy taking turns wearing Mira’s crown (and she adores hanging out with other MCs as well! She’ll always bring large boxes of desserts to all the hangouts).

She and Amit (much to Ominis’ chagrin) are best friends as well, and often spend time in the Astronomy tower yapping in rapid-fire Hindi. 

Anne took a little longer to warm up to the princess. Completely understandably, she wasn’t quick to like her. Feelings of being replaced and missing out on the full experience of a university she had worked so hard to get into barred her from making friends and Mira’s status didn’t help. But through effort on both their parts, the two young women did eventually form a strong bond. 

Mira can be a bit cutthroat, and will not hesitate to manipulate (bad) people. She employed one of her favorite tactics to deal with Rookwood; Undermining him in front of his followers, striking a false alliance with Harlow, inflating his sense of self-importance, inciting a proxy rebellion, and- once the operation was in shambles- having everyone remaining quietly assassinated. 

She’s just a girl. 

(Ominis doesn’t know whether to be horrified or a little begrudgingly admirational. He does have a bit of a dark streak). 

After graduating from university, her and Ominis get married in a spectacular ceremony ofc (it’s an Indian royal wedding, it’s going to eat and leave no crumbs) and he takes on the title of prince consort. Her family adores him, and welcome him officially by gifting him his own meticulously trained seeing-eye dog; a Rampur Greyhound named Sheru. Ominis becomes vital to helping with wizard-muggle relations and adores being at his wife’s side. He’s happy, and more than that, he feels peace. 

Eventually, Miradevi and Ominis adopt a little girl. They name her Chandra- the Sanskrit word for moon, to honor her culture and Noctua. Ominis has a family, Mira is with the man she loves and her daughter, and tbh it's just happy mushy feelings all around. There’s a lot in terms of the actual gameplay plot I need to figure out, but this is Miradevi and Ominis’ general lore. 

Oh, and does Mira ever ascend to the throne? Nah. She’s third in line, her brothers are married with kids eligible before her and she’s pretty happy about that. Responsibility means scrutiny, and she can definitely be a bit of a wild card.

[jeannereames]

Would you say that reading popular history is a good entryway into academic history? Not necessarily as a scholar but also as an interested layperson who's interested in the subject

Reading Pop[ular] History

Sure, it is. As is historical fiction … as long as it’s well-done.

That’s the crux. Some pop history is quite good. Some…not so much. The problem for the average layperson is figuring out which is which. Who can I trust? (Near the end are some pragmatic tips to help you answer that question.)

Publishing houses want to sell books. This is different from academic presses. The latter also want to sell books but their (acceptable) profit margins are lower and they make their money via textbooks. Peer-reviewed academic works are published for status/reputation. They don’t expect those books to make money. In fact, academic monographs typically lose money—yes even at the exorbitant prices they charge. This is (one reason) your textbooks cost so much.*

By contrast, the reason (regular) publishers put out pop history IS to make money. Of course they want those books to be well-reviewed, but because it helps sales. So, they’re interested in signing authors they consider to be good writers—people who can spin an engaging (non-fiction) story. That may not be the top experts in the field.

In academia, the focus is on quality ideas, which (alas) may be conveyed in rather turgid, passive-voice prose. Sure, good scholars can also be good writers, but I fear it’s more often the exception than the rule. In Alexander studies, my mentor-advisor, Gene Borza, also happened to be a good writer. So is Beth Carney. So is Ed Anson. One of the best, however, was Peter Green. I may not always agree with his scholarship, but the man could write. He penned not only academic history, but also essays (I highly recommend both In the Shadow of the Parthenon and Classical Bearings), as well as historical fiction. His biography on Alexander is still widely read, and his MONSTER tome Alexander to Actium did what very, very few academic books do: it made money for University of Cal Press. Paul Cartledge (who also wrote a bio on ATG) is another such. I don’t think he’s as good as Peter, but he’s up there in his ability to turn a memorable phrase and get across his ideas to the average reader. It’s why he gets tapped to write books outside his field of specialization. There are a small passel of such academic pop history authors: Adrian Goldsworthy (who also wrote on ATG), James Romm (who wrote on ATG’s Successors), Robin Waterfield, Mary Beard, Michael Grant, etc. All of them are legit scholars who turn out books that aren’t necessarily in their specialization.

By specialization, I mean the field they publish in academically. We all teach classes on topics we wouldn’t dare to publish in for our peers. Pop history is closer to teaching classes, in that regard. For one thing, specializations in academic publishing get quite narrow, and pop history tends to be on broader topics. Take my own current academic book. Sure, a few of you may look forward to a work on Hephaistion (and Krateros), but the average fan of history perusing shelves for their next hit doesn’t even know who they ARE. They won’t pick up a pop history book about them (unless—maybe—the title is “sexy” enough to sell it).

When it comes to pop history, publishers fear that knowing too much about a field interferes with one’s ability to write for a non-specialist audience. That applies to textbooks too. Ergo, publishers sometimes solicit books from “specialist-adjacent” people. Carol Thomas’s Alexander the Great and His World is of that type. Carol is a specialist in Early Iron Age Greece, but she knows/is friends with a number of Macedoniasts as well as Greek archaeologists, so Blackwell invited her to write that book. She approached it with due care and humility. (I remember her preparing for it, asking Gene and others lots of questions.)

Paul Cartledge’s bio of Alexander runs along those lines. His real specialization is Sparta, but he’s written some general books on Greek history that sold well. I don’t know if he was asked to write the ATG book, but it’s made money for Random House. I don’t agree with swathes of it, but his take follows in the footsteps of Green and Bosworth, who are Macedoniasts. It’s far from a bad book, comparatively. Even so, I wouldn’t assign it as a textbook in my ATG class, precisely because I don’t agree with chunks. I’ve been using Lindsay Adams’ Alexander the Great: Legacy of a Conqueror or Brian Bosworth’s (now old) Conquest and Empire: the Reign of Alexander the Great, or Ed Anson’s Alexander the Great: Themes and Issues. Considering Hugh Bowden’s Alexander the Great: a Very Short Introduction too. Part of my choice lies with the fact those four are Macedoniasts and publish in the field, but I wouldn’t use Ian Worthington’s books on ATG, although he’s also a Macedoniast, nor Peter Green’s, nor NGL Hammond’s either. My views differ from theirs as either too negative or (Hammond) overly positive.

Back to my point. Cartledge may not be a Macedoniast but at least he’s a Greek historian and works in the right era. By contrast, Adrian Goldsworthy (Philip and Alexander) is further afield because not only is he not a Macedoniast, he’s a specialist on Rome. What of his book I’ve looked at, I found a bit dated compared to where most current scholarship stands. Yet he’s still a professional historian. Philip Freeman is similar to Goldsworthy. He’s a real scholar, if not a specialist on Alexander. He works in Classical Philology and Celtic Languages. Anthony Everitt isn’t even in Classics, but (European) visual and performing arts. Nonetheless, those authors have written books on significant ancient figures that sold well, so publishers trust they can write a selling nonfiction book.

All that helps to explain why pop history may not necessarily reflect the most recent work in the field.

Also, sometimes an author will go for the “sexy” idea because they think (not without cause) that it’ll sell better/appeal more. They’ll justify it with, “Well, some scholars did say that….” I ran into this excuse a lot when working with the Netflix people. If they wanted to go in a direction I disliked—such as Olympias’s putative involvement in Philip’s death—their reason/excuse was, “Well, the ancient sources say that and other scholars believe it.”

Five Tips to Check the Quality of Your Pop History Book

(all the below assume you don’t have a convenient specialist friend to ask…)

First, look at the publication date. History research can move quickly. If the book is more than 20 years old, it may be stale. Yet copyright date isn’t always the kiss of death; I still recommend Brian Bosworth’s 1988 Conquest and Empire on Alexander. Yes, a few things are out-of-date, but it’s generally an even-handed intro to his career, despite being 35+ years old. Nonetheless, if you know nothing about a field, older books might not be the best place to start.

Second, research the author. Who are they? Are they an academic at all? If their bio just says “historian,” they might have nothing higher than a BA/BS. Assuming they are a professional historian, do they publish academically in the subfield they’re writing about? If not, is it at least in the broader field? If not the broader field, is it adjacent? The further an author’s academic work from the subject matter, the more likely you’re getting either stale or limited research.

Third, watch out for sensationalist language in blurbs—even if the author is a specialist. For instance, the blurb for Ian Worthington’s 2004 Alexander the Great: Man and God, says:

Alexander the Great conquered territories on a superhuman scale and established an empire that stretched from Greece to India. He spread Greek culture and education throughout his empire, and was worshipped as a living god by many of his subjects. But how great is a leader responsible for the deaths on tens of thousands of people? A ruler who prefers constant warring to administering the peace? A man who believed he was a god, who murdered his friends, and recklessly put his soldiers lives at risk? Ian Worthington delves into Alexander's successes and failures, his paranoia, the murders he engineered, his megalomania, and his constant drinking. It presents a king corrupted by power and who, for his own personal ends, sacrificed the empire his father had fought to establish.

Put that puppy down! While authors don’t usually write their own book blurbs, they approve them, and if the first paragraph asks some legit (if harsh) questions, the second paragraph suggests a book with an extreme view. Depending on the subject, it might be justified, but I’m typically suspect of sensationalist history. 😉

Fourth, if you can, flip to the bibliography. How extensive is it? How recent are the entries? Does it include not just monographs (books), but also articles/book chapters? Does it include articles that aren’t in English? Possibly the author was told to submit a limited bibliography, but a thin, mostly book (no/few articles)** biblio more likely suggests the writer lacks the background needed to cover the topic well. (Some pop history books don’t even have a bibliography, which I also consider a red flag.)

Last, read a few reviews, and not on Goodreads or Amazon (although some reviews on those sites are fine). How is the book received, particularly by reviewers who might know a thing or three about the topic? If no reviews are from academics or specialists, steer clear. I don’t care of Oprah likes it. Ha.

The best pop history (in terms of historical accuracy) is rarely the most popular, in terms of sales, for the simple reason that real history is messy and complicated. The casual reader usually wants something simpler. Yet if you’re serious about learning a topic, you do want something messy and complicated! E.g., with nuance.

So yes, pop history can be well-done and a perfectly valid place for the interested-but-discerning non-specialist to begin. If I believed it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be writing on Tumblr. 😉

And who knows, maybe I’ll sit down someday to write my own pop history take on Alexander.

——————

* Color illustrations and higher-quality paper are some others causes for high costs. Paper in general is expensive. But there’s still a mark-up to cover the production-cost losses incurred by purely academic books, most of which are sold to libraries.

** In many fields of history, especially ancient history, cutting edge research appears first in ARTICLE form and may never even make it to a book. Researchers who utilize only books (monographs) are therefore missing a lot.

[thesudokukid]

Only the Exact Amount of Effort

(Personal Question, Sole Machine Connor POV)

Pairing: None

Word Count: 931

My comments: Do you remember how nice Connor was in the previous one-shot? How kind? Etc. You will need those memories to fuel you for the next ~930 words.

Original Personal Question on AO3

Machine Connor Variant on AO3

CW: Ableism, arrogance

Build Rapport with Detective Anderson, says the programming, Connor’s partner in all things.

This should not, he thinks, be especially difficult. Especially since he now knows Detective Anderson pursued two degrees at the same time. Criminal Justice and Psychology. He doesn't understand why they chose that path as opposed to the sensible path of a double major but supposes it’s possible that they confused the one for the other. It is also helpful that of the two Andersons, they are probably the closest to being his equal in terms of intelligence and knowledge.

“Detective,” he says, casual but controlled. Firm. That they might know he respects them despite their differences. “I’d like to ask you a personal question.”

The detective's mouth twists downwards into a frown. “You can ask your question. But I can't promise to answer it.”

Connor nods.

“I agree to the terms,” he accedes.

He poses his question to them in the same firm tome. Not wishing for them to confuse mere politeness with Deviant friendliness.

“Why did you choose to pursue a dual degree and not a double major? Your dedication is admirable certainly. But research shows attending university as a neurodivergent student is more difficult on average. Please explain why you decided to make your experience doubly difficult.”

Detective Anderson seems to be offended by his lack of softening language, apparently accustomed to being handled with kid gloves due to their nonthreatening appearance. He is going to ride them of that expectation if at all possible. Expectations of being treated like royalty will cause nothing but problems and hold back the investigation.

“What is this, an essay question,” Lieutenant Anderson asks.

Connor frowns, his focus much disturbed by the interruption. He turns to the man mechanically, using only the exact amount of effort required and uncaring as to whether he finds it offensive.

“You are not the person to whom I was speaking, I will ask that you make an effort to keep such comments to yourself in the future. Or at the very least wait it is until your turn to speak.”

During the pause in the conversation, the only sound is falling rain.

This is interrupted by the detective sighing in a manner that suggests displeasure. Given their (apparent) habit of professionalism, he takes it to mean they’re disappointed by their father's behavior. Perhaps their spoiled manners can be corrected after all. Especially since they are taking “the high road” and seems unwilling to express their exasperation openly. Very seemly and entirely proper. Wholly above board in every respect.

Connor will reform them so that they meet society’s standards again. He must. It would be pure injustice to do otherwise.

The Detective shrugs and takes a sip of their drink before answering. “I decided that if I was going to fail either way I might as well fail big. I preferred that over the possibility of feeling that I failed because of general incompetence on my part.”

Connor does not engage them further. Why should he? He has learned everything he needed to know.

Detective Anderson likely displaying their lack of social skills, begins speaking more quickly, “And anyway Psychology is a special interest of mine. Obsession in neurotypical terms and even that's downplaying it. Using my first special interest as an example…”

Detective Anderson takes a deep breath. Their speaking turns hurried and frantic. Desperately breathless. Seemingly eager to impart further information so as to avoid his question on this subject in the future.

“If the Devil were to show up, right here, right now and demand my soul in exchange for the ability to know everything about it, I’d take the deal immediately and walk away feeling I got the better end of it. That's why I went for a dual degree instead of a double major despite Criminal Justice and Psychology falling under the same umbrella.”

Connor has learned all the information he sought to learn so all that remains is to end the conversation. Continuing the conversation and trying any more of the Detective's patience is entirely unnecessary.

“I see. Thank you for your cooperation.”

This is followed by what seems to be a relieved sigh. He can only assume it is because they have prevented further personal questions.

“Yeah. Sure. Glad I could explain it.”

Their usage of more casual language indicates that he has successfully completed his goal of building rapport with Detective Anderson. As expected from Cyberlife’s most intelligent model to date.

Detective Anderson sniffles and hiccups as they move to sit in the Lieutenant’s personal vehicle. For approximately forty seconds the only sounds he hears are the falling of rain, Detective Anderson’s hiccups, and the sniffling of the aforementioned individual.

Detective Anderson is ill, says his second self. Connor can only agree with its opinion on the matter and bow to its greater experience.

The lieutenant glares at Connor while finishing his meal despite his doing nothing wrong. He is, it seems, jealous of Connor’s ability to understand his remaining offspring.

This conclusion is only confirmed when Lieutenant Anderson stoutly refuses to grant Connor permission to join Detective Anderson in his personal vehicle.

It matters not. He has made first-rate inroads with Detective Anderson today. He will be able to build on that good rapport as the investigation continues. Detective Anderson, with their brilliant mind, will surely be able to make their father see reason.

Connor complies with the order to wait until Lieutenant Anderson has finished his meal, unwilling to question an order from a superior.

The only virtue worth having is obedience after all.

Please, please let me know if you have a favorite line or phrase. Mine is "the sniffling of the aforementioned individual".

[patchworkgargoyle]

🩸 A Steddie Big Bang Fic 🌙

Chapter 6

story by: @patchworkgargoyle || art by: @mcdadarts || playlist to come by: @steves-strapcollection || beta'd by: @tboygareth Rating: E || Words: ~6k || CW: blood drinking, accidental to intentional voyeurism, mutual masturbation (kinda) || Full tag list on ao3! Fic title from Wolf Like Me - TV On The Radio We're getting into the spicy shit with Eddie's pov today, folks! Mind the content warnings.

The research crew lasted twenty minutes after Harrington left before they gave up studying. Dustin insisted they’d checked every single musty tome even vaguely related to werewolves already and found nothing, and sitting there going through them all again was a waste of valuable time.

What wasn’t a waste, apparently, was sitting in the Harrington’s living room and watching a recorded version of Grease, commercials and all. Not that it mattered, because the kids all talked over themselves during the whole movie anyway. Though, sometimes, Eleven (and Eddie had yet to have that name explained) stopped to sing along under her breath and it warmed Eddie’s cold, sluggish heart so much that he sang Greased Lightnin’ with her. He hoped that would save him from facing Max’s brutal wit being turned on him for being a metalhead singing to a damn musical.

These children that Steve surrounded himself with–or, from the stories Dustin had been telling, it sounded like they adopted him instead–were insanely brilliant and brave, and the way they talked about Steve now that he wasn’t around wasputting even more cracks in the walls Eddie had put up to keep Steve at a distance. Not that it’d been working well in the first place. Steve himself had smashed a hole through it when he offered Eddie his own blood (something Eddie did his level best to Not Think About), despite only knowing Eddie for a little over a week. But Dustin, Max, and El, all so much more like Eddie than Steve was in school, and yet here they were, describing how he’d stopped some kind of lost swamp creature from ruining a farmer’s field, and probably being killed for it, with nothing but his charm and a big bag of compost. What a big damn hero he was.

So, sue him if he’d been rethinking all of his Doctrine bullshit. Steve wasn’t King of Hawkins High anymore; he was grumpy on the mornings he had an early shift, he indulged Eddie’s long-winded ramblings, owned a terrifying amount of medieval weaponry, and he took care of his people. And Eddie had found himself temporarily counted amongst them. It chafed and made him feel special at the same time.

Sometimes he found himself sneaking around the gym attached to the monster hunter library while Steve–no, Harrington swung around all sorts of dangerous and spiky implements in a training regimen designed to put all his rippling muscles on very athletic display. Eddie told himself he was studying up. In the unlikely event that Harrington did turn on him, of course. It was the smart thing to do.

Eddie had zoned out thinking of said training when he heard a car door close outside. Snapped out of his daydream, Eddie's head twitched towards the noise, and when Max’s did too all the kids were on high alert.

“That’s not Steve and Robin,” Max warned.

Dustin looked at Eddie, wide-eyed, and Eddie felt his hands clench in the arm of the couch. “Maybe it’s one of your moms?” he suggested, but Max shook her head. “Fuck.”

“It’s fine, I’ll answer the door, people know me and Steve are like this,” Dustin wrapped his middle finger over his index, “so that shouldn’t give anything away. I’m here all the time!” His nonchalant shrug did nothing to conceal how his voice cracked nervously and Eddie’s confidence sank lower. “Y’know what, maybe they’re just turning around and won’t even knock–”

Three hesitant knocks echoed down the foyer and Dustin winced.

Max glared, unimpressed. “You jinxed it, moron.”

“Shut up!” he hissed. Waving his hands around like a manic conductor, Dustin made everyone sit in silence while he stared at the door. Eddie hoped this would work, just waiting the person out, but his hopes were dashed when they heard slightly more frantic rapping. “Shit. Alright. Time for Plan B. Eddie, prepare for Plan C.”

“What’s Plan C!?” Eddie whispered anxiously. He hid his face in his hands when Dustin copied Eddie’s Dracula pose from earlier. “No, no, absolutely not, Dustin. Wait, hey!”

The kid raced to the door when the knocking came back and Eddie flung himself to the floor to not risk being seen. The sound of the lock was all the warning he got before Dustin opened the door and: “Oh, um. Hi there, you’re Steve’s friend right?” Eddie knew that voice. “Is he here still?”

Eddie popped up over the couch. “Chris?”

She grinned and waved, so Eddie scrambled off the floor and ran to tug her inside, deftly avoiding the sunshine, then wrapped her in a tight hug. Seeing her was more of a relief than he’d thought. Being stuck in Steve’s house without his stuff, his friends, his uncle…

“Oh fuck, I forgot to leave a note for Wayne.”

Chrissy snort-laughed into his shirt. “He called me and I told him you were okay, but I had to make sure.” She stepped back. “You do look okay. Good, actually. Even though, uh,” she trailed off and saw Dustin standing at the closed door wiggling his eyebrows at Eddie.

He narrowed his eyes at Dustin and subtly shook his head, only getting an eye roll in return. “We’ll talk about that later, I think,” Eddie said. “In the meantime, wanna help me babysit?”

After introductions were made–and El made Chrissy giggle when she bluntly but admiringly stated, “You’re very pretty,”–and they’d all settled back in, Eddie found that Chrissy fit right in. Dustin was a little starstruck at first, which Eddie chalked up to the whole freshman nerd kid and senior cheerleader thing, but as soon as she started asking about the summer camp hat he wore he started infodumping like his life depended on it. Chrissy, used to listening to Eddie’s endless speeches, participated like a pro. The way Dustin’s grin kept growing made Eddie think she’d just earned a friend for life. Eventually Max peeled Dustin away from Chrissy with a few well-placed taunts so she and Eddie could catch up.

Chrissy’s life had been going along as normal, though she’d been keeping tabs on Jason just in case, she told Eddie. He wished that hadn’t made her wince with guilty regret, but they’d fought before over her relationship with him so badly once it nearly cost him their friendship, so he kept his opinion to himself. As far as she knew, though, Jason was acting normally.

Eddie had a little more to talk about. Gossiping about Steve with her was a relief; who knew he’d learn so much about the former King in just a few weeks of forced cohabitation?

“You know, he mumbles to himself,” Eddie said, ignoring that he was also mumbling. “He’ll mumble and when I try to talk back he gets in a little snit and says ‘I wasn’t talking to you!’” Chrissy giggled at his very poor impression of Steve’s voice. “What does he expect me to do? He asks himself questions and I answer and he gets all bitchy at me. But I can’t win, because, get this, he’ll bitch at me again when I don’t respond because he’s mumbling in the same damn tone!”

Eyes sparkling with mirth, Chrissy covered her smile with a hand, her knees tucked up to her chest on the couch. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” she teased.

“I don’t like your tone,” Eddie said, eyes narrowed. Her smile grew wider behind her hand, and when she raised an eyebrow he folded his arms. “Don’t get any ideas, Cunningham.”

“No, nope, no ideas.”

He glared at her for a few more seconds before a song came on over the TV that jogged his memory and he pointed at the screen. “And you know what else he does? He sings. Into objects. Like his hairdryer, straight out of the movies like a weirdo!”

A loud snort caught his attention and Eddie’s gaze snapped to Max who was watching Eddie from the corner of her eyes with a smug, knowing expression. He felt like a deer in headlights suddenly, until Max rolled her eyes and went back to talking to El and Dustin.

“Despite all that, looks like you’re doing pretty well here. And you don’t seem, um, thirsty.” She whispered the last word with a curious quirk to her brow, and Eddie shrugged.

“Got it covered, the last time. You don’t need to worry about me so much, Chris, you’ve got your own stuff to handle.”

“Yeah, okay, my best friend being framed for murder isn’t something to worry about,” she said, rolling her eyes before turning sombre. “Eddie, I’m gonna worry until you’re safe. I hate that I can’t do anything about it.”

Eddie shifted in his seat. He was always uncomfortable with people worrying over him, but it’s not like she was wrong. This was serious, the worst scrape he’d ever been in and he didn’t even know why it was happening in the first place. Dragging a hand down his face, he heaved a sigh and looked down at the floor. “Sorry, Chris. You’re doing enough just by being here.”

Her mouth pursed unhappily, but before she could say anything more, car doors slammed outside once again and Max perked up.

“Steve’s home.”

Before he could react, the door flung open and Steve stood there, his eyes darting across the group. When he caught sight of Chrissy, he sagged. Robin, right behind him, looked ready to fight until she also saw that everyone was fine.

Eddie tracked Steve as he trudged up the stairs without a word. He was smeared all over with dirt, his face grim and tense, but the walkway above obscured him from view before Eddie could get a better read on him. Robin drifted into the living room and curled up into the one empty chair, almost swallowed by the plush cushions. Dustin got up and switched the TV off.

“What happened?” he asked.

“‘Nother werewolf,” Robin said quietly, and the words spread like a shockwave through all of them.

So, Dustin’s plan had worked. The killer struck again, proving that Eddie was innocent, but also that there was someone with a vendetta against werewolves. Steve must’ve had to bury the body too, and that made Eddie’s stomach drop to his feet. With a glance up, he saw Max looking more stormy than usual. She, Robin, and Steve were all in danger, then, more so than Eddie himself was, in his opinion, and now he really understood how Chrissy felt. How could he help them, stuck in this house, unable to go out in the daytime, waiting for the killer’s next move? His hands started to shake, whether it was with fear or anger he couldn’t tell, but he stuck them under his armpits and squeezed, ignoring the way his jaw tensed and his leg started to bounce.

“I’m so sorry, Robin,” Chrissy whispered, and Robin’s head snapped up like she didn’t even realise Chrissy was there, her eyes going wide.

Robin nodded, her surprise quickly eaten away by dread and she murmured a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Were there any new clues?” Dustin asked with an unusual amount of respect.

“Steve and Hopper didn’t find anything, but Jason Carver showed up and said some things. Steve could tell it better but, uh, he should rest. This was… hard on him.”

“Jason?” Chrissy frowned.

“Yeah, I dunno, something about finding the body first but Steve didn’t really wanna talk about it. I think, maybe, we should talk about it in a day or something.” Robin fidgeted with her rings, looking from Chrissy to upstairs to the floor.

Eddie’s eyes were drawn to the upper floor where he could still faintly hear Steve’s heartbeat, the occasional foot fall, like he was pacing but trying to be quiet about it. His lips pursed into a thin, worried line.

“He didn’t tell you anything?” Dustin asked.

Robin gave him an unexpectedly angry look, so Eddie jumped in. “Dustin, man, you’ve been researching all day, give it a break alright?”

“But–”

“Push it and I’ll tell Jeff to kill off your beloved little warlock next session.”

Dustin’s eyes narrowed, but Eddie’s serious tone must’ve gotten through to him because all he did was huff and cross his arms.

“Maybe we should go,” El said, looking upstairs now too.

“I can’t drive, and Eddie can’t until tonight.”

“Shouldn’t leave at all, probably,” Eddie added dourly.

“I can drive you.” Everyone turned to Chrissy. “I’ve got my mom’s station wagon. It’s no trouble.”

Eddie nudged Chrissy with his knee. “You sure you wanna handle these gremlins?” he teased.

“I’ll keep him in line,” Max smirked while Dustin pouted.

Dustin crossed his arms and tilted his head back imperiously. “Eddie said grem-lins, plural, Maxine.”

“You’re pushing it, nerd.”

Robin stood in a sudden flurry of movement. “Okay! Better get all of you gremlins home before Chrissy decides to take back her very generous offer. Come on, shoes on, chop chop!” She clapped her hands in a way that Eddie intrinsically knew came from Steve, and the kids all stood and started towards the door for their shoes.

El, though, stopped beside Eddie. “Can you thank Steve for having us over for us please?” She said it so seriously, so earnestly, that Eddie swore his heart grew two sizes.

“Of course kiddo.” He reached out and ruffled her long hair, and she giggled while leaning away.

When Chrissy got up to leave, Eddie joined her, wrapping her in another hug before she left. “Thanks for taking everyone home.”

She shrugged. “It’s something I can do, at least. And, well, maybe Robin can tell me a little more about what Steve might’ve said about Jason. I’m… I’m really worried, Eddie.”

“I know Chris. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “We’ll figure it out.”

With the brats corralled, Eddie waved them off from the shade of the doorway. Robin gave him a short, awkward wave, a blush over her cheeks when Chrissy put her hand on the back of her seat to back out of the driveway, and Eddie filed that away for another time. Then he shut the door against the sunlight and returned to the now eerily silent house.

It was something he noticed the longer he stayed here. When Steve was away at work, Eddie left to his own devices, all he had to do was read the books he’d brought, maybe snoop around for some others, plunk away at his guitar and fill the silence with the old records that the Harringtons left to collect dust. But even with the music playing, the house seemed to absorb noise, like a museum. And there were barely any signs of life, except for the occasional bit of mess that Steve left around when he ran out of time in the mornings. Everything that Steve left alone: the whole dining room, entire guest rooms, even the hallways seemed to eat noise and repel clutter that showed anyone lived there, even Steve.

Eddie had, admittedly, snuck into Steve’s room once or twice. He’d left the door open, what was a curious, bored vampire expected to do? There, thankfully, was some personality, though the awful plaid wallpaper did its best to drown it out. The messed up bed that Steve couldn’t be bothered to fix up, a few clothes scattered by his hamper, some magazines–sports, mostly, and some gossip mags, to Eddie’s disappointment–piled on his nightstand. He didn’t bother poking around in any drawers, didn’t want to risk moving too much in case Steve caught on and got miffed.

What did Steve even do in this house all alone? What did he do before he had to cohabitate with Eddie, who, he would readily and sometimes proudly admit about himself, was a rather irritating guest at times. Eddie kinda hated thinking about it too hard.

But right now, the silence was disturbed, just barely. Eddie could still hear the pacing above.

He was torn. Something in Eddie wanted to check on him, but Steve hadn’t come down to even speak to the kids. He would’ve heard them leaving. Would he even want the nosy freeloader in his house knocking at his door?

His feet started to move towards the stairs before he even decided. Each stair he climbed, he tried convincing himself that he was just heading to his own room–not his room, the guest room, nothing in this place was his, jesus–but he passed the door that he should have stopped at. Kept going to the end of the hall, and the pacing stopped.

“Hey, uh, Steve?” Eddie knocked on the doorframe, even though it was completely unnecessary. “You alright in there?”

No response. Eddie could hear Steve’s heart, racing too fast to be mistaken for calm. A few seconds passed. A few more.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled. Turning, he was about to walk back to his room when the door opened.

“It’s fine.”

Steve had one hand on the door, the other hanging limp at his side. He was still covered in dirt; smelled like it too, fresh soil and sweat, and something distinctly off and Eddie had to fight wrinkling his nose at. It made Steve look pale, and Eddie felt that was wrong. Steve was built for the sun, for being golden, he shouldn’t look pale.

“You should shower, dude,” Eddie said, trying to a rueful smile, but the humour didn’t land. Steve just shrugged it off.

“I guess. I will.” He turned and wandered back into his room, leaving the door open, and Eddie couldn’t find a reason not to follow. It felt enough like an invitation. Walking in, he tried to make it seem like he was seeing the bedroom for the first time, but Steve scoffed.

“I know you’ve been in here, Eddie, I could smell you in here when I got home once, you don’t have to put on an act.”

Eddie stiffened. “Oh. Uh. Sorry dude.”

“Whatever. I kind of expected it.”

“That’s a lot of trust you’re placing in the resident drug dealer.”

Steve shot him an unimpressed look. “You sell weed, Eddie,” he said flatly. Wobbling his head, Eddie mouthed the words back at Steve silently, mockingly, which finally drew a tired laugh from him. It wasn’t the kind of laughter he could get after verbally tearing Frank Sinatra to shreds while they got high on the living room floor, but it was good enough. The sound didn’t last, though, fading like every other sound in this fucking house, leaving a gaping silence where they both stood awkwardly, a few scant feet between them.

Eddie shifted on his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets then took them out and folded his arms over his chest. Meanwhile, he watched Steve, who couldn’t look up from the carpet. “You probably don’t want me lingering around in your domicile, so I’ll just–”

“Are you thirsty?”

Now that, that rang out through the room. “What?”

“You spent all day around the kids, and you haven’t fed since, uh, since last time when everyone was around.” Steve finally looked up from the carpet, something burning in his eyes.

“Nah, I’m fine, pretty good actually,” Eddie stumbled out.

“You said you fed from Chrissy every few days though.”

Truth was, Eddie was hungry. It was sort of an ever-present thing, though easy to manage once he’d learned how to sate it in a way that actually satisfied him. And yeah, it had been a few days since he’d bitten Steve’s wrist, but the way Steve acted around him the next day–flighty and awkward, not sticking around in the same room too long–made Eddie less than inclined to ask for more.

“I can deal, Harrington, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Steve started walking closer. There was a determination, a heat, in his gaze that made Eddie feel a little warm and jumpy, and he started backing up. “You should be in peak condition if something happens. And I–”

Steve reached out behind Eddie and closed the door, Eddie having to back up against it, trapping them both in the horribly plaid room that Eddie couldn’t even see, because Steve was right there, in his space, so close Eddie could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Steve’s arm was still outstretched, hand pressed against the door by Eddie’s head.

“I want you to.”

Heat flashed under Eddie’s skin, his sluggish heart beating faster. “What the fuck do you mean, man?”

“I mean.” Steve ran a head through his hair, messing it up worse, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “It makes me feel good–better. The bite. And, you gotta drink, so it’s like. Win-win or whatever.”

“Win-win?” Eddie said, high and nervy, “The hell? How does it make you feel good?”

“Just, please?”

His voice sent a lance of desire and hunger through Eddie’s spine. Steve’s face looked haggard, dirt caked into every worryline, but something burned in his eyes, something needy, and he was so fucking close they were sharing breath. Eddie could see the blood coursing through his neck, the artery so close to the skin, and he must’ve stared long enough, hesitated enough, that it spurred Steve on. He deliberately pulled down the collar of his shirt and tilted his head to the side, baring his long, freckled neck to Eddie.

That desperate, unnatural hunger that had haunted Eddie since he woke up on a cold forest floor in Chrissy’s arms, ever-present and voracious, grew like arousal in Eddie’s gut. Saliva pooled under his tongue and, unbidden, his teeth began to elongate as his gaze locked onto that pulsing rush tantalisingly close to his face. The longer he looked, the faster Steve’s heart raced, the more tempting he was, the warm scent of his heightened emotions wafting into the air like wine and pulling Eddie closer.

Just a taste, he promised himself. 

Eddie let one of his hands wrap around the back of Steve’s neck, fingers threading through his soft hair, while he grabbed the hand Steve was using to hold the shirt down, pulling it further out of the way. One last glance at Steve’s face, and Eddie saw his eyes had gone heavy-lidded, his mouth dropping open just slightly when Steve caught sight of Eddie’s fangs. Cocking one eyebrow, he tilted his head further, into Eddie’s waiting palm, trusting he’d be held, and Eddie couldn’t hold himself back any longer.

He surged forward, and bit into Steve’s neck. The first gush of rich, metallic blood made Eddie groan and Steve gasp. Instinct made Eddie bite harder, deeper, his teeth sinking without resistance into flesh and muscle.  Eddie’s fingers clenched where they held Steve, pressing him flush against his own body. Steve didn’t even flinch, seeming to arch into the touch, panting. His skin flushed; Eddie could feel the flood of warmth down Steve’s neck from his face as it bloomed against Eddie’s cheek.

Feeling bold and ravenous, Eddie withdrew from Steve’s neck to manhandle him against the door instead, slamming him against it with a bang and pressing against the long line of his body before licking up the rivulets dripping from the punctures. The soft oh he drew from Steve felt as intoxicating as his blood. Clinging to Steve like he was, Eddie didn’t feel his hands move until Steve’s fingers dug into his side, keeping Eddie close.

Steve’s free hand clutched Eddie’s, the one resting on the unmarred side of his neck, twining their fingers together and squeezing, and Eddie’s breath hitched as he squeezed back. He laved the flat of his tongue over the wounds before pressing his lips around them in an open-mouthed kiss and sucked, drawing a fresh flood to the surface. The taste was fucking addictive. Something lurked in Steve’s blood that made the most base, monstrous parts of Eddie sing and snarl with greed, something heated and needy.

It clicked, when Steve’s hand roved down. Grabbed Eddie’s ass though his jeans to hold him still while Steve rocked his hips up, his hard dick brushing against Eddie’s own and making them both moan. And oh shit, Eddie was so hard it was painful.

That taste was desire, hormone-spiked blood, more potent than any drug or liquor Eddie’s ever had. The instant he placed it, he knew he wanted more. More blood, more of Steve. He met the next roll of hips with a reedy whimper, muffled against Steve’s neck as he still drank deeply of that heady taste, let Steve’s hand guide him this time, enjoying the thrill of being led. Until.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Steve groaned, low but loud in Eddie’s ear, and reality crashed down around him.

Eddie shoved himself off of Steve, ripping himself out of his grasp and pressing the back of his hand to his blood-stained mouth. Wide, panicked eyes met Steve’s, still heavy-lidded and dark but growing confused. God, what a vision he was as he leaned against the door, gasping for breath and hard in his jeans, flushed deliciously red despite being drank from like a fucking juice box. It was… it was terrifying. Fear sparked and caught in Eddie’s chest. What the fuck was he thinking!?

Brows furrowed, Steve stepped forward. “Eddie? What is it?”

“Shit.”

Eddie bolted. Dodged past Steve, whipped the door open and ran to the guest room as fast as his unnatural speed let him. He slammed the door behind himself and braced against it, scared that Steve would try to bust it down as soon as he came to his senses. And he would. There was no fucking way Eddie could get away with that.

He knew his bite did something. Chrissy had tried to do research for him, but couldn’t find much without Jason catching on, but she’d told him the bite makes prey less likely to fight back. But she’d only ever relaxed, like getting high, not–not like Steve trying to rub one out on him. Not like moaning Eddie’s name while they were so close together Eddie could still feel how it rumbled in his own chest.

Anxiously, Eddie licked his lips and only tasted Steve, wincing at how that made his cock throb against his zipper. “Shit,” he whispered shakily. A manic laugh threatened to bubble up but he swallowed it back.

That was so stupid. All of it. He should’ve realised as soon as Steve asked to be bitten again that something wasn’t normal about this and put a stop to it. Could’ve called Chrissy; she was coming by tomorrow anyway. Now he had to worry about Steve kicking him out and forcing him to walk home with the murderer still at large. The one who fucking framed him, for a reason none of them have discovered yet. He let his head fall back against the door with a hollow thud, and waited.

Minutes passed, then hours. The sun began to set, and Eddie found himself anxiously pacing around the room, packing his duffel bag then unpacking it, his clothes strewn out of it like a racoon had rifled through them all and found his wardrobe lacking. Yet through his own chaos, Eddie couldn’t stop himself from keeping an ear out for Steve.

He hadn’t left his room, not once. Sometimes he paced, and Eddie caught the occasional frustrated huff. When Steve’s habit of talking to himself kicked in, Eddie resolutely ignored it–meaning, of course, that he listened anyway but felt deeply guilty about it. But nothing he heard made any logical sense. “What did I do?” spat as a frustrated whisper was the most baffling, but Eddie refused to contemplate that it might mean anything other than Steve wondering how he’d gotten suckered into bumping clothed uglies with The Freak.

So Eddie paced and unpacked and re-packed and stewed over the countless stupid life choices he’d made to bring him to this moment until the sun was well beyond the horizon and his hair was a frizzy mess with how often he’d been digging his fingers into it. The carpet, shockingly, didn’t show a single dent with all the trudging around he’d done.

Simultaneously wiped out and still wound up, Eddie flopped onto the bed with an explosive sigh and slapped his palms over his face, grunting loudly. If Steve was debating whether he would kick Eddie out or not, he’d rather Steve get on with it and put him out of his misery before the sun came up. He didn’t want to burn to a crisp before he got to see Wayne again.

“Fuck it,” came another irritated whisper from Steve’s room. Eddie braced himself for stomping down the hall, for Steve ripping the door open, furious, demanding that Eddie leave. Instead, he heard bed springs squeak. It took little effort for him to listen closer, frowning in confusion.

Then, Eddie heard the quiet zip of jeans being undone, and shuffling. A relieved sigh.

What?

Was Steve doing what Eddie thought he was doing? There was no way. No fucking way. Sure, Eddie had been staving off the raging hormones he’d drank straight from Steve’s veins all night with little success, hoping he’d burn through them with his pacing and ignoring how he’d been half-hard for most of it. Steve had to have crashed from the high by now.

And yet. There was a hitched breath from behind the two doors separating them. Eddie swallowed, and dragged his hands down his face, letting them flop to his sides. This might be Steve’s home, but did he really have to do this now?

Eddie didn’t even want to admit what had happened, not that it helped. With Steve apparently jerking it just down the hall, though, the images rose unbidden behind Eddie’s scrunched eyelids anyway. How the blood flowed slowly over the tendon in Steve’s neck to pool in the divot between his collarbones, the dark desire in his blown-out pupils. The way Steve’s fingers dug into the meat of Eddie’s ass to pull him where Steve wanted, right against his cock.

The sound of Eddie’s name in Steve’s mouth as his lips brushed Eddie’s ear.

He swore soundlessly. Wriggling a little and hissing at the growing tightness in his pants, Eddie sent up prayers to whatever deity was listening to make him Not Horny. No thoughts of old people or relatives or complex dungeon traps could take his mind, or his hearing, off of Steve masturbating quietly just a few feet away. Didn’t he realise that Eddie could hear him? Steve wasn’t the only one with super hearing. It was rude, and terrible hosting behaviour, and–

Steve moaned softly, though it cut off like he knew he might be heard–too fucking late for that–and Eddie wanted to scream in frustration so badly he clamped his hand over his mouth. His dick throbbed, though, at the new sounds echoing his way. Wet, slick sounds.

Fuck. Swallowing down a wave of guilt, Eddie let his hand trail over the bedspread, along his hip, and cupped his dick through his jeans with a shuddery sigh. He bit his lips together to make sure no noises escaped as he squeezed himself. It’d been too long. Out of respect to his werewolf host, he’d hadn’t rubbed one out the whole time he’d been at Steve’s. Steve, apparently, had no such reservations. So…

So why not? Why the hell not. Eddie undid his fly and quietly as he could slipped his cock out, already hard, the tip flushed red. He couldn’t help remembering that he had Steve’s blood in his body now. How he’d tasted. Breathing heavily, Eddie stroked himself, thinking of the way Steve’s plush lips parted, the fire in his eyes as he begged Eddie to bite him… how big his cock felt, though it was trapped in his jeans.

The familiar weight of his own cock twitched in his hand, a spurt of precome dripping down, slicking the way. He could hear how Steve’s heart rate picked up now that he’d given up trying not to listen; now that it, too, had become familiar.

Steve made another sound. A groan, deep in his chest. Eddie’s mouth dropped open with a harsh sigh. He was so fucking turned on. The taboo of listening to Steve get off, jacking off to it, praying Steve couldn’t hear him too, made that frisson under his skin rise and burn so fast Eddie started to feel breathless, wound tight.

He stroked himself faster, hips canting up into his grip, desperate to chase the feeling as he imagined how Steve looked sprawled on his bed with his massive hand wrapped around his cock. Eddie couldn’t help wondering what it’d feel like to have Steve’s hand replace his own and that image made him clamp his mouth shut around a quiet whimper. 

Eddie heard Steve swear again, his voice going a little higher, and Eddie found himself nodding, like the other man could see him. He wanted to be seen. Wanted Steve to rush in, see him furiously pumping his dick and know exactly what got him here. Maybe he’d crowd Eddie against the bed and start to take him apart with his long fingers, grind their cocks together, fuck his way inside as they kissed all heated and dirty and chant Eddie’s name–

Steve moaned, then, quiet enough that Eddie almost missed what he said.

“Eddie.”

Shock forced a desperate whine out of Eddie’s throat before he choked it off with a gasp. Oh shit. Oh shit. He froze, could tell Steve had too. Steve heard him. He knew. He felt his heart in his throat, thundering away.

Until he heard it again. A tentative, “Eddie?” from down the hall. Confirming he’d been caught. Why didn’t Steve sound pissed?

There was the distinct click of a cap being opened. Still frozen, Eddie couldn’t believe his ears when he heard Steve start up again, jerking himself off slower now, the sounds slicker, wetter. He… he knew Eddie was listening, could easily guess why Eddie had fucking whined like that, and he was still…

God. Fuck. Oh fuck that was hot. And terrifying. How the hell was this even happening!?

Steve keened, loudly, and Eddie cursed as his hips bucked helplessly into the hand still wrapped around his aching cock. This was insane, absolutely nuts; Eddie had never even thought of something like this despite his expansive and wildly horny imagination. But he followed suit and started fucking into his fist, fast and filthy, past the point of caring that Steve could hear the bed creaking slightly with his movements.

And then Steve did it again. “Fuck, Eddie,” he moaned. Deliberately. Eddie couldn’t hold back the needy cry that rose from his throat, muffled as he bit his lip against the growing pleasure sparking along his nerves. He was gonna come, quickly, felt it barreling closer like a freight train. Steve wasn’t holding back his sounds anymore either, every gasp and groan unconcealed, stroking his cock without any fucking shame.

Eddie was shaking, panting hard, losing his rhythm. Thoughtlessly he started to beg, “Please, please please please.”

“Shit, yeah, do it, c’mon Eddie,” Steve urged, “gonna come too, oh shit!”

Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. Every muscle in Eddie’s body seized as he came, whining so fucking loud as he spilled over his fingers, cum splattering his shirt and soaking in warm and sticky, cock pulsing hard when he heard Steve cry out, a satisfied, guttural thing. Gasping for breath, Eddie went limp on the bed, his mind empty of all thought except for the way Steve moaned his name, how he sounded when he came.

There was no more movement from Steve’s room. Eddie could hear him in there, his breathing evening out along with his heartbeat, but he didn’t get up.

Was he waiting for Eddie? There was no way he’d go over there himself. He was still processing the everything that just happened. What if Steve had still been affected by the bite, and now that he’d gotten it out of his system he regretted literally jacking off with Eddie? More or less.

Eddie’s anxieties swirled through his mind until morning. Steve didn’t leave his room once.

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 11: [NIGHTBRINGER] belphie, lucifer / deep sleep

ao3 link

note: i've mostly been doing these in the order i remember getting them so far, but i might start skipping around, since they're quite lucifer-frontloaded (not that i'm complaining). anyway - this is based on nb lesson 12, where mc's in that curse-coma, but! the twist is that ik can somehow still speak through it. since, y'know, special reaper curse

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

“...oh, you’re here.”

Lucifer doesn’t look up as Belphie slips into the room. He stays there, sitting in a chair he’s dragged from the dining room, half-hunched over, with his forearms on his knees. Belphie gets the distinct feeling that his oldest brother hasn’t slept in the last forty-eight hours.

He glances over at the wan face of the room’s only other occupant. “...still not up?”

“Solomon said not to expect it to happen soon,” Lucifer says blankly. “We don’t know the exact nature of the curse. By all means, it should have been fatal.”

They both look at IK’s blank face. The light flickers in a way that, for a moment, makes her look as if she’s blinking awake - though Belphie doesn’t dare hope.

“Weird kid,” He mumbles, more to her than Lucifer. “You can’t do magic, but you can survive reaper curses? If you can do that, why didn’t you…”

'Why didn’t you stop us from trying to hurt you?' is what he means, but he can’t finish the question. Lucifer looks as if he knows what he was going to say, anyway.

“So where’s Solomon gone, then?” He asks after a beat, frowning. “All that talk, and he’s not even staying to look after her?”

“He said he’d look for solutions in the tomes at the cave. And that he was leaving IK in charge.”

Yeah, that’s right.

“As if h— huh?”

They both whip around. IK hasn’t moved.

Belphie glances quickly at Lucifer. “Did you hear—?”

“Yes.” His response is short and harried. “What was that?”

They both fall silent for a moment, listening hard. Nothing.

“Maybe we’re just hearing things,” Belphie says reluctantly, though he’d swear it to anyone that he just heard IK speaking, loud and clear.

“Do you think that’s likely?” Lucifer stands up, staring around the room like a sentinel, a dangerous shadow falling over his face. “It could be any manner of mimicry. If something’s gotten in—”

Wait, did you hear me?

Lucifer goes dead silent. There's no mistaking that voice - but there’s also no mistaking the fact that the speaker has not moved an inch.

After a moment, Belphie tries, “IK?”

You did! She sounds downright joyful - the words don’t quite ring like speech does in a room, but the voice in their heads is clear as day. I was so BORED.

“You can talk?” He asks, bewildered. “Wait, you’re— can’t you open your eyes?”

No. Do you think I haven’t tried? Now she sounds aggravated. I’ve been awake this whole time. I just can’t bloody move.

“Watch your language,” He says automatically.

Don’t start. I’m losing my mind here. But you can actually hear me now!

“Yes, you’ve said that already.” Lucifer sits down again, leaning forward, practically on the edge of his seat. “How much do you remember?”

Hmm. I remember you both trying to kill me.

A pause. Then Lucifer asks, voice suddenly about half as loud, “What is your situation, then?”

There’s a sort of buzz, as if IK is laughing. Not much going on. It’s like sitting in a dark room. I can hear things coming from outside, but I can’t see anything. It sucks.

Say, if you were a shark, what kind would you be?

“What?”

I think you’d be a nurse shark, Belphie, because they’re usually chill, except when they aren’t. And Lucifer would be… a blue shark, because that’s his favourite colour.

They exchange mildly bemused looks. After a moment, Lucifer says slowly, “How do you know that? I’ve never told you.”

…uh… Belphie gets the distinct feeling that IK is panicking. ...context clues. You know, clothes and stuff.

“You’ve only seen him wearing red,” He says a little suspiciously.

And what’s the opposite of red? Blue. Next question.

It’s no use trying to pry. Every time this happens - every time Belphie gets the unnerving feeling that their attendant knows them better than they even know themselves - he tries to figure out why, and IK deflects. The dedication would be impressive if it wasn’t annoying.

Who is this kid? She shows up, completely out cold, and hasn’t even been awake for an hour by the time she’s been put in charge of the Devildom’s newly-minted residents. Then Solomon, of all people, that sorcerer whose reputation long precedes him, shows up calling her his ward, even though she’s got no magic to speak of.

Though Belphie doesn’t know what else to call her knack for making them… talk. She takes to the Devildom like a duck to water - practically skips through it all while they’re still mired in their own rotten souls. They should’ve been insulted that Diavolo would think this ridiculous little thing capable of handling the seven of them, but IK does it like it’s second nature.

That’s the frustrating part. They’ll tell her near-everything, and IK tells them absolutely nothing. And it isn’t that they’re stupid, or blind, or so self-absorbed that they don’t notice when she goes quiet - when she stares off at something that isn’t there, eyes filled with some inexplicable loneliness that should be far beyond her years.

Is Satan around? IK asks. He was in here, reading, before. He couldn’t hear me then, but maybe he will now.

“Um… he went out.” Belphie sits down on the foot of the bed. “Hey. I’m… not angry with you anymore.”

Wow. Do you want an award?

“No, I—” He swallows. His tail flicks up behind him, and he seizes it for comfort before he can stop himself. “—I’m sorry. That’s what I meant.”

Oh.

Okay.

He waits for a moment. There’s no other response. He looks at Lucifer.

His brother’s face is twisted into something that might resemble remorse. The ironic part is that Ik would probably know better than he does, if only she could open her eyes to see.

“We’re doing what we can,” is all Lucifer says after a while. “You will be alright. I can promise you that.”

That’s a relief, she says, a touch ironically. So am I just stuck like this until Solomon figures something out?

Lucifer’s jaw tightens. “...I don’t know. All we can do is wait.”

Great. I’ll get right on that.

Belphie scoffs. “I don’t know how you’re making jokes right now. You could’ve died. You still might now.”

Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, says IK dryly. I know what being dead feels like. This isn't anything like it.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

No answer. Belphie shoots an apprehensive look at Lucifer, then leans forward. “Hey. I’m talking to you.”

Silence. He doesn’t know if IK’s refusing to speak, or if the connection has broken already. He makes as if to stand up, to go find Barbatos, or Diavolo, or anyone who might know how to repair it. He can't lose it now.

He’s poured his heart out to her once before, then hadn’t even waited a day to turn on her. He doesn’t know what, but he has to do something about it, right?

But, before he can, Lucifer takes a deep breath, then abruptly stands up.

“...I have to go,” He mutters.

That, at least, gets IK to speak up again - Belphie feels a rather distracted spark of relief. Where are you going?

“Out,” He replies sharply, then pauses, and sighs. “...I need to clear my head. You’re… incomprehensible.”

That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

…hey. You’ll come back and talk to me, right? It’s really boring in here.

“Is that what you want?” He asks, softer.

It’d be nice.

Lucifer looks at IK for a moment, then leans down. Belphie doesn’t quite see what he does, but when he straightens up again, the blankest are tucked in more snugly, and IK’s hair looks a little neater than it did before.

“Then I will,” Lucifer tells her, and steps back. With one last, lingering glance, he turns on his heel, and walks out.

…

…Belphie, are you still there?

“Yeah,” He says quietly, and decides to take Lucifer’s seat. “Are you okay?”

Not the best I’ve been. Not the best week I’ve had, either.

He wishes he had some water. “That’s our fault, isn’t it?”

Sorry.

“Don’t— what are you saying sorry for? You always—” He stops himself before he can finish. “—you’re so weird.”

A pause. Then, That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

“Stop it. Just…” He drags a hand through his hair and catches a finger on his left horn. “...just let me feel bad, will you?”

…fine.

He takes a breath. “...Beel’s okay, by the way. I don’t know if you’ve heard him.”

I did. I’m really glad.

“He’s worried. We all are. Look, I—”

Don’t bother, IK interrupts. …I get it, I mean. You don’t have to explain it to me.

“I really don’t get you,” He mumbles.

Another laughing sound. I get that a lot.

“Aren’t you scared? Aren’t you angry?”

Not angry. Scared… maybe.

Doesn’t matter, though. It’ll be fine. It has to be. I have to get…

Silence for a while. He doesn't quite dare to ask - have to get... what? What is it that she's so determined to hold on for?

…hey. If you wanted to, say, make it up to me… could you hold my hand?

He blinks. “Will you be able to feel it?”

I don’t know. But it’d be a nice thought.

“...okay. Sure, I can do that.”

Belphie drags the chair closer, untucks a corner of the blanket, and closes his fingers around a cold little hand. IK's voice murmurs a quiet thank you.

If he really squints, he can fool himself into seeing a tiny smile on her face.

"You'd better wake up soon."

[sneverussape]

walpurgis

another one that's been in my drafts for a while. it's just a lil ficlet so don't expect much hehe

@greens-your-color prompt # 25: DEATH EATER (scenario 1)

summary: a group is taking over the Wizarding World's news by storm and severus is naturally curious

--

“Lily?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you heard of these? These Knights of Walpurgis?”

Lily turned to look at Severus only to give him a disdainful eyeroll. “What do you want to know about them for?”

“Well, who are they even?” Severus was more than a little curious, but he was also apprehensive.

“Nobody special. They’re just a bunch of people who believe in a load of malarkey.”

Severus frowned. That certainly wasn’t the description he expected. “Malarkey? Like what?”

This time, Lily granted him a heavy sigh from behind the heavy tome she was reading. “Honestly, Severus, you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Prophet. They’re just a group acting grand. Rich tossers who have too much time on their hands.”

“But is it true though, that they have access to hidden magics and things?” Severus felt his fingers itch at the notion. He was already taking advanced lessons in both Potions and Transfiguration, with both Lucius and Andi’s support and none of McGonagall’s and Dumbledore’s knowledge, and he was eager to learn beyond what books held, although he was careful to never share the reason. The few people who mattered would figure it out soon enough, but he avoided voicing it out loud to avoid any pretenses of hope. He was convinced mixing modern medicine and magic was the key to managing or even completely curing his condition altogether. Very few wizards in the past had already done so but they were all at least a century old. He had vowed to himself that he would engage in the same practice to figure out a cure, or at the very least die in the attempt. But he wasn’t going to tell Lily that, of course.

He asked her instead, “Do they know things beyond the books and the stuff they teach us? Like deeper magics? Blood magic?”

“Who told you that?” Lily looked at him this time, a frown twisting her features.

“Lucius,” Severus said before he could even stop himself. When he saw Lily’s expression darken, he caught himself and backtracked. “Not that it means anything, he was just talking shop…keeping me interested throughout lessons. Oh, don't make that face, Lily!”

“You’re fourteen and not living in the Wizarding World, he shouldn’t be telling you that.” Lily had snapped her book shut and was already making her way out of the plush armchair she had settled in. “I’m telling Mum and Dad—”

“No—!” Severus blocked his sister before she could make her way out of their father’s study. This conversation certainly wasn’t going the way he wanted. He had thought it was a simple enough question. “You don’t have to tell them, Lils, c’mon, I was just curious…”

Lily had grown an odd shade of red, as though she was angry. But why? Severus didn’t understand.

“The Knights of Walpurgis,” she spat the name as though it left a bad taste on her tongue, and her voice had dropped down to a hiss, “is a dangerous group, Severus, and you shouldn’t discuss them so casually.”

This time, it was Severus’ turn to frown. He could feel his dreams crumbling to dust before his very eyes. “I thought you said they were just a bunch of tossers. Why are you making it sound like they’re more than that?”

Lily shook her head vehemently. “Forget I said it. Don’t talk about them, Sev. I mean it. Lucius should not be talking about them to you.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Defiance surged within him; Severus had never really liked being told what to do, especially by his sisters. It just wasn’t in his nature. “He’s my tutor, it’s his job to tell me things.”

“Not about this he isn’t! You wouldn’t understand…”

He caught her insinuation immediately and felt his face grow hot. “Because I’m not at Hogwarts, you mean? Or in the Wizarding World? I’m as much a wizard as any of you lot!”

Lily looked as though she had been struck. Her eyes widened comically wide. “That’s not what I meant!” she said, although her expression said otherwise. Lily had always been a terrible liar.

“That’s what you wanted to say,” Severus said, unable to control the bitterness in his tone. “Out with it then, Lils. You probably don’t even see me as one of you, because I don’t go to school in a magical castle and learn amongst giants and goblins and pixies. I probably don't even hold a wand right in your eyes.”

This time, tears welled in Lily’s eyes, crystal against vibrant green. “That’s not true, stop it, Severus! I have never thought that, and I never will!”

His chest had grown tight and Severus felt like crying himself. He knew Lily wasn’t trying to be mean, but somehow he also couldn’t help but feel the stab of self-pity that came at his own accusation. If his own sister thought he was beneath knowing something that was apparently commonplace news in the Wizarding World, what did the other kids think? Did they think he was some sort of…some sort of second-rate freak? Did Lily?

Severus tilted his chin up as he sniffed. He looked down at Lily with what he hoped was an imperious glare as he said, “Forget I asked. I shan’t bother you about it again.”

He stood and turned to stomp out of the room, tuning out Lily calling out to him. He shouldn’t have asked her. He shouldn’t have asked any of them. He should have just asked Lucius. Lucius would know. Lucius always answered his questions. Lucius wouldn’t think he was a freak.

As he walked away, Severus unconsciously scrubbed at the tears that were gathering at the corners of his eyes with his sleeve.

[rainmustfallts4]

Rain Must Fall (Reaper’s Rewards Special) ◇ #007

⊶⊰Information & Index⊱⊷⊶⊰Ep. 1⊱⊷⊶⊰Chronological Tag⊱⊷

Reaper’s Rewards Special: ⊶⊰Latest⊱⊷ ⊶⊰From the Beginning⊱⊷ ⊶⊰All Reaper’s Rewards Posts⊱⊷

─────────────⊶⊰◇⊱⊷─────────────

Week 3 has arrived c:

Our missions for this week:

First, we have to research grafting (because the plants I need haven’t grown yet so I can’t graft them.)

Also… can we HELP you, Wolfgang?? Boy is just standing there watching us like a creep.

Our gardening is going up, which is good. We’re almost at 10! Man, if people don’t read this special, they’re gonna be so confused about where these skill ups came from lol

Here are the boots! I was only like 20 xp away from them last week lol

They’re quite neat, I like them c:

“Nice shoes.”

“Thanks, Grim.”

“Hey, hey Tiger.”

“What?”

“Why didn’t the skeleton go to the party?”

“Oh Grim, no…”

“Because he had no body to go with!” Grim slapped his knee, deep laugh filling the house.

Tiger held back a groan, resisting the urge to smack herself in the forehead.

“Get it? Because your shoes only have a skull on them.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get it, Grim…”

It was on that day that she learned Grim is a goofball.

While waiting for the newsletter, she got to work on reading the tome. I KNEW there was something special about this book c:

She got a skill up for both cooking skills. That didn’t happen the last time she read it.

It didn’t count, so she read it again and then upped her fishing.

Here’s a fun fact that literally no one knew (everyone knew.) My dumbass was just reading the book and not selecting the option to read the intro lmao I didn’t see it the first few times, probably because she KEPT PUTTING IT BACK IN THE DAMN BOOKCASE.

Finally, it worked!

That’s kind of OP, though, building 3 skills at once while reading a single book.

What the…

All she did was ask what she meant by “prepared” and Nancy got mad! I hate her. Give us our power back, bitch! We always pay on time! Seriously, who the fuck has this big of an issue with SQUIRRELS.

Yes, they are pains in the ass, but you have enough money to stay on top of it! Do a better job, damn.

I think next week we’ll have to build some cooking skill before we can complete the next one.

Also, this is what happens when you try to get fancy. They are just cupcakes, girl, calm down.

I thought I could decorate them, but maybe only the cupcake factory ones can be decorated?

We got a new bunny!

The galaxy one is still my favorite, but I think the sugar skull is my least favorite. There’s just too much going on, too many opposing colors. Makes my brain hurt lol

[sky4cherry]

any thoughts about chet and bev having a brother-sister dynamic? (specifically that older sister and her annoying little brother dynamic, bc chet just screams younger brother coded #tome)

no he’s literally definitely the youngest in his family for sure

they are genuinely so sibling coded because no one gets them as mad as each other does but god forbid anyone else tries to join in

bev knows she can use a cigarette as a weapon for a REASON

i think there’s something so special (in my own headcanons) about chet being the ignored youngest child and bev being the ignored only child :(

people for sure mistake them as either dating or being mortal enemies because they’re either hugging super tight or throwing entire drinks at each other

i think they definitely bicker a lot, because bev is pretty self assured while chet just loves to wind her up, but they know when to cut the shit and be there for each other before the other one even knows they need to be comforted

very convinced bev is super perceptive when it comes to emotions, and she spends so much time with chet (when he’s third wheeling) that the other socs just kinda shove her towards him when he’s sad and run away to leave her to deal with it, because she knows what to do!!!

even though he genuinely is insufferable (🫶) chet always spoils her when he can and sometimes brill has to step in and go “??? you’re actually making me look bad rn”

however chet is a big crier when he’s drunk and beverly doesn’t wanna deal with that so she straight up goes “you aren’t crying anymore” and he just stops, and it freaks everyone out a lot

[vahalia-cress]

Not all traditions are tied to holidays, of course. Does your OC have any special traditions they practice?

Typically yes, a lot of her traditions are mostly rooted in family traditions and things she has learned from her Mother, Aunt, Grandmother, and various texts and tomes within her home that belonged to a lot of her ancestors.

Vahalia isn’t much for the traditional sense of holidays like Starlight, Valentione’s Day or All Saints’ Wake – just to name a few of the year’s biggest ones. Vahalia’s traditions and the overall traditions of House Cress are a little less on the commercial side of things and more about the practical.

They tend to focus more on other traditions and celebrations, equinoxes, and the traditions of heralding in new seasons, new moons, tides, toeing the line of some superstitions and rituals. 

It’s common for those within the Household to (or have done) to bury their dead in stone coffins that reside in a family mausoleum near the Cress estate. Often there are family trinkets and heirlooms that reside on the outside of these coffins, things that were personal to the person who is no longer living. In the past and with much of Vahalia’s ancestors, they were buried alongside their family heirlooms (see more below) and bells which were, and still is, a sigil of the House and their ties to House Durendaire and the familial ties stretching back to their line in Dalmasca when the bell was a sigil of the Cress name. It was/is a symbol of bell towers and lighthouses which was indicative to the family’s trade practices and business in Valnain.

At the age of 10, each member of the Cress family embarks on a Hunt of sorts in which the finding (or sometimes kill) of these beasts or items is then purposed into a specific item of the person’s choosing. In the past, it has been scabbards, weapons, cloaks, quivers, bracelets, and even necklaces like the one Vahalia wears.

It is tradition that all family members of the Cress blood (even by half) are recorded in the family tomes. There are currently only two and both are in Vahalia’s possession to which she’s been recording in for a while now. The second volume of the set being the newest, is where much of Vahalia’s hand has been written.

It’s been written that some women of the Cress line were gifted kittens or cats upon being wed and that they practice gift-giving with bread and salt when congratulating someone on a new home. The bread symbolizes a happy, hale, and full stomach and the salt is to symbolize a full and fruitful life with flavor.

Vahalia also sends gifts to people with meanings that tend to have some underlying tones. Typically they’re exotic in nature, well thought out but also practical to the person she’s gifting them to. Typically gifts are sent on behalf of new bondings, family members, birthdays, or more.

As you might have guessed already, a lot of House Cress and Vahalia’s traditions string that line of more Celtic, pagan, and Nordic practices, all elements I wanted to keep as a continuous theme and recurrence (even if loosely) to the aesthetic and history of House Cress as well as the character, Vahalia. Something a wee bit outside the norm of tradition and practices when it comes to The Twelve in FFXIV lore.

Thank you @calico-heart! Sorry for yapping so long about Halia and her family stuff! 💚

You can find the ask list here!

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Adventure Historians

How do people in your world keep track of the past?

Trust me, whether or not a human language has a past tense (a few don’t), people do keep track. Humans are social mammals, like wolves and vampire bats; and so we act, as behaviorists put it, “in anticipation of future reciprocation”. We expect that, for better or worse, whatever we give of our time, energy, and resources, we should eventually get back. That means we have to keep track of what we did, who we did it to, what we anticipate in return, and who didn’t give back when they were supposed to. And that, in a nutshell, means keeping track of history.

Or if you want to look at it from a cultural rather than a biological perspective, history is the ultimate gossip-fest. “Did you hear what they called Duke William before he conquered England? William the Bastard, that’s what! Why, his mother was just a tanner’s daughter....”

Yes. That is actual history.

Too often, these days, history is taught as if it’s all dusty old men digging around in even dustier old books to dredge up and drone on about facts, figures, and battles nobody cares about anymore. This is a horrible lie.

Okay, I do have to grant the whole digging around in dusty books part. (Books, papyrus, cuneiform tablets....) Also dusty newspapers. And microfiche. Baptismal and funeral records. Recordings of people’s oral history. Archaeological reports, and even digs, when you can link a site to a known historical incident. Or even just sometimes, “this site shows structures, possessions, and typical populations of this area and time”. Good historians try to find any information about the time, people, and event they’re researching, so they can gather as many accurate facts (and even some they know are in dispute) as possible.

And then they try to pull it all together into a coherent whole of, “this is what I think happened.”

Good historians tell a story.

So the fantasy trope of adventurers tracking down a loremaster who then tells them the warning tale of the ancient kingdom’s fall, and where those monsters and treasures were thought to have gone afterward? That scans.

The only thing is, instead of all those tomes on the shelves being spellbooks? They’re probably historical chronicles, records of taxes, special pleadings to be relieved of taxes due to famine/war/what have you-

(A necromancer raised the whole graveyard and we had to pacify thousands of ghosts, Boss, it was horrible-!)

-Weird court cases, and all the gossip the loremaster and his predecessors could coax out of the royals and town mayors going back the last five centuries. Oh, and all the loremaster’s notes, likely fluttering across desks and shelves like a trail of raven-scattered pages, weighted down by skulls, glass orbs, and one really neat rock.

(If it’s an SF setting the scatter may be less physical but I’m sure no less eclectic. Also there will be physical notes. Historians get paranoid about having records for the future that last!)

In your setting, someone knows history. Officially or otherwise. Which leads to all kinds of adventure hooks. Who knows where to find the hidden item, or heir? Who even knows what questions to ask?

On the other hand, maybe your main character is the historian, out to fill in a hole in the records and find out exactly what happened when that meteor hit....