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[dcadlynv-blog]

ツ

Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.

         xxx-xxx-xxxx

[ photo attached ]

this one?

[ photo attached ]

or this

dont judge me, god, i have my own closet back

[dcadlynv-blog]

swordofcassiel:

It was not the wisest decision, in retrospect, but they were relieved to see their friends again and to have this ordeal finished. Their guard was down–the dangerous ones here would not dare to destroy anyone with so many guardians around–and Cassiel reached for the yellow macaron, instinctively gravitating towards the treats they assumed had been brought by Adele.

Their immediate thought, when the confection hit their tongue, was this doesn’t taste like Adele’s tarts–and then a bubbly feeling, like physical champagne, washed over them and the thought cleared away along with the rest of their worries. Cassiel felt lighter and happier than they had in ages–their wounds, from the hotel and the fight with their double, the unease of killing Abaddon’s doppleganger and watching Zoe plunge a sword through the center of a body identical to theirs, the vibrating anger that crept into the back of their mind when Belial came too close–all of this melted or was pushed away by the euphoria of the citrus on their tongue.

“I’m so glad everyone’s safe!”

Isadora’s eyes widened. Cassiel was an angel she had relatively few encounters with, but she’d always gotten a rather different vibe from them than stupid grinning happy. It wasn’t exactly infectious. Isadora glanced around, looking for some sort of guide. She recalled a yellow macaron sitting just there among the rest. Now there was a gap in the presentation, filled only with a few crumbs. 

“So they do shit,” Isadora said, appreciating the fact that someone else--an angel, even--was playing the guinea pig tonight. “Nice. How are you feeling? Am I suddenly your best friend?”

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lifebuilder:

    “ The red one looks kinda like my thing. ” 

“You really want to be off your head on magic macarons? Mm, well, it’s your life.”

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byreticence:

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop, are we now?”

“Then this horseman has a fucking lot of shoes.” 

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Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

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quaiintrclle:

Whatever Renee, the one and only original real deal was doing, it certainly wasn’t running White Lies; Favoring the idea of free booze and interesting company, she had squarely taken over this portion of Renee’s life and so far, there hadn’t been issue and she hadn’t found herself either bored or disappointed, meaning it suited her and would continue to do so until she found herself like so. After all, Renee was so very, very broken. Poor thing. 

Apparently, Isadora’s social media life was broken, too. Not even marginally the same in use to her but, well, little was. Eyes rolled silently as she chattered on about the issue and then finished it out with possession over something cute, which Renee, either version, could understand even if not for the technology aspect. “Darling, I really do hope you weren’t expecting sympathetic response,” she said first, “I’m afraid I couldn’t care any less.” She slipped behind the bar then and fixed herself a drink, bartender already occupied and she ws disinterested in waiting. “Oh, and pick up your trash. My bar’s floor is not your trash can.”

The other Isadora nudged the trash with her silver toe. She disdained to move. “Yeah, I know--it’s sooo hard to care about something you don’t really get, right?” She watched as the screen flashed brilliant white, briskly whirling through the start-up screens. “You’re here, doing the shit you’re kinda supposed to be doing, I guess. Are you going to go back to being in charge or whatever?” 

She sniffed, slipping the phone into her black leather bag, studded with spikes of varying metallic colors. Isadora watched the other Vice fix up her drink from under skeptical false lashes. “’Cause a little while longer and I was just gonna take Vice’s life, too. Two for one.  Keep myself on the fast-track to which I am accustomed.”

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whatroughbeast:

Satan paused for once, near intrigued. A surprising answer. A better one than he’d gotten from Renee. “Nihilism has damned more people than I ever did. Or, at least it got close.” The closest thing to a joke to be pried out of the ex-Devil that night, added with a grin that could’ve been mistaken for a grimace before it gave way to the standard hard line of his mouth. “But posting a rousing political tweet isn’t a fight.” 

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Isadora said. She’d had this argument before--both inside her own head and out of it. Kind of weird to be pitching it at for real Satan, but whatever, life was pretty strange. “Anything that can control people, direct them, speak to them, get at them, make them afraid or make them believe--that’s a part of the fight. Communication and numbers are what literally any battle hinges on. If I post a link to ‘voracitosis causes’, I get like a couple hundred thousand, maybe millions of eyes on it. The people who believed already believe more. A percentage of the people who were on the fence maybe get pushed to my side, maybe tick up my count. And another percentage might just get angry about it, keep clicking through, arguing publicly, pulling more eyes. Even the people who fucking hate me help me. The people who don’t get how the changes work are the ones who lose, and the Horsemen are changing everything.��

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paulofsinners:

“How are they still alive?” Paul quirked an eyebrow, stepping on the piece of plastic near her heel and kicking it away. “With nails like that they should be unrecognizable.” The soon-to-be-not double sat across Garcia, crossing one leg over the other as he snapped at a waiter and placed a drink order. Paul couldn’t fathom how his lesser half dealt without an occasional drink. The kid needed something to take the edge off, tight bundle of nerves as he was. It made the wicked gears in his mind turn. He’d have to get him drunk before he murdered him.

Eyeing the phone with an admittedly interested eye, Paul smirked at Isadora’s positive outlook. “I agree, it is cute. I’m assuming your double isn’t as fashionable as you’d like her to be?” Flashes of a mirror image wearing ridiculously bland clothing passed through his mind, resulting in a heavy sigh escaping from Paul’s perfectly smooth lips. “I feel your pain. I wish he’d get over his insecurities. I’m dying for a manicure.”

Isadora held up her hand and made a grabby gesture, manicure flashing. “Gimme. I’ll do them for you, we’ll do a total sleep-over thing. Wine, nails, murder.” 

The other Isadora pouted. “No one ever gets over their insecurities. They just turn them around. My double has shit to prove, all the time, constantly, and there’s like this little bit that just won’t commit to, like, the full thing.” She pinched the air with thumb and forefinger, allowing a tiny gap between claw and curved, cruel claw. “It’s fucking ironic. Years of waiting and striving for the cool version of yourself, and when I finally show up, it’s like, she wants to kill me? Oh my God. Just accept it. Let me put a stiletto through your eye, okay? It’ll be legit.”

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saltwaterkezia:

Isadora’s fingers snapping woke Kezia from her brief daze. But was it Isadora? Because she had another her wandering around so didn’t everyone? Who was this, really? Not like Kezia would be able to tell the difference – she only knew Envy as one of the Sinners and from  “I was…” she confirmed warily, hands closing around her mug. The rapid-fire question had her stumbling to catch up. Why did she join the Sinners? “I had to choose,” she said with a shrug. “Fucking horseman…” She shook her head. “I got one of those ultimatum texts. I had to choose a Church and when I looked at them one-to-one… I decided to choose the Sinners.” Normally chamomile tea looked back to her as medicinal, healing. Now, it just looked sickly and weak as she gazed down. “I guess I would still choose it again, though.” Picking her eyes up, she found Isadora’s. “Why?”

The syrupy, weirdly dislikeable smell of chamomile floated up to Isadora’s nose. She wrinkled both nostrils as she sat down. “Did everyone else in the world get one of those texts?” Isadora harrumphed, unimpressed by something. Fucking Horseman indeed. “Whatever. We’re living in interesting times. Think about why you joined, think about what you believe in. Hold on to it. That’s the kind of fun shit that will matter when fucking Famine shows up for real.” She licked her lips, missing the dry matte feeling of her lipstick. “Service over. Where’d you go after you got out?”

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noahjackson:

“Sure it was just your phone?” Noah asked. A ton of weird shit had been going down since the hotel. “If you’re one of those people who keeps their whole lives on those things, say hello to identity theft, you know?” Identity theft. That was the gist of everything that was going on. Noah cast a glance down at her hands, catching sight of the slow healing burns on them as he did. “How’s the hands?” 

The other Isadora had some particularly venomous thoughts regarding the prevention of identity theft. Playing multiple games of tug-of-war on social media was tedious, and the tragedy had been having a clever streak of wins lately. Every time the other Isadora thought she had locked the door, the tragedy would pick the lock on another, further back. She flashed a grin, skillfully shading it with the weariness of someone who was having a long, hard set of days.

“Better,” she said. She flexed her fingers, the fresh manicure gleaming in the light. “I feel like myself with my claws on.” 

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saltwaterkezia:

She was still aching in most places, bruises and bandages clear badges of that awful night. That awful night that had apparently occurred over a month ago. It still made her head spin. She still had no idea what was really going on. That sentiment was clearly written across her face as she hunched over a mug of tea. She was an island in the sea of Smooth Moves, for once not working, just staring down into chamomile.

“Hey.” Isadora snapped her fingers to try and jog the girl out of her stupor. Isadora’s acrylics had been unceremoniously shortened in the past two weeks. For the first time in probably two, three years, she was rocking a ponytail and flat shoes, pretty much swimming in a sweatshirt she’d acquired at a consignment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was late on a homework assignment for some reason, and it made her antsy. “You were at the hotel. Why’d you join the Sinners? What were your thoughts there? Serious question.”

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whatroughbeast:

“So much life left to accomplish, so much little time to live it.” Satan punctuated his rather purposefully trite sentence with a little shake of his drink, ice rattling around the empty glass. “So why give a shit at all?” It was solid enough question, despite her (correct) assessment of his disengagement in the conversation. “That was a very emphatic her’s.” These types on the Church boards always had their sob stories for why their churches meant so much to them, he wouldn’t peg this one as even slightly different from the rest. 

Isadora nodded, once. “Yeah. It was pretty emphatic.” She flicked eyes down to her phone, watching various apps fail to post. She swiped through them one-by-one as she spoke. “I don’t go in for nihilism. The world is still going. I still have things I want to do. If the universe didn’t want anyone to fight back, then it wouldn’t have created something to fight.”

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mynameis-kiara:

“A favor,” Kiara replied after a quick beat despite not having the slightest clue what that could possibly be. But it was something to hold over her head. Keep her on her toes. That, in itself, was what she wanted more than anything. Money, power, intelligence – she had all three. Anything she wanted, she could easily get. "You’ll do something for me in the future and not  even question it for a second.”

“You don’t need a favor,” Isadora said. The inside of her chest felt like it was being stretched apart. Her fingers felt like they were being needled by knives. She hardly blinked as she spoke. “Or want one. Whatever you could get whatever you wanted. You know how humans work. Even the choice is just a courtesy. The appearance of a courtesy.” 

She hesitated for a second, casting her eyes to the wall behind Kiara as she made her decision. “You want to be amused. I’ve never seen you like this before. You’re, like, happy.” Isadora’s gaze returned and met Kiara’s. She held it for a second that stretched out until it doubled, tripled in length; then Isadora nodded, quick and clipped. “That’s fine. A favor. Sure.”

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whatroughbeast:

So Renee had walked away from her church and this small spitfire was playing at being her replacement. Give it a few years and a proper squint, Envy could step into Vice’s shoes and one human’s outline would blur into the others. Satan rolled his eyes. How many more times would these little empires fall? “The apocalypse brings out the ambition in all of us.” 

Envy smiled hard and tight. What he said sounded almost like a cliche. It was the kind of thing what people said when they didn’t understand you, and they didn’t want to; it was kind of like their entire conversation so far. Both sides, if she was going to be honest. “Really? How? I wish it would bring it back out in Vice,” she said, casting her gaze out at the crowd, looking for the woman in question herself now. “There’s better things I could be doing than holding her ship together for her.”

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mynameis-kiara:

“Of course you know,” Kiara replied, vaguely impressed. “Oh Miss Thomas is doing the whole cloak and dagger thing, you know, operating in the shadows.” Her mind flashed back to the bellhop walking her down the hallway, noting the way they were careful not to reveal their face.

Hm. She pondered on that.

“Oh, Ben?” Kiara questioned bemusedly, looking around the room. “He probably found an ice cream freezer somewhere around here and is devouring the contents,” she half-shrugged, seemingly non-chalant about her buddy. That was the beauty of their relationship; she didn’t have to care in order to be there for him.

Her eyes pored over Isadora, bottom lip pushing upward. “Well, I suppose. Do I get anything out of it beside your undying gratitude?”

“What else do you need?” Isadora said. Fatigue was going to knock her on her ass real soon, but some impulse to know, to collect, to gain ... it was keeping her more or less alert. Kiara looked untouched. Casual. Nothing, it seemed, would dampen that glee. “What else could you want?” 

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noahjackson:

Noah thought back to his room and how, really, it had been a sort of cakewalk to what Isadora had been through. But if she was shut up in his room, would she see what he had seen? Or would her own nightmare show up there? “My room is safe for me ‘cause I got out, but I don’t know if it won’t have any effect on you.” Which left them nowhere, really. Looking up and down the hallway, Noah counted the doors. One, two, three…. seven, eight, nine, ten. Quickly, he tried to count back the number of people who had come upstairs with them. Eight? Or was it nine? He didn’t think it was ten. “I think the tenth room is empty. Maybe that’s a safe zone? Maybe not, but why cook up a nightmare or whatever for it if there’s no one staying there?”

She pictured the set of them, coming up the stairs. Isadora nodded. “That sounds right. 210 would probably be empty, so ...” 

The energy seemed to leech out of legs. She was coming down from her adrenaline rush in a particularly shitty way. This did not fit the Envy brand. What did it matter? If Famine could see through it, the brand wasn’t real. It’s like the only thing that matters if it’s fake is you. She braced herself against the wall with one hand as she shuffled towards the door. 

“If it’s not empty,” she said. “I’m still kind of curious to see what they’d put in there. Like, what else? What’s next? This is technically, like, fucking incredible.”