#although they do not help make my handwriting any more legible

[stergeon]

random but i like that you write in cursive, i also do but it's not very common in the english speaking sphere

big respect!!! for the most part, my actual handwriting is kind of a cursive-print mishmash that is hard to make heads or tails of. i really try when lettering comics lol.

my elementary school teachers promised i would use cursive in my daily life when i got older. i don't think they meant i'd use it almost exclusively in goofy comics about video game women but i'm not about to waste the knowledge

[dandylion240]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag

A set of 20 questions to get to know your OC!

Thanks for the tag @bool-prop

I decided to do this for Josie O'Neil, a next gen sim and one of my favorites.

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

Her biggest fear is losing someone she loves. She knows death is a fact of life but she doesn't want it to be due to something she did or could have prevented.

Do they have any pet peeves?

People who never apologize even when they know they're wrong.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Cell phone, Yellow Roses and a picture of her dragon. All three are on the nightstand beside her bed.

What do they notice first in a person?

If they're kind to other people. She takes special notice of someone who holds the door open for someone or offers to help when someone is in need.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Her personal pain tolerance is quite high, like around a 7 or 8. It's the pain of others she has a difficult time coping with. As an empath she tends to take on other's emotional pain as her own and it sometimes overwhelms her.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

It depends. She tends to flee from a fight if it's for herself but if it's for someone she's close to she's more apt to fight. She doesn't like to fight but she will if it means defending someone.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

The Reagan family is a huge but her particular family unit isn't that big. Just her parents and adopted brother. So quite small by Reagan standards.

What animal represents them best?

Goldne Retriever - she's playful, affectionate and loyal.

What is a smell that they dislike?

She likes most flowers but she can't stand the scent of marigolds.

Have they broken any bones?

No broken bones but she has sprained her ankle a few times.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

They would probably say she's naive, selfless and an easy mark.

Are they a night owl or a morning bird?

She's a morning bird. She loves getting up early and working on her farm.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

She loves citrus fruit, oranges, lemon, limes although she doesn't really like grapefruit. She doesn't like cabbages, especially cooked cabbage.

Do they have any hobbies?

Gardening, horseback riding, long strolls in the woods taking pictures of the world around her. She's a simple girl who likes the simple things in life.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

She get's embarrassed. She doesn't like being the center of attention. She'd rather spend her birthday volunteering at the homeless shelter with her dad or hanging out at the animal shelter.

Do they like to wear jewelry?

Yes. She has her dragon earings her parents gave her one year for christmas even though they're more than ten years old. She has the necklace that Hayle gave her that wears all the time. And one day perhaps a ring a certain dragon gives her.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

It depends what it's for. If it's meant to be read by someone else than she makes sure it's neat and legible. If it's just for her than it tends to be messy and she often has to guess what some of the words are if it's been some time since she wrote it.

What are two emotions they feel the most?

Love and contentment - but it does take a while for her to get to this point.

Do they have a favorite fabric?

She has a favorite snuggly blanket but she doesn't know what it's made of. She just likes it because it's soft and perfect to snuggle on the sofa with a good book.

What kind of accent do they have?

None.

Tagging: @wannabecatwriter @mahvaladara @stargazer-sims @rebouks @lynzishell @anamoon63 @kimmiessimmies

[letters-from-dekarios]

picture of val if needed ^ :) [Valentine is a redeemed durge tiefling barbarian who is still doing his best to abide by Gale’s request to send letters while he is away. He is a sweet, affectionate, if not a little oblivious, man who will lend a helping hand to anyone who needs it, even if his hands are full, or covered in cuts and bruises.

 Luckily, Valentine’s handwriting has improved tremendously since his first letter and nearly every word is legible. This letter is written on a page torn out of a sketchbook, evident by the rough edge on one side of the paper. There are small doodles around the edge of the page as if the person writing had gotten distracted while trying to think of what to say.

After the events in the main campaign, he and Gale get married, and the two of them occasionally visit old friends. (that scene in-game was so cute btw) However, this time, Gale was too busy to come with him, leaving Valentine to visit Halsin on his own. (I wasn’t sure how to write this so I hope this is ok! D:)]

My beloved Gale,

I am still a little upset that you sent me all this way all on my own. Although I am a very capable man, your company is still always appreciated on these journeys. 

When I arrived in what used to be the shadowlands, Halsin was very eager to greet me. Although, he did deflate a bit when I explained to him why you weren’t with me. I’m sure he understands that you are very busy as a professor. Although, he requested that you visit with me next time. He says that he misses your witty humor. (I do too at the moment.)

I saw the owlbear cub that we sent home with Halsin at the last reunion. He looks wonderful! He has grown a significant amount, I’m not sure he realizes this. Still, I rough-house with him nonetheless, although I can already imagine your complaints about all of the dust in my hair once we’re done. Perhaps you could wash it for me when I return. Somehow, I always miss a patch no matter how much I scrub. I suppose the horns get in the way.

Unrelated, but I feel as though I am getting better at this letter-writing thing. As we have discussed in passing, we lead very different lives before the tadpole situation. From the little I can recall, I did not have to write letters very often. Your pointers have been very helpful, although I am not surprised, you are a wonderful teacher, my dear.

I will be leaving in 3 days to come back home to you. I assume that by the time you receive this letter, I will be well on my way home. I will do my best not to keep you waiting.

Yours forever and always, Valentine P.S. Look, it’s us! (There is an arrow pointing to a small doodle of two stick figures holding hands.)

Sweet Valentine,

I send my sincerest apologies for being unable to make the journey with you this time around, my love. Be it any other time and I would have gone readily with you, but with my nose so deep into my work, it is hard to pull away. I promise to make it up to you when you return.

Give Halsin my regards as well. I am sure he understands, but I hate to even think of the big bear of a man upset over something so trivial. I’ll make sure to write him when I catch a moment to myself.

Be careful with the cub, darling! Though I am pleased to hear he is doing well. I had no doubts about the young creature growing just fine on his own, but with Halsin he is sure to have sprouted quite a bit since I last saw him. Give him some pets for me, darling.

You are improving quite a bit with each correspondence we send, my love. It feels as though only yesterday I was teaching you how to address an envelope, and now you are sending them entirely on your own. It warms my heart to know you were willing to learn something so mundane for me. For us. I’ll have you know I’ve kept every last one of your letters, and this will be added to the growing pile.

I await your return home, my love. Though it has only been a few days since you left, my heart longs to be close to yours once more. May your journey home be safe and quick, darling.

Always yours,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

P.S. I think I may have this letter framed simply for your drawings. You should teach an art class!

text reads: gale dekarios

[sparkys-ec-corner]

Ca n you please feed me some(and by that i mean like 500)( jk) headcannons for h&g(and arte and pollo, ney, lemy...)

*cracks knuckles* i hope you don't mind me rambling about my kids hehe

DISCLAIMER: personally, i don't consider the events of oss novels as 100% true to the canon timeline (much less my hc timeline, aka in which amostia is part of the salmhofer family) since many things there blatantly contradict facts present in songs, which i associate to Court End. i'd like to make this clear as some h&g hcs contradict events from the novels and to not confuse anyone. with that in mind, let's continue.

HANSEL

a mama's boy, he's a cheerful and naive boy who's often dragged into his sister's pranks, not that he minds much unless he gets in trouble. he's anxious over his perceived stupidity, often thinking lowly of himself, and tries overcompensating for anything he sees as a mistake. he openly likes pleasing others and being praised.

eve taught him a spell to light up lamps using moonlight, which is what he used to light up his glass bottle and illuminate the path during the events of Tale of Abandonment in a Moonlit Night. he learns things better through practice and trial-and-error, with written lessons often stressing him out.

he thinks highly of gretel, usually letting her take the lead, though he takes very seriously when he's relayed on. he adores the mushroom stew eve makes. his handwriting is messy and barely legible, and he can read rather well. despite not liking adam as much as eve, he desperately seeks his approval and thus feels frustrated when he fails his lessons or irritates adam.

GRETEL

a papa's girl, she's a mischievous, "tough cookie" kind of person and a natural prankster. clever and cunning, she uses any knowledge she has to make plans and solve problems. she takes her role as the big sister very seriously, wanting to be the wise sister to hansel at all times; this leads her to neglect her own emotional needs, accumulate stress and freeze completely when she doesn't know what to do.

although she seeks adam's approval more than eve's, she has conflicting feelings for him due to adam's treatment towards hansel. despite knowing that eve isn't her birth mother, she still wants to be loved by her and usually plays pranks on eve the most as to call her attention. unlike hansel, her magic potential is seemingly either lower or more difficult to control.

gretel has a much sweeter tooth than hansel, though she tends to downplay it. she loves the cakes adam buys at the town nearby. her handwriting is stylized, having a round look with slightly exaggerated loops; compared to hansel's, it's more legible but only a bit. secretly, she doesn't believe that the gods help humans.

ARTE & POLLO

the twins were born in the tasan province, beelzenia. arte is a picky eater, prioritizing quality over quantity, while pollo eats anything as long as it's edible and not burnt or rotten, prioritizing quantity over quality. because of their lives prior to being servants to the conchita family, arte developed an aggressive behavior as a form of self-defense. she's also violently protective over pollo.

they shared a close link of twin telepathy, to the point they seemed to be a single entity, before being hired and the calmer environment allowing their individual personalities to florish once more. regardless, they had their moments where they spoke together or completed each other's sentences. arte's ribbon was a gift from pollo, and she treasures it more than anything she owns.

arte remembers bits and pieces of her previous life, which pollo doesn't. she also carried gretel's sweet tooth. pollo excels at baking while arte is terrible at it due to her impatience. pollo feels extremely uncomfortable at being called useless or stupid, though he doesn't know why. pollo could be both scarily observant and utterly oblivious, often at the same time in being right for the wrong reasons.

because he considered arte as a pillar in his life and loved banica as a sister, he disassociated after finding out that arte was eaten by banica, his brain diverging his attention to trivial topics such as who would be responsible for cooking from then on because to him, arte wouldn't "leave her chores unfinished".

their youthful appearances is a unknowing use of pollo's irregular powers, which halted only the visual development of their bodies while retaining the strength built up over the years. were pollo to become aware of it and stop this unconcious use, both he and arte would immediately age to their correct ages.

NEY

she felt that riliane and allen's faces were familiar in a way she couldn't describe, and was drawn to protect allen specifically for reasons she didn't understand, although neither was strong enough to overwrite her obsession with prim's approval. despite everything, she instinctively attempted to downplay as much damage as she could towards the lucifen twins, chartette and mariam as long as it didn't contradict her orders.

she felt incomplete due to being born without a hansel counterpart, which further fueled into her need for prim's attention.

LEMY

lemy can play flute from young age, and would often make duets with rin chan at the orphanage. he carried hansel's ease at learning in a practical way, hence why he learnt how to use a knife and kill people in a clown costume effectively so quickly. he loves rin chan's freckles, calling them a map of stars on her face; he was really sad when her face change got rid of her freckles. he gave rin chan his clockwork carriage so she would have something to remember him by.

deep down, he knew what he was doing was wrong, but continuously justified it because he didn't want to admit to himself that he was but a murderer. compared to his previous selves, lemy was the one who denied his reality the most.

[crookedherringcolorclod]

𝓕 : My muse’s handwriting. (Is it good, bad, difficult to decipher, do they prefer writing by hand or with the help of some form of machine, e.t.c.) 

❃ : My muse and social media. (If the muse is/would be on social media and why/why not, their general opinion on it, e.t.c.) 

✉  : My muse and others. (If they social and outgoing or more introverted, and why. If they prefer communicating with others face to face or in written form, e.t.c.). 

For Asa, Akemi, and my best girl Amaya

𝓕 : My muse’s handwriting.

Asa: would use cursive all the way, it’s more convenient in her opinion.

Akemi: writes in an odd mix of cursive and print, full of loops.

Amaya: writes in print, a little uneven here and there but still legible.

Here’s my handwriting skills for reference-

❃ : My muse and social media.

Asa

•Asa uses YouTube to look up some recipes that she could use to cook up nice meals. She finds it very convenient.

•She doesn’t really use her phone much other than calling up her sisters and message them to keep each other updated.

•Asa might have blasted some ambience music while she studies or sketched out whatever came to mind. No one has the right to complain because you either listen to jazz with the sound of rain pitter-pattering or Laito playing with his side bitches-

Akemi

•Akemi uses Pinterest, YouTube, and Instagram the most, mostly to look at fashion lookbooks and list down the dresses she wants, and calculate how much they would cost with the allowance that she saves up.

•She tends to watch people do their makeup, just so she can learn a thing or two about putting on a winged liner, how to maintain your wigs, etc. There are even a few music playlists filled with soothing music that she listens to. Mostly lofi or classical music.

•Akemi would even look at the cafes nearby and check the reviews before buying anything. She even invites Asa and Amaya to hang out inside the cafe and eat some pastries or drink boba or hot chocolate.

Amaya

•Amaya likes to use social media to watch animal videos to wind down after a long day of school. She finds herself smiling at the puppies, kittens, and ferrets online.

•She would even listen to story recaps about movies that she had watched with her sisters and the Sakamaki brothers while she works since she likes to have a bit of background noise.

•Akemi also likes to read books and fanfictions online. She would open her phone just to browse through titles before reading them. Although, there was one time she didn't read the tags and ended up reading smut by accident-🔞

✉  : My muse and others.

Asa

•Asa is quite well acquainted with a lot of people, she's not close with them on an emotional level but still casual enough to talk to them during lunch.

•She watches over the club members of the occult club whenever they decide to do any rituals whatsoever. There are already too many things going on because of the Sakamakis and it doesn't sound wise to let humans contact with the unknown.

•Other than that, she has a few classmates she talks to quite often, mostly about how they’re doing, what’s for lunch, just regular things you would hear from teenagers.

Akemi

•Akemi finds it hard to connect with people, especially in school. It’s no brainer that the Sakamakis are popular, which makes it harder for Akemi to make friends because people won’t stop whispering about her.

•This girl is only friends with the peeps in the theatre club. They were the only people other than her sisters that got to know Akemi for who she really is.

•Akemi is closer with the girls in the theatre club and they tend to do each other’s makeup, doodle out designs that they could use for their next play, and text each other.

Amaya

•Amaya is the most social among the triplets. Like, this girl is an absolute chatter bug to be around. Well, only to those that’s super close to her, that is.

•You can expect that Amaya would reach out to you if she wants you to be her friend. It depends if she can trust you and that you’re not using her as a way to try and flirt with her sisters-🙃

•Other than that, if you have enough of Amaya’s trust… you can borrow books from her. Just make sure not to leave a dog ear or any tears on the book. 👀👀👀

[codlark]

I don't often think about my dysgraphia, it's more or less something I've learned to cope with o the point I forget I'm coping. But I'm starting in person college and it's one my mind so I though I'd write a few things about it, such as what it is, and how it affects me personally, as there is seeming little about it that doesn't also mention dyslexia, dyscalculia, or dyspraxia.

The first major symptom of dysgraphia is poor fine motor control, typically this shows up as bad hand writing. For me, it also shows up as difficulty playing video games since my fingers can't always find the buttons, I was 18 when I could confidently find all four face buttons on a controller, even though I'd been gaming since I was 5, to say nothing of the gamecube controller. I can't draw well because my hand simply won't do what I tell it to do. When I was younger I wanted to play guitar but decided rather quickly that I would never be able to because of the hand shapes that are needed to play the chords, I have since embraced the electric bass but I still have issues with finger placement. Typing is a mixed bag, sometimes I have no issue, but other times my fingers will "get stuck" and keep trying to put the same letter in, or skip a letter. In the kitchen I found the best way to cut veggies evenly was quickly, because the quicker I go the further up my arm it moves, and shoulder movements aren't fine motor movements.

My hand writing is bad bad. I have about a half dozen different ways of drawing any given letter and can't always pick the one I want, this includes between upper and lower case. I couldn't make a lower case "j" on purpose to save my life until I was in my 20s. I don't always put letters in the right order and sometimes leave out letters. Sometimes letters will be different sizes. I over exaggerate my punctuation so that people can tell what it's supposed to be. Sometimes I use the wrong letter, or I make it wrong.

I can't think when I write by hand. It takes so much effort to write more than a few simple words that I can't think about what I'm writing and write at the same time. But I can type and think at the same time, which I don't get. Paradoxically, I can write and listen but not type and listen.

When I write, and to a lesser extant when I type, I want to go a word at a time, which is fine for smaller words. When I write or type a new word, it's a laborious process because I have to think about each letter as I make them.

And this has impacted me, a lot. In fourth grade my inability to write and think at the same time caused me to miss recess because I was stuck finishing tasks, although I'm sure the ADHD had a role in this. My mom still makes fun of my handwriting, which sucks. Her constant comments about whether or not my hand writing is legible has led me to be very insecure about it, so I try as hard as I can when I write something for other people.

While I was never formally diagnosed, I have more than a few evaluations that say that while my writing quality is at or above grade level, my hand writing is terrible. A notable one from age 10 says I write at a 6th grade level with 2nd grade hand writing. Below is an example of what it looks like now at age 31. It's a bit repetitive but that's what shows it best. Also, this is my first time writing dysgraphia by hand

As for how I cope with dysgraphia? I avoid writing by hand. I've written a fair amount of fiction, that you can find links to on my blog, and I haven't hand written any of it, it was all typed.

Anyway, I hope this post helps someone understand dysgraphia, or figure out that they have it. If there's any interest I can do one on speech cluttering and how I got over it.

[ielts24x7]

Your ability to communicate about typical everyday concerns is assessed by the IELTS General Writing Task 1.

You have 20 minutes to answer a question by composing a letter to either an individual person, a business, or a company.

You are expected to write at least 150 words with an addition of 10% maximum, hence ranging  150 words to 165 words.

Your response is scored separately from the Task 2 essay and is tested on four different criteria.

The content provided below contains study guides, expressions, test-taking tactics, example questions, sample letters, and references.

Utilize it frequently to monitor your advancement and you may get more bands than your desired band scores!

Tips for GT Task 1 Letter:

Read the Question Statement Carefully: It is extremely important to read the question and prompts given to you very carefully.

This is because in task 1 you are clearly instructed about what you are supposed to write. And in order to score more it is necessary that you answer accordingly and skip nothing.

Be Clear About the Tone of the Letter: Once you have read the question, you would certainly know who the letter is addressed to.

Here comes the role of the tone in writing your answer. The letter is basically divided into 3 parts:

Formal: Written to someone in authority, a person you are not acquainted with.

Semi-formal: Written to someone who you are acquainted with, but do not know much about personally.

Informal: Written to friends, family and relatives.

Based on whom the letter is for, the tone of the letter is set and writing accordingly affects the scores a lot!

Use a Proper Format for Writing a Letter: Although some don’t consider it to be of any importance, the format of your letter makes a lot of difference.

Every letter should have a clear starting and ending and paragraphs written in such a way that all prompts are covered and written in evident progression.

Use a formal sentence and paragraph to start a formal or semi-formal letter.  Get to the point and explain your motivation for writing. Since you don’t know the person you’re writing to, resist the urge to be cordial.

Begin an informal letter with a brief, welcoming paragraph. 

Before stating the purpose of your letter, first acknowledge your friendship. 

The opening sentence could be nothing more than a cordial small conversation irrelevant to the topic of your work, just like it is in real-life settings.

Improve your Knowledge of Lexical Resource: We employ a number of standardized idioms and phrases while writing letters in English.

These not only save the reader time and effort, but also help them get our message.

To these common phrases, you can add the specific information you want to convey.

Apart from these, there are a lot of general things that can help you score 7+ in Writing Task 1 like avoiding spelling mistakes, writing in a clear and legible handwriting, and completing the task on time.

To Check How the Writing Task 1 GT Letter is Marked, Click Here!

Now let’s check a Sample Letter GT Task 1 with Answer:

You should spend about 20 minutes on this task.

Write a letter to the manager of the HR department of a company requesting information about the interview that you attended but still waiting for results.

In your letter,

Describe the position you applied forW

Why you think the interview went well

Why you need the result of the interview

Write at least 150 words.

You do NOT need to write any addresses.

Begin your letter as follows:

Dear Sir or Madam, 

SAMPLE ANSWER:

Dear Sir,

I am writing this letter to seek information about the result of my interview conducted for the post of Junior Programmer last week.

I applied for the position with my expertise being in Java and my intuition is that the interview went quite well because I was able to quickly complete the technical round of the interview with a score of 100%. Apart from this, the person conducting my interview informed me that I was the most deserving candidate on that day as compared to others. 

I am eagerly awaiting the result of the interview because I have received another high-paying job offer from a competing firm a day after the interview and have to respond to it by the end of this week. However, since I find your company to be more professional, I would like to be a part of it. Nonetheless, if you deem me unsuitable for the post, I shall accept the other offer.

Kindly let me know the result of the interview as it is extremely important for my career.

Yours faithfully,

Pooja Khanna

[parchmentedpetrichor]

➳who cursed the bludger? ♡

in which the reader's dominant hand is injured badly after a rogue bludger slams into it and none other than fred weasley is behind it. who cursed the bludger?

fred weasley x fem!reader

word count: ± 2k

tw: serious injury, a little bit of swearing

drop a follow if you wanna see more of this content!!

my masterlist:D

ft. penny clearwater

who cursed the bludger?

y/n was currently draped lazily over her broomstick, haven given up trying to teach penelope clearwater how to fly. said prefect was on the grass, smirking as y/n embarrassedly looked around.

"penny that's not ok to ask!"

"fine, fine," she pondered for a moment, "hey, what's up with you and fred weasley, huh?"

"nothing at all," y/n answered a little too quick for penny's liking.

"c'mon, y/n, you're younger than me, i should know all that happens. you two are very...flirty."

"yeah well, my dear pennysylvania, we have flirty personalities. duh."

"no, you don't."

"okay, i don't. he does."

"but he seems like he means it."

"of course he means it? he says it in a joking way? y'know, he means it as a joke."

"hmm, nope, i don't think so, y/n. he's looking your way right now."

"i'm probably blocking the space, let's move outta the way."

"you're not gonna play with them?"

"already play in matches, why now? let's chat."

fred was silently eavesdropping on their conversation as he heard his name.

"sooo you and perceeee??" y/n dragged out, grinning as she did loop-do-loops with her broomstick.

penny blushed, but looked disappointed, "he likes oliver."

"oh. well, f percy, what about marcus??"

"he's just marcus. we're best friends, y/n."

"my fav trope of romance is best friends to lovers," y/n wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and penny shook her head in amusement.

"my one is the opposites attract."

"hmm yeah, that's a good one too, it's really cute! say, aren't you and mar-"

"i was meaning you!"

"huh?"

"you and fred."

fred smirked as he listened, flicking back the bludger harshly at angelina.

"oh yes because we are totally meant for each other," y/n sarcastically replied.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"yes."

"you're doing this on purpose!"

"hmm? what?"

"oh my goodness, merlin you're stupid bro!" penny said exasperatedly.

"and you just realised. congrats, penny."

"anyway, what i'm saying is you and fred are rather like opposites. although he's extroverted and you're extroverted, you're a cute little nerd," y/n huffed at this 'i am n o t a nerd for the last time!' "and he's a class clown in the most charming way. you like reading and he likes pranking people and quidditch. you're a goody two shoes, an adorable one, but he's this foolish jock," penny looked proud with her argument so y/n laughed, "you're modest and he's very confident. and you're both hot."

y/n smiled, "i am not hot!" she giggled, "that's stupid."

"oi, ange!" penny called to angelina who looked over at her in amusement.

"yeah?"

"is y/n hot?"

"oh, totally!" angelina casually threw the quaffle into the hoop, "10/10."

"guyyys you flatTer me," y/n stretched out as the three of them laughed, "i'm bLushIng."

"you actually are," angie quipped.

"it's a command thing. if she wants to blush, she'll blush," replied penny.

they burst into giggles again.

fred watched y/n. a rosy pink, sure enough, had spread across her cheeks. that was enough to get her blushing?

"oi, l/n!"

y/n's head snapped his way, her eyes narrowed as if expecting an insult being thrown her way.

"your lips are pretty!"

her form relaxed, "thanks! yours are too!!"

penny giggled as angie rolled around laughing.

"what?" y/n looked around.

"the way you return flirting is hilarious."

"a compliment for a compliment, isn't that what they say?"

angelina snorted, "no one says that."

"oh well i say it, so deal with it."

"hey, i have an idea!" penny brightened up.

"let's hear it!"

"let's teach y/n pick up lines, ange!"

"oh you're a genius, penny!"

"okay, so-"

a bludger came whizzing at y/n as she screamed, trying frantically to dodge it. it hit her hand and a crack was heard.

luckily she immediately hopped off calmly, taking out her wand shakily and stunning the bludger, before penny and angie helped her over to the hospital ward, fred lagging guiltily behind.

she was ordered to stay in bed rest and with drowsy eyes she drifted off.

fred watched her feeling so terrible as he saw her heavily bandaged hand, imagining how he was going to tell her that he was in fact the one that had charmed it.

the next day, she was out and about, gently cradling her hand which was broken.

"um, hey, y/n," he nervously approached her.

"oh, hello!"

"i might have jinxed the bludger to go wild," he confessed abruptly, "i'm really sorry i didn't mean to-"

"no, it's fine, really." she gave him a reassuring smile and walked off.

he noticed that she couldn't write in class. usually she was scribbling away, but she just sat awkwardly at her desk, trying frantically to get anything legible down with her non-dominant hand. the fact she was so courteous and forgiving about everything just made it worse.

by now, y/n was dying inside. she couldn't write notes, and even though she wanted to ask any willing person for a duplicate of their notes, she'd have to explain the whole broken hand thing.

"ange?"

"yep?"

"do you have history of magic notes?" y/n did puppy eyes.

"nope, you forgot i dropped out."

"oh."

"do you want mine?" fred asked, smirking as he looked y/n up and down.

"you take notes?!!!" y/n was shook.

"only for you, 'cause i felt bad."

"you didn't need to!"

"i did. you want them?"

"yes please, thank you so much, you're a lifesaver!!"

"you're acting like you're not the one the bludger hit," angie quipped and y/n frowned, completely forgetting fred was still there, browsing the notes.

"c'mon, it was just an accident. and i've always wanted to be ambidextrous."

"lovely, you were struggling. i'll take all your notes. my handwriting isn't neat but i owe you."

y/n ducked to hide the light blush she could not control at all.

immediately she got a confused look from fred.

and instantly she thought of something that might make the blush go away. he didn't mean it, it slipped out, she thought and she felt her face cooling down, a slight frown appearing on her face.

"o-okay, thanks fred."

"no problems, darling," he flirted.

"that's good, darling," she flirted graciously back, bravely tilting her head up and looking him in the eye.

he took it well.

"where did you learn how to flirt so well, my little love??"

"why, freddie," she joked flirtatiously, "from you of course!"

he coughed and excused himself.

"he should really be careful with who he's flirting mindlessly with," y/n rolled her eyes.

angelina laughed, "flirting mindlessly? do you see the way he looks at you?"

"personality," y/n stated simply.

"or not."

true to his word, notes in fred's flurry of handwriting appeared neatly stacked every day. they were far too thorough and consisted of stupid flirty notes by the side. sometimes a little note, written in class, was jammed in there probably by accident:

hello freddie!

i have a crush on you 0-o, hogsmeade at 7pm on sunday?

-jamie <3, boy who sits in front of you in arithmancy

jamie,

i already have my eye on someone :) not you, sorry, y/n cringed at the bluntness of his words

you are very nice, perhaps try trera rivera if you swing that way? or illinois ann if you swing all ways?

oh i'm so sorry, i didn't know that! i'll talk to both. was the gracious answer

-jamie

and again! the lucky boy! this time from a girl.

weasley-

i know we hate each other but give me a chance to explain myself? broom closet at 9 tomorrow ? it trailed off to something that y/n didn't even want to think about.

k.o

fuck off. i don't fucking like you, i like someone else, ffs.

was the reply as y/n laughed and made sure to give the note back to fred.

it wasn't everyday someone confessed to you, right?

she underlined all the words that simply weren't legible to ask fred about.

and aNOTHER ONE?? how did this boy have so many admirers? y/n had received 0 love letters from any boy, let alone people of the same gender. you knew you were good with the ladies (and the gentlemen) when everyone sent you these letters.

dearest frederick-

it droned quite sweetly on about him and loving him and the writing was really magnificent.

margaret perrer

hi marg

i'm really really sorry. you seem like such a nice person, and it's not you, it's me. i, however, have a friend who really adores you: kenneth. he'll be an amazing friend and maybe more.

i also already am interested in another girl, so it really isn't you. thank you for your beautiful letter, hopefully we can be friends!

fred

oh he was very nice. feeling like she had overstepped the boundaries, she put them aside, discovering more and more but putting them all in a stack. she felt slightly insecure, especially when they all looked relatively neW?? the perfume on the flowers still smelled fresh?? who was this guy?

she sighed, finishing her read through and being thoroughly impressed with the sheer quality of the notes.

but there were around 100 words she had underlined. she skipped down into the great hall where she spotted two gingers. as soon as one (she couldn't see which one) saw her, he got up, whispered to the other something, and left.

when she approached the one that was left behind, she saw it was george.

"hi georgie!" she greeted him and thrust the papers into his hand, "where's fred?"

george shrugs, "left, for a date or something."

"oh, okay, could you translate these for me, the underlined words?" if y/n was disappointed, she didn't show it.

"oh yeah, sure, his handwriting's rubbish, isn't it."

"yes it is, i can barely read half of it."

george finished scribbling words next to the underlined ones.

"oh! and give these back to him? i'm pretty sure he dropped them in, probably got mixed up." she gave him the pile of letters, now neatly bundled in rope she had found.

"oh, yeah sure," george smirked, "of course."

"nice, well that's it, thanks for the help!"

"anything else?"

"tell fred good luck."

"right, right, mhm."

"yea."

once she'd left, george took out his walkie talkie.

"got that, freddie?"

"crystal clear."

"you're pining, pffft, hahahahah," george smirked as fred sighed.

"it didn't even work?"

"which plan?"

"the one to drop the letters in."

"i'm pretty sure she read like two, she didn't seem that disappointed?"

"exactly."

"you're an idiot. just tell her."

"but that's boringggg."

"well drop the hints then, merlin fred you're terrible at this."

"i haven't dated a billion girls like you!"

"then learn how to date my goodness."

"true."

"come fucking back."

"hickies or no?"

"eh go for it. i wanna see her reaction and then we can decide whether she likes you or not."

fred strided handsomely in, neck littered with little hickies and his top had two buttons open, freckles and pale broad shoulders showing.

george rolled his eyes, muttering, "drama queen," as he subtlely watched y/n. she managed not to look so surprised, her eyes widening then looking down quickly at her hands.

he would have thought she felt nothing for his twin if a light pink had not dusted over her face and if angie had not nudged her with a concerned look on her face.

y/n was wondering what the hell happened, disappointment rising slowly in her.

"okay, she's into you," george whispered as fred began removing the spell, leaving the unbuttoned shirt unbuttoned.

"cool beans."

"oh and she gives these back," george smirked.

"oh look at how she bundled it! so adorable georgie!"

"you're disgusting."

y/n hurried to the library at 6pm. she had heard the book she had waited for was finally available.

as she settled down with it, a paper aeroplane hit her.

"ahh!" she screamed as she caught it.

it read:

forbidden forest, 8pm.

huh? was this meant for her? it was in neat handwriting and on the smoothest parchment, with a single flower that smelt like fresh rain.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Taking the Cake (Rated G)

Summary: When Aziraphale decides to host Warlock and Adam's 12th birthday down at his shop, he tells Crowley they'll be doing it without magic. That's all well and good until Crowley is called upon to finish decorating the cake... (1551 words)

Read on AO3.

“Ho there! Mmph... angel? Ngk... ” Crowley grunts, stuffing himself through one door of Aziraphale’s bookshop, the other holding stubbornly to its frame. He barely makes it through, lugging copious bags bulging with party gear, his long fingers curled around handles strained thin by the weight.

"In here, dear," Aziraphale replies, giving no indication that he's coming to help. Crowley picks an aisle and starts walking, navigating the narrow expanse between late 18th century classics and Roman philosophy. 

“I got everything on your list," Crowley says when he spots his husband. "Goodie bags, balloons, streamers, poppers… “ He pauses inventorying when he comes up behind Aziraphale, deeply engaged in the creation of a buttercream rosette.

By hand, no less. 

Aziraphale insisted they throw together this entire party like natives, and that meant no magic whatsoever. Crowley couldn’t understand why. Miracling together a party is literally a snap. They'd done it hundreds of times over the years. It's how they hosted their wedding. 

With a snap.

That did, however, create a mountain of paperwork, which led to Gabriel and his henchmen finding out about their shindig and showing up uninvited. Surprisingly, they didn't cause much in the way of trouble. They snickered a little, made a few snide remarks, but they mostly spent their time "observing" from a table in a far corner, mingling with no one as if above it all. 

Crowley tensed when they arrived, but having a few party crashers didn't go too badly... until the karaoke began. 

“Is that the cake then?”

“Yes. I’m almost done.“ Aziraphale pinches his tongue between his teeth, steadying his hand as he adds a peony this time.

"It's gorgeous," Crowley says in awe. "Truly stunning."

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says, glowing from his husband's praise.

"But... " 

Aziraphale's shoulders instantly go rigid. 

Crowley hates to do this to him. The cake really is a masterpiece of confectionary construction. But it needs to be said. "Warlock and Adam are turning twelve."

"And... ?" 

"Don't you think they might appreciate something a bit more... I don't know.... befitting of a pair of former antichrists? Like a zombie with bleeding eyes? Or a raven with sharp, pointy teeth?"

Aziraphale glares over his shoulder at Crowley as if insanity has finally set in. "Ravens don't have teeth!"

"I know! That's why it would be terrifying! Right up their alleys!"

Aziraphale shakes his head, going back to his peonies. "This is a birthday cake! Not a Halloween cake! Besides, I only know how to make flowers. Anything else would require magic, and you know how I feel about that. Besides, I'm certain they only care about the insides anyway, and it's crammed full of chocolate. I don't think they'll mind a crocus or two."

"Fair enough," Crowley concedes.

The clock in the corner chimes, and Aziraphale sighs. He looks over at it, then double-checks the time on his pocket watch. Crowley checks the time on his watch, too, although he doesn't know what for.

"Three o'clock," Aziraphale observes. "Damn."

"Wot's wrong?"

"I’m afraid I’m running a bit behind.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Crowley asks, piling his sacks on a nearby chair.

“As a matter of fact, I have to pop out for a few," Aziraphale says, handing Crowley the piping bag, "but this cake needs one final touch.”

“And that is?” Crowley holds the bag between his fingers the way he would a dead rat, wary that he might be called upon to construct the same delicate flowers Aziraphale has. Without his magic, Crowley doesn't have anything near Aziraphale's talent with icing. 

Warlock and Adam may just get a gruesome cake after all.  

“I just need it to say 'Happy Birthday Warlock and Adam'.” Aziraphale bustles about, grabbing his coat off the tree and throwing it on. “The handwriting doesn't need to be immaculate, just legible. Could you do that for me?”

“Pfft. No problem," Crowley says, secretly perceiving a problem. "Piece of… “ 

Aziraphale stops on his way out the door to give his husband an exasperated look. Crowley snickers. 

“Well, you know,” Crowley finishes, shooing Aziraphale out the door. "Ta-ta now. Mind how you go."

***

"Damned antique dealers and their damned negotiations! Ignorant bast---" Aziraphale stops short of cursing. It doesn't matter what happened, which was extremely upsetting. There is no need for bad language. He hurries down the crowded sidewalk, going over the details of the past hour-and-thirty in his head. "I was doing them a favor, and look how I'm repaid! I'm late to the party I'm hosting! There's a fine how-do-you-do! Ungrateful humans! See if I stop another Apocalypse for you, in your tacky grey suits and your cheap pointy shoes... "

Aziraphale stomps up to his door, keys in hand, but stops outside when he hears laughter on the other side. He peeks through the dusty glass, and his shoulders sag. 

The party is for the kids. He knows. But he was so looking forward to celebrating with everyone from start to finish. That and he didn't think he'd take this long, so he neglected to relocate his first editions somewhere secure. 

He fears for their safety.

Icing is notoriously difficult to get out of parchment and ligament, even through the use of miracles.

He should have never taken that stupid meeting to begin with. He had a feeling it wouldn't pan out.

Oh well. 

No need wasting any more time on that than already has, he thinks, bucking up and unlocking the door. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and start celebrating while I still have the chance...

Aziraphale takes a step in, ready to announce his arrival, but stops dead when he hears jazzy scatting in a sonorous voice. 

A voice that doesn’t belong to anyone he knows.

Aziraphale walks in further, scanning those gathered, and makes a minor correction to his original assessment - doesn’t belong to any human that he knows. His eyes blow wide, his cheeks burn red, and his husband's name explodes off his tongue before he even opens his mouth.

"Anthony J. Crowley-Fell!"

Aziraphale doesn't say anything other than his name and Crowley starts apologizing. "I'm sorry, angel!" he says, running across the shop to greet him, but not looking the least bit sorry. 

"I gave you one task!" Aziraphale bellows, snapping his fingers and slamming the door shut, his no-magic edict flying out the window. "Just one little thing! And you couldn't do it!"

"I'm no good at writing!" Crowley defends with the shadows of an infuriating grin on his face. "My hand gets all wobbly! I didn't want to risk ruining any of your lovely flowers!"

Aziraphale, splotchy-faced and buggy-eyed, glowers. "You couldn't write a simple Happy Birthday, so you enchanted the entire cake!? That was your brilliant plan!?"

"I'm a demon! Of course, that was my plan!"

"Crowley!"

"They showed up right after you left! I had no time! I panicked!"

Aziraphale drops his head into his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth. Crowley reaches out to put a comforting hand on his husband's shoulder until he hears him counting backward from one hundred... in Akkadian. Then he creeps his hand to his side and quietly steps off. 

Aziraphale breathes in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, struggling to ground himself. He has no one to blame but himself. That's the painful part. In the back of his mind, he knew something like this might happen. 

He's impressed it isn't worse. 

He should have never left his husband alone.

Next time, he'll hire a sitter.

Aziraphale continues counting, continues breathing, and as he does, he pays more attention to the goings-on around him.

The cake singing is quite unsettling, but the children are gleeful, the adults joyful. Joking, teasing, and enthusiastic conversation fill the spaces in between. 

Much like their wedding reception, except there isn't an archangel in sight. 

And Crowley's magic was instrumental in making that day memorable.

Maybe Aziraphale overreacted with that 'no magic' rule. Crowley's face fell when Aziraphale told him they'd be hosting the boys' birthday at his bookshop sans magic, but he'd recovered quickly. The streamers and balloons Crowley managed to toss on the walls look plenty festive, but they don't compare to what could have been had Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tap into his imagination.

Their guests are having a grand time despite the modest decor, but it could have been so much more. They are an angel and a demon! Between the pair of them, they could have whipped up a true spectacle, if for no other reason than they still owe poor Warlock after last year's fiasco. 

What would have been the harm of calling upon a little divine intervention? 

An alarming thought pops into Aziraphale's brain, and his head snaps up. “They’re going to cut into that, you know. Is that when the enchantment ends?”

“Nope.” Crowley rubs his palms together. “That’s when the fun begins.”

"Uh... "Aziraphale's jaw drops. "Good Lord," he moans, Crowley cackling when Adam runs to fetch the cake cutter. Aziraphale's mind whirls with thoughts of what fun could imply, but there's no time to ask. While Crowley starts laying a drop cloth, Aziraphale puts his coat away and relocates his favorite books into his back room for safekeeping.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - John Watson x Reader - Better Late Than Never - Words: 2,679

A/N: This was the prompt: Reader went to med school with John, she liked him but never told him so. John gets deployed and they lose contact. A few years later they meet again because of a case.

"C'mon, Y/N," John laughed. "If you don't study for the test tomorrow, I won't give you the ice cream I bought!" 

"Is it Death By Chocolate?" You replied, raising your head only slightly from it's spot on the floor. 

"Maybe," He replied with a smirk. The two of you were in your dorm, trying to study for the quarter finals. You were in your 6th and final year of med school. You'd met about halfway through your 2nd year and had instantly become close friends. Small displays of affection were normal between the two of you, the type that best friends would share without giving a second thought. John didn't have a clue, but you had developed quite the crush on him. You never told him, though, for fear of messing up the one good friendship you had. 

"John!" You groaned, dramatically sprawling out further on the carpet. "I think my brain has died." You had been trying to remember everything you'd studied and were coming up blank. 

"Hm, I'm studying to be a doctor, not a coroner, but I would say time of death was somewhere between 6 years ago and now," He teased, leaning over you from his nearby perch on your futon. Pretending to be mad, you threw your foot up and kicked his leg. 

"You git!" You exclaimed with a grin.

"Oi!" He replied, dramatically tumbling to the floor next to you. You both lost yourselves in a fit of giggles. You stopped laughing and just stared at him when your brain caught up with your eyes and you had one of your "moments". He looked so happy lying there next to you, laughing his head off. His hair was a mess, his jumper had gotten abit twisted and was creeping up his torso, and his eyes were bright with tears of laughter. "You ok, Y/N?" He asked when he noticed you had stopped laughing. 

"Yeah, just thinking," You replied quickly. 

"Ok, as long as it's nothing serious," He said. "Really, if anything is bothering you, you can talk to me. You've been zoning out more often recently so," He looked away, a bit embarrassed. "I was worried."

"I'm fine, John," You replied, not having the guts to tell him what was really on your mind. 

About a year later, only 3 months after graduation, John called you. You still kept in touch, although you lived in different cities now, and your feelings hadn't changed. John had dated a few different girls but nothing ever worked out. You, though? You had gone on one date but left halfway through when the guy wouldn't shut up about himself and asked if you were splitting the check. John had told you he had applied at a small clinic near his apartment so you assumed his call was to update you on that. "Hey!" You said, picking up immediately.

"Uh, hey, Y/N," He said, sounding fairly upset. "Look, I," He sighed. "You remember that I enlisted a few months ago?"

"Yes," You replied, a lump forming in your throat. 

"I've just gotten my deployment letter. They're sending me to Afghanistan. I leave this Friday." Silent tears streamed down your face and you found yourself unable to reply. "Y/N? Are you still there?" He asked.

"Yeah," You choked out. "Yeah, I'm still here, John. I, well, I guess I should wish you well then." You pinched the bridge of your nose and breathed deeply, trying to get ahold of yourself. 

"Look, I know you're not a fan of the military but can't you at least congratulate me? This is something I wanted after all."

"Is it? Is it really?" You nearly yelled. "You didn't sound all that cheery two minutes ago when I picked up the phone! Besides, how could I congratulate you when all I can see is you getting blown to bits out there!"

"Sorry," He replied immediately. "That, that wasn't fair of me to ask." You both were silent for a moment before John spoke up again. "I'll write." 

"Not with that handwriting you won't, " You replied, falling back into your regular banter. 

"I'll try to make it legible for you," He promised. You nodded, though he couldn't see you, and started crying again.

"Alright," You said. "Can I drive over Friday and see you off?" 

"Best not," He said. "I think it's better for both of us, yeah?" You reluctantly agreed. The two of you chatted for a few more minutes before saying goodbye. Shaking off the foreboding feeling that had settled on you, you continued with your day and started planning your first letter to him. 

The first few weeks went well, his letters arriving regularly on Friday's without fail. Then one week it came on Monday instead, the next on Wednesday, and soon two weeks passed without a letter. When you finally received it, he said that they had gotten to a point where it was getting harder and harder to safely send a receive mail. He asked for you to stop all letters and promised to find you again when, or if, he got home. That night you wrote him one final letter but, of course, never sent it. You were determined to move on with life now but you promised yourself to never forget him.

"Good morning, Molly," You said walking into the hospital with her. You'd moved to London and gotten a job at St. Bart's, working in the outpatient clinic. A few weeks after starting there, you'd met Molly while on break. You exchanged numbers and started meeting in the cafeteria if you both had breaks at the same time. In time you met Sherlock. What an experience that had been. He immediately deduced which department you worked in, how long you'd been there, where you went to college, when you went to college and he even figured out that you'd been in love with someone in uni and never got over them. Needless to say, you were impressed. Ever since then he texted you occasionally for confirmation on medical related hypotheses.

"Good morning, Y/N," Molly replied. 

"Have you heard from Sherlock recently? I haven't gotten any texts from him in the past few weeks." Molly chuckled and nodded. 

"I've heard from him. He has a new flatmate. A doctor too!" 

"Wow!" You replied. "Good for him! Let me know next time he comes by so I can meet him. I'd like to know who my replacement is," You teased. Molly giggled and you continued chatting as you walked over to the elevator. As the doors were about to close, you heard someone yell.

"Hold the lift!" You slammed the open doors button and Sherlock ran in. He nodded at you and you let go of the button. The doors started to slide closed again when another person called out.

"Sherlock!" You froze hearing that voice. You tried to get the doors in time but missed.

"Y/N?" Molly asked, worriedly. "Are you ok? You look like you've seen a ghost!" You nodded and leaned on the wall, trying to get yourself together. You decided to ride up to Molly's floor and see if Sherlock's friend came up on the next lift. Sherlock kept staring at you, confused, while you sat there waiting. A few minutes later, he came storming in the door. 

"Sherlock! What were you thinking? Why didn't you hold the lift for me? I had to wait for the next one which happened to-"

"John," You gasped, amazed that it actually was him standing in front of you. "John!" You exclaimed, jumping up and running over.

"Y/N!" He replied, a grin spreading on his face. His smile faltered quickly though. "I," He said. "I need to be going. I forgot I had an appointment. Yeah. That's it. I'll see you at the flat, Sherlock." John quickly limped out the door and off to the elevator.

"He's the one, isn't he?" Sherlock said after a few moments. You nodded sadly. 

"Why'd he run off like that?" You asked. 

"Well it's obvious he didn't have an appointment. That leaves two possible reasons for his lying. One he could be-"

"Oh shut up, Sherlock!" You cried. "I know why he left. I-" You cut yourself off, choking back a sob. "Just sod it all! I need to go to work. I'll see you at lunch, Molly." You ran off, down the hall and to the elevator. 

"Molly, I know that look in your eyes," Sherlock said once you'd left. "What are you planning?"

"The perfect set up. Now help me-"

"Molly," Sherlock interrupted her. "I may not understand a lot of things related to the topic of human relationships but I can tell you this, if either of us were to get involved, we may be maimed." Molly nodded in agreement.

Weeks went by and you worked harder than ever, taking extra shifts whenever you could. Your boss finally told you to take a week off to recharge. After much arguing, you relented and headed home for a week. Being alone all day, however, left your mind wandering. Thinking back to what might have been. To occupy your time, you decided to catch up with one of your good friends who lived nearby. You hadn't had the chance to hang out in some weeks but you texted each other every day. When you didn't hear from her yesterday, you worried but figured she probably was just tired. "Maybe she'll have some good advice for me," You told yourself. Knocking at her door, you checked your phone again to see if she had replied yet. Now you were really worried. You grabbed your spare key to her apartment and went in. 

"What do you want?" Sherlock said, answering his phone.

"Sherlock, it-it's Y/N. Can you," You paused, taking a shaky breath. "Can you come down here please? I need your help. Lestrade's already on his way."

"On my way," He replied, grabbing his coat and scarf. "What happened?" As you explained to him everything, he grabbed John's coat and tossed it to him. John was mildly confused of course, but went along. 

"I went in and found her in the bathroom," You told him. "I'm probably missing something obvious. I'm sorry," You cried.

"No, you're doing fine," Sherlock said genuinely. John looked at him surprised as they got into the cab, still not aware of who was on the other end of the call. "We'll be there in 7 minutes."

"We?" You asked. But Sherlock hung up before he answered. 

"Y/N?" Greg said, coming up behind you. "I hate to say this but, we're going to need a statement. Do you want to wait till Sherlock gets here?"

"No, it's alright. Let's get it over with." A few minutes later, you'd told Greg everything you knew and he'd gone inside with the others to investigate. A cab pulled up and Sherlock rushed out. "Sherlock!" You exclaimed running up to him. As you approached, you saw another person getting out of the cab. "Why did you bring him?" You hissed.

"He's my assistant, flatmate and, if I have deduced correctly, a friend of both of us," Sherlock said.

"Look, that was years ago, I don't even know if-" You started whisper-yelling. You got cut off though when John walked up. You noticed he was limping again. 

"John," Sherlock said. "I believe you're acquainted with Y/N. You're much better with people than I am," He stated briefly before going into the apartment.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," John said once Sherlock left. You nodded, sitting down on a nearby bench before your legs gave way from exhaustion. 

"She was a good friend of mine. I don't know what could have happened." John was quiet as he sat down next to you.

"Sherlock will figure it out. If anyone can, it's him," He finally said.

"That is for certain," You replied with a dry chuckle. "So how did you meet Sherlock?"

"Oh, well, you remember Mike Stamford?" 

"From uni? Yeah, I remember him."

"Well, he introduced me to Sherlock. We were both in need of a flatmate and he matched us up." John paused for a moment, brows furrowed. "That sounds much too much like a bad dating ad. Mike got us together."

"Nope, that's worse," You replied chuckling.

"You understand."

"I think so," You finally replied. "So," You paused. You were so desperate to ask him more but you weren't sure if this was the best time. "Oh, well, nevermind. Glad that worked out." You quieted again, staring off down the street. John looked at you for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Right, yes. So, what have you been up to?"

"Work. I got a job at St. Bart's about 2 years ago. That's how I met Molly and therefore Sherlock." You were silent for a moment before adding one more thing. "I've missed you, John."

"I've missed you too," He admitted. "I'm sorry I didn't write or call when I got back. I-" He sighed and absently rubbed at his leg. "I couldn't. I was scared, if I'm being honest."

"Why? What happened?"

"You know we got sent into a very dangerous area. That's why I had to stop writing to begin with. But then, well, I got shot."

"Your leg?" You asked since he had been limping and rubbing at it. 

"Ah, shoulder actually. The limp is psychosomatic. It comes and goes when I'm particularly worried or upset."

"Oh, I'm sorry," You said, not completely sure of what to say.

"I've been back in London for about a year. I looked you up actually. I found out you were working at Bart's. That's why I ran into Mike that day. I was in a park nearby, trying to work up the nerve to go and see you."

"Why didn't you?" You asked. He looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's ok. I should be honest." He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled nervously. "I was afraid of what you'd think of me. I didn't come back as some 'war hero'. I'm a washed up medic who can't even walk correctly."

"It's psychosomatic, right?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Sherlock says so."

Well then, you have nothing to fear." He looked at you questioningly. "You know I never cared about the military so I could honestly care less if you came back known as some 'war hero' or not. You're not washed up, just look at you! Out here solving mysteries with the world's only Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes! And you can too walk right! You're just too scared to."

"I'm not so sure-" You interrupted him by leaning over and planting a kiss on his lips. Pulling away with a giggle you got up and ran a few feet away. 

"You'll have to come here to get another!" 

"Oh, you devil," He grinned. He got up and walked over to you quickly, picking you up, spinning you around and giving you another kiss. You laughed happily and leaned on his shoulder. 

"See? You did just fine!" 

"I suppose I did, didn't I?" He chuckled. 

"Oh, John," You giggled. "I should have told you a long time ago. I love you, John Watson." He smiled from ear to ear.

"I love you too, Y/N L/N. But a crime scene isn't really the best place to do this at."

"Why not? We giggle at murders all the time?" Sherlock suddenly butted in.

"How long have you been standing there?" John yelled.

"Well," Greg suddenly said, a few feet away and holding up his phone. "This video is already 4 minutes long, so," He trailed off.

"John," You said, not taking your eyes off the two other men.

"Yes, love?" He asked as you reached for his hand.

"Let's get 'em." You then spent the rest of the afternoon chasing Sherlock and Greg around the neighborhood, enjoying their girly shrieks, until Mycroft showed up and put a stop to it. Later that evening, you and John were enjoying some Chinese takeaway back at your apartment.

"I really can't apologize enough for leaving you in the dark, Y/N," John said. "I should have written," He chided himself.

"It's alright, John," You assured him. "Actually, you just reminded me of something. Wait here a moment." You ran off to your room and pulled an envelope out of a small box in your desk. You returned to the living room and held it out to John. "This is for you. It was my last letter but," You paused, blushing lightly. "I never mailed it."

My Dear Captain Watson,

I hope you're doing well. I hope you're staying safe and helping as many as you can. I hope -

Oh what am I writing. John, there's something you should know and I wish I could tell you in person but better now than never I suppose.

I love you.

There. Feel free to never write me back again or return this with a 'Dear John' letter. Well, you know what I mean. I wish I could have said it better or sooner but I was scared to lose your friendship. Now I'm more scared of actually losing you.

John, please return safely. Even if we never speak again. The world should not be without John Watson.

All my love,

Y/N

"Y/N," John said, tears in his eyes after reading your letter. "Why didn't you send it?"

"Well, you had asked me not to write anymore since it was dangerous and," You paused, shaking your head sadly. "I chickened out again."

"Well, I guess what they say is true then." You looked at him quizzically as he pulled you close to him and leaned his forehead on yours. "Better late than never."

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Quasi-Confession

Alastor visits @hiss-and-vinegar Sir Pentious in the boiler room and then shit hits the fans.

Listen. Some of y’all are following for the relationship drama, right? For the soap opera action? That good good telenovela shit? This is the thread you want to read. This is the thread you’ve been waiting for. It’s got what you want. It’s got what you crave. It’s got this:

Sir Pentious moves back, out of the way suddenly, staring at Alastor like he's a different person. Was this even possible? He.... "ARE YOU IN LOVE WITH ME, ALASSSTOR???"

Brace yourselves for an emotional roller coaster.

Sir Pentious

Local snake is waiting in the boiler room, which is still pretty difficult to navigate. Watch your head, you might bump it on a pipe or cable. Or some slab of metal. Sir Pentious has an easy time moving around in here, CLEARLY you are just clumsy. He's flicking about on his phone, sending another message to Alastor to let him know where he can be found.

He sends his usual tophat :3 emoji along with it.

Alastor

It’s mere seconds before Alastor replies with a “���� ✔️✔️✔️” and only a few more seconds after that before he’s arrived, knocking on the door before letting himself in with a cheery “Hello~!”

He COULD have just teleported straight into the room rather than in front of the door. But he remembers how that went for his double. He’s not risking it.

Sir Pentious

Ah! There's that familiar radio voice. Penny's head swivels towards the source and he leans back against a workbench, flicking his tongue as he waves to the deerman.

"GREETINGSSSS, ALASSSTOR! GIVE ME YOUR HAND! OH, AND, I WANT TO SSSSEEE THE MUG, AS WELL."

Alastor

"Of course!" He offers over the travel mug with stacked layers of unhappy sinners depicting the rings of hell printed around it. "All of Hell, just for you, as well deserved. And mercifully free of any sad excuses for watered-down tea."

Although he was briefly tempted to fill it with hot water and claim it was one-second tea.

“Left or right?” He holds out both hands anyway, Sir Pentious can take whichever one he wants. (Also check out that bling on his left wrist. He’s got that watch Sir Pentious stole for him.) “You know I’m always eager to lend a hand, but I didn’t think it was going to be so literal!”

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious reaches over to take the mug, purrrrring as he looks it over. It is absolutely just a travel mug, but it was an offering! He is going to put it on his workbench.

Oh, and he does notice that watch! A large toothy grin spreads upon his face, and he takes hold of Alastor's left hand. That's more common for rings, isn't it?

The ring from Valera is clearly visible on his own hand. It shines in the warmth of the boiler room's lights.

Sir Pentious adjusts those multiple lensed glasses of his to get more accurate measurements, careful yet at the same time, rough. He squeezed at finger joints and pinched skin... He could be taking measurements for all kinds of things at this rate.

"GOOD TO SSEE YOU'RE GETTING USE OUT OF THE WATCH, ALASSSTOR! HAS IT HELPED YOU?"

Alastor

He got a horrible rasping cobra purr! He'd steal every tacky gimmicky mug from every cheesy souvenir shop in Pentagram City if he thought they'd earn him more purrs. (He didn't *buy* the mug, obviously.)

“Yes indeed!” He’s enjoyed admiring it. And listening to it tick. Sometimes he even checks the time with it, although he’s generally got a razor sharp internal clock. A big help. “And quite a handsome accessory it’s made, too! But then I knew I could trust your sense of style.”

He tries not to get overly lost in the sensation of his hand being manipulated. Those were such PRECISE measurements... By this point he has no idea what in the world Sir Pentious needs these measurements for, but considering the quantity he’s taking... After a moment of hesitation, Alastor asks, “How precise do these measurements need to be? Would taking my glove off help?”

Sir Pentious

The question stirs him, and Pentious tilts his head in thought. "WELL, NO... I CAN BUILD ANYTHING *UPON* YOUR GLOVE." There's that grin again, "I'VE NEVER SEEN YOU WITHOUT THEM! IT WOULD BE *INVASIVE*, WOULD IT NOT?"

Alastor

What in the world is he building? Alastor’s current best guess is a weapon. Some kind of mechanical robot glove. Something that needs fairly precise but not skintight dimensions. “It would only be invasive if you *demanded.* I’m freely volunteering it! But, no, I wouldn’t take my gloves off around just anyone.”

Sir Pentious

Tongue flick. Once. Twice. Sir Pentious takes the other hand, checking for any inconsistencies.

"UNLESS YOUR HANDS ARE GROTESQUE IN SSSSOME WAY, I NEED NOT SSSEE THEM! MY CURIOUSSSITY ISS NOT PIQUED!"

Is it weird to offer that? He's going to think on it idly later.

Alastor

“They’re shockingly normal,” he reassures him. “So if your measurements don’t need to be that precise, there’s no need for it!”

He’s not quite sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Relieved, probably. He said it wouldn’t be invasive, but in truth he would feel more than a little exposed with his ungloved hand in someone’s grip.

Sir Pentious

He finally seems to finish up, and Penny scribbles down all the measurements he'd taken, with a barely legible scrawl. This was not the writing he used for letters, this was definitely his engineering scrawl.

"THERE WE ARE!! ALL FINISHED!!" Prr prr prr prr, "WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO NOW?"

Alastor

He’s studying Sir Pentious’s handwriting off and on as he scribbles, until he stops writing and Alastor focuses directly on his face as he speaks.

Oh—happy sounds. Alastor automatically echoes them in pulses of static. “Well—a fine question! What’s there to do down here?” He glances around the boiler room... then settles his gaze on Sir Pentious’s throat. “How about you give me that bow tie you promised me weeks ago, hm?”

Sir Pentious

Oh the eyes on his neck get a squint out of him, but the words that follow are more reassuring.

"OH, THAT OLD THING? I'D NEARLY FORGOTTEN."

Luckily he kept a bunch of random things in his jacket, and he began to fish around for it, "YOU SURE ARE GOOD AT REMINDING ME ABOUT THINGSSSS THAT HAPPENED WEEKSSSS AGO, ALASSSTOR."

Alastor

He opens his mouth to snark back—something about *having a working memory*—before he realizes Sir Pentious is referring to Alastor’s referring to Broadway. His mouth shuts with a click of his teeth like a dial turning off. “Hm.”

Sir Pentious

He's right, Sir Pentious' working memory is generally tied to the immediacy and things that pissed him off. The serpent continues digging around before he retrieves his old bowtie, holding up the accessory and looking at the yellow pendent in the center. He holds it up as if he were dangling a piece of meat, "HERE YOU ARE, OLD CHAP. THISSS ISS WHAT YOU ARE SSSEEKING, ISS IT NOT?"

Alastor

He feels a little bit like a dog being prompted to beg for a morsel. “If that’s what you’re offering!” He holds out his hand, palm up, for Sir Pentious to drop the bow tie in. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that if he tries to grab it, Sir Pentious is going to jerk it back.

Sir Pentious

*He would be right because Penny is that bitch.* But instead he drops it down into Alastor's waiting hand, "I HAVEN'T WORN IT SINCE I REMOVED IT WHEN I PUT ON YOURS. BUT I HAVE KEPT IT WITH ME, SSO! SSTILL WARM. NYA HA!" That's a weird thing to say. He won't think on it anymore.

Alastor

Alastor won’t think on it either. Which is to say, he will think on it A WHOLE LOT, RIGHT NOW, just not on the implications of the fact that Sir Pentious felt the need to point it out.

He tugs off his current bow tie with a flourish and slides the new one in place. “I’ll have to start wearing a little yellow so it doesn’t look out of place.” As he ties the bow tie, he casts a critical gaze down at his red-on-red-with-red-trim outfit, looking for something he can switch out or somewhere he can accessorize.

Sir Pentious

He's wearing a lot of yellow and black himself, so the red bowtie does have a bit of an out of place look, but to Sir Pentious, it was the prize that mattered. He had something of Alastor's, and those who were in the know would be able to recognize that much. A symbol, a victory, perhaps. Spoils and all that.

"A LITTLE YELLOW WOULD SUIT NICELY! MIGHT I SUGGEST A BLACK COAT WITH YELLOW PINTRIPES? NOT THAT YOU COULD SSSTEAL MY LOOK IF YOU TRIED! YOU'D NEED MORE EYESSS FOR THAT."

Alastor

He’s not quite so bold to ask if Sir Pentious has any old coats he’s willing to hand off—although the thought crosses his mind. “Ha! And look like one of your minions? Not if you don’t plan on hiring me full time.” He finishes with the bow and drops his hands, tipping up his chin to show it off. “Am I straight?”

Sir Pentious

A SHARP laugh, and Sir Pentious gestures to Alastor fondly. "NOT AT *ALL.* BUT YES, YOU LOOK FINE!! VERY STRIKING."

Alastor

He blinks a moment as he tries to work out why he’s being laughed at; then huffs. All right, fair enough. “Good to hear!” He stows away his recently-removed bow tie in the collection he’s been carrying around in his pocket.

Sir Pentious

What a shit eating grin from Pentious, who leans in suddenly VERY close to Alastor, much larger than the twig of a man.

"YOU MAKE IT SSOUND LIKE YOU'D ENJOY WORKING FOR ME! BEING BOSSED BY BETTERSSS? NYA HAHA, I MEAN THAT *AFFECTIONATELY*, OF COURSE. YOU'RE NO SSSTRATEGIST."

Alastor

He doesn’t lean back an inch. He just tips his head back, smiling up at Sir Pentious. “I don’t have betters.” And for a moment, his smile is very menacing. There are ways of teasing he’s fine with. That’s not one of them.

But the moment passes. It was, after all, intended affectionately. “However, I also don’t have ambitions! Not any more glamorous than entertaining myself. And I won’t lie, I’ve never found better entertainment than assisting with someone else’s grand ambitions. The drama! The pathos! It’s why I’m here, after all!” He gestures vaguely above them, indicating the hotel.

Sir Pentious

While others might realize their teasing fell flat, Sir Pentious remained in that competitive space, looking over The Radio Demon's wide, dangerous grin. He was no stranger to danger, not at all. Though Alastor did not consider him a rival, Sir Pentious couldn't help the sheer thrill he felt from the possibility of the two at one another's throats. Part of being in Hell, you know.

He follows Alastor's vague gesturing and makes a face, "YES, WELL, EVERYBODY KNOWS YOU DON'T ACTUALLY *CARE* ABOUT THE BETTERMENT OF *SSS*SINNERS. YOU ARE ALWAYS IN IT FOR YOUR OWN ENTERTAINMENT. BUT IF YOU WORK FOR ME, A MAN OF YOUR POWER, I WOULD PREFER IT IF YOU *DID* CARE ABOUT WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO!" Though he doesn't get too uppity about it, preferring instead to adjust his bowtie, "YOU'VE PUT IN A LOT OF EFFORT TO HELP ME WITH MY AIRSHIP, SO, I SHOULD HOPE IT ISSSSN'T A LONG CONFUSING GAME."

Alastor

A game? At that, Alastor draws back a little. He still thinks—? Well, of course, still. Of course still. It’s only been a few months. He’s going to be proving himself for years. He’s going to be proving himself for DECADES. “Oh, I get most of my entertainment from schadenfreude, that much is true—but with the hotel, I’m hoping to get my schadenfreude by watching it crash and burn. Around YOU, I get my schadenfreude from all the people you’ll be crushing on the way up.” A dark smile—almost a conspiratorial one, as if they’re discussing secret plans rather than goals that Sir Pentious regularly announces at top volume. “There’s very little interesting about man challenging the devil and losing—it’s what everyone expects, isn’t it? It’s the inevitable, the status quo. I can watch an overlord fail at that any day of the week. But man OVERTHROWING the devil—a mere mortal, rising up from the mud, becoming something greater than one of the very celestial powers that govern the universe—now THAT, that IS a show worth seeing! I want to see hubris rewarded!”

His eyes are glowing brighter as he leans closer to Sir Pentious. “And all of us who are so strong because of our postmortem superpowers, we dealmakers and bargainers—I don’t think any of us stand a chance. We’re just borrowing a measure of the power of infernal demons and fallen angels. A moon can’t outshine the sun whose light it’s reflecting. The only one who can do it must be a master of the one completely human power of creation: invention. It’s you or nobody. And ‘nobody’ is a terribly boring story.”

Sir Pentious

Their faces are practically together, these weird old men. His hood floops outward, and he stares at Alastor with all of his glowing red eyes. Menacing man. Sir Pentious cannot hold back the shrill cackle of glee that escapes his throat. "OF COURSE, YOU ARE CORRECT, ALASSSTOR! I BROUGHT INNOVATION TO THIS INFERNAL CESSPOOL-- EVERYTHING THAT I HAVE, THAT I AM, I BUILT IT MYSSSSELF, I WORKED FOR IT!!! THEY WILL ALL REGRET LAUGHING AT ME ONCE MY FACE IS *EVERYWHERE.*"

He loved to be praised, so much. Look at him preening again, it gave color to his patterns and his ego hungered for more. Power coursed through his veins at the mere thought of being better than everyone else. His blood would taste sweet with ambition.

Alastor

“If one knows where to look, in one way or another your influence is visible in every building down here. You’ve already shaped Hell! Anyone who doesn’t recognize that is an idiot!” And that kind of technological prowess MATTERS to Alastor, whatever the TV/satellite/computer/Internet bozos think to the contrary. He lived a life on the technological cutting edge. “Once your face is everywhere, if you command it, they won’t be AROUND to regret it anymore.”

And oh, he can’t wait to see it.

In the meantime, seeing Sir Pentious with his ego freshly fluffed is nearly as good a sight. For a moment Alastor swears Sir Pentious looks more *vivid.* Alastor has to force himself to lean back before he does something stupid.

Sir Pentious

He's polishing his talons on his suit, then admiring them as if they were freshly painted. Sir Pentious *purrs*, looking over to Alastor without turning his head, and all of his eyes follow suit.

"MM. YOU KNOW JUSSST WHAT TO SSSAY. I'VE MISSED HAVING YOU AROUND, MY FRIEND."

Alastor

“I’ve missed *being* around.” There’s an edge of desperation to his tone before he reels it back in. Professional charismatic radio host voice. “Everyone else down here is so boring. You can’t imagine!”

Sir Pentious

"HA!" He wiggles his talons as he begins to slither around, over and under various pipes and cables, maneuvering his lengthy body with ease and fluidity. "OH, I ASSURE YOU, I CAN! I HAVE BEEN HERE MUCH LONGER THAN YOU, ALASSSTOR. THERE WAS A TIME I USED TO BE EAGER TO ENCOUNTER NEW ARRIVALS, TO SSSEE HOW THE WORLD HAD CHANGED AS TIME WENT ON, BUT THEY BECAME SSO MUCH MORE **BORING**. TRUE CLASS AND SSTYLE HASS BEEN LOSST TO THE LIVING WORLD, YOU UNDERSTAND."

Alastor

"True enough! Everything's so... *cheap* these days." He watches Sir Pentious slither around. "Somebody's got to show these sinners some proper class and style. And if you want something done right..."

Sir Pentious

Glowing eyes in shadows, anywhere that's not lit up by the extra lights Sir Pentious has added. It's a stark contrast from light to shadow, and he beams, coming up behind Alastor, though carefully. He doesn't touch him, "YOU NEED ONLY LOOK TO SSSIR PENTIOUS! HA!!"

Alastor

He glances back over his shoulder without turning, beaming back just as brightly. "And truer words were never said."

Sir Pentious

Just two guys being dudes.

"ALASSSTOR, IT REALLY IS INTERESTING THAT YOU DON'T WANT *MORE.* YOU REALLY COULD HAVE IT ALL... OH, BUT THEN WE REALLY WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO CHAT LIKE THIS, EH? WHAT A SHAME! CAN'T HAVE THAT."

Alastor

“Can’t have that!” He turns to lean back against a table so he can see Sir Pentious directly again. “I COULD, but I don’t WANT it all. I’m an entertainer, not a... a mad scientist warrior king. YOU could have a stupendous career as a circus contortionist, but I doubt you’d be any more content with that than I would be stuck on a throne making tedious decisions about infernal infrastructure and Hellish cabinet posts. I don’t want subjects—I want an audience.”

His smile twitches toward a grimace. He mutters, “I wouldn’t mind more of *that*—but I certainly wouldn’t get it as a conqueror.”

Sir Pentious

"WELL, I COULD GET YOU AN AUDIENCE! ONCE I'VE TAKEN THIS EMPIRE FOR MYSELF, THERE SHALL NOT BE ANY EMPTY SEATS TO WORRY ABOUT!" He beams, spreading out his arms, "AND THEN! OH, WELL, WE'D HAVE TO CHANGE THINGS UP EVERY FEW YEARS, SO IT DOESN'T BECOME BORING."

Alastor

"Would you?" Alastor brightens again. "I mean, I know you COULD do that, no doubt there—but would you really?"

Sir Pentious

Look at him smiling. He's smiling so much at Alastor. "WHY, OF COURSE! IF WE ARE WORKING *TOGETHER*, THEN I HAVE NO ISSUE WITH THAT. IT WILL BE *FUN* WATCHING WHATEVER YOU DO TO THEM!"

He flicks his talons this way and that, slithering through the pipe maze again. *Enrichment.*

Alastor

His eyes glitter at the thought of it. A captive audience, provided by no less a personage than the ruler of Hell. True, he’d rather his audience listen to him out of adoration rather than fear—he’s an entertainer, after all!—but they can work out the details later. He was adored before. All he needs is to be listened to again, to be given a chance to prove himself, and he’ll be adored again. He’s sure of it.

“I’m counting that as a promise!” Oh, he’s excited just as the THOUGHT of it. He taps a foot on the floor as some bouncy Harlem stride plays in the background under his words. “If you’re irritated now at me for remembering things you did weeks ago, you’re going to hate me when I remind you about this promise in a few years! Ha!”

Sir Pentious

A cackle from the rafters as Sir Pentious slithers around up there.. He finally hangs upside down in front of Alastor with that large familiar grin.

"OH, I AM CERTAIN I WON'T HEAR THE END OF IT! BUT I CANNOT IGNORE THAT YOU HAVE *HELPED* ME. I DISLIKE BEING INDEBTED TO ANYONE, BUT I CANNOT PRETEND OTHERWISE!"

He tips his hat, which is miraculously staying on his head.

"I DO NOT SHAKE HANDS WITH YOU, BUT I COULD PUT IT IN WRITING."

Alastor

“Oh, that’s entirely unnecessary!” Pause. “But I’d love it if you did!” He scoops up the nearest blank-looking piece of paper and a pen, steps sideways into an unexpectedly large shadow, and somehow emerges from it next to Sir Pentious, standing upside-down on the ceiling next to him. “So it’s to be a formal agreement, then, is it!”

He looks all dramatic standing there upside-down for a grand total of three seconds, before his clothing remembers gravity and the tail of his coat fwoofs down to dangle around his head.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious watches him standing upside down, and he smirks, waving a dismissive hand. "A *PROPER* CONTRACT, ALASSSTOR. I AM A BUSINESSMAN! NO BLANK PAPERSSS HERE. I DIDN'T RUN MY FACTORIESSSS ON BLANK PAPERSSS."

Alastor

“Well, you need a blank paper in order to write the contract on it, don’t you?” He offers over the paper and pen, go on.

Sir Pentious

"I CAN'T WRITE THAT *HERE*, AL! WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR??" He huffs, "I WON'T FORGET, AND IF I DO, YOU WILL REMIND ME!"

Alastor

"Not if you're going to get on my case about reminding you." He drops the pen and paper. The paper flutters slowly down to the ground. "It was a nice sentiment, all the same."

Sir Pentious

Oh look at Alastor getting huffy. Sir Pentious frowns, slithering down to retrieve the paper and pen, "DON'T THROW A *FIT*, I AM NOT GETTING ON YOUR *CASE.* I SAID WHAT I MEANT! YOU WILL REMIND ME, I AM COUNTING ON YOU."

Alastor

Only very lightly huffy; and more for the drama of it than anything else. Still, the idea of being *counted on* makes him perk up. Doesn't that sound all official.

He melts back into the shadows to reappear again next to Sir Pentious. "Then I guess I'll just have to pester you about it sometime!"

Sir Pentious

"YESSS, THAT ISS THE POINT. I HAVE A LOT OF THINGSS TO KEEP TRACK OF. ONCE I AM PROPERLY IN MY AIRSHIP, AND IT ISS OFF THE GROUND, I WILL SET UP THE CONTRACT AND TYPE IT UP ALL NICE. SCRIBBLING IT DOWN ON SSOME BLANK PAPER HARDLY BEFITSSS A HELLISH GENTLEMAN SSUCH AS MYSELF." He gestures to Alastor's suit, "YOU MIGHT ENJOY A PATCHWORK SSTYLE, BUT I DO NOT! NONE OF THAT 'MAKE DO' ATTITUDE, SSSIR."

Alastor

"I happen to like handwritten legal documents! It makes them feel important. Like the Declaration of Independence." He pauses and thinks that over. "That doesn't carry much weight with you, does it? All right, typewritten it is! But I expect to see a draft before you ask me to sign. I have to make sure the terms are equitable, after all."

Sir Pentious

He leans all close to Alastor again.

"OH? EQUITABLE HOW SSSSO? WORRIED I'LL SSSIGN YOU INTO FORCED LABOR, ALASSSTOR?"

Alastor

"Worried you'll let me off too easy," he says dryly. "What if you do something like say you're going to do this big favor for me on the basis of our current friendship and my prior services rendered? What about future services? What if I never do anything else for you ever again, but this contract still holds you to helping me out? No no no, I won't stand for it! You're offering me an enormous favor, my friend, and I intend to earn it properly!"

Sir Pentious

... Oh. Usually people were expecting Sir Pentious to be the one to pull the rug out from others--this was something he... Somehow didn't see coming at all! Alastor wanted to make sure that he was held to the right standards. Don't mind Sir Pentious, he's just going to be having Feelings over here, looking away. Friend...

"YES, WELL. GOOD! THEN. IT WOULD BE A BIG MISSSSTAKE TO TRY TO MAKE ME LOOK THE FOOL, ALASSSTOR!"

Alastor

"I wouldn't dream of it!" He hesitates; then decides, well, all right, as long as he's saying friendly things already—and knowing Sir Pentious keeps asking for directness—

"Truth be told," he says, casually examining his claws like he's only half paying attention to what he says, "if I ever offered to shake with you on something—and I know you've already said you'll never shake with me, that's fine, but IF I did—that's what would be on the line. No souls. Just an unbreakable guarantee that I can't—betray you." He leaves off the *again* and adds a shrug, like it's no big deal. "I don't think you'll ever want to shake even under those conditions. But, all the same, I thought I'd let you know! Since you keep bringing it up like you think I'm just waiting for some clever opportunity to trick you out of your soul!"

Sir Pentious

There's a sound in his ears, like *ringing.* Sir Pentious could swear he could feel his heart pounding in his ears but only briefly. What was *that* sensation? Generally, he felt aches in his chest like that with Valera when she said something *particularly* caring...but this was Alastor. This was probably just another example of a good friend, and what good friends do. Good friends don't betray one another! Yes, of course.

But he couldn't let it go that easily, his brow creased as he looked the deerman all over. "*WHY?*" It was extremely likely that this Alastor had betrayed the Pentious of his own Hell before. Penny was certain every Al was guilty of that at this point... But why try SO hard? Why be so afraid of angering him? Could guilt alone be such a driving force? It felt like there was a very obvious piece of a puzzle missing to him.

"WHY ARE YOU... WHY DO YOU CARE *SO* MUCH?"

Alastor

"Because you're thirty-three percent of my circle of friends—and the only one of them I viciously, violently backstabbed!" He laughs shortly, and his stomach twists and churns as they delve back into that topic that he always feels lurking just under everything they say.

"I don't know how bad things went in your universe, but here—I... it's no exaggeration to say you might well have been ruling Pentagram City by now—maybe more—if not for me. And if we're going to be friends again, we—I know you still don't trust me fully. You can't. You shouldn't! *I* know I'm not going to betray you again, but am I just supposed to say 'take my word for it'?

"On the other hand, a bargain that means I can't betray you is *cheap* for me—in fact, it's *absolutely free*—because all I'm doing is promising not to do something I wasn't going to do anyway! But for you, why—it would give you a little reassurance without your needing to trust me a lick more! And if it costs me nothing but gives you that much... Speaking as a professional dealmaker, that's a bargain if I've ever heard one."

Sir Pentious

Well, that settled that, didn't it! For friendship. Alastor said it himself! And he made quite a big deal (pardon the pun) of it too. He always talked so much, you'd hardly want for a conversation with him around.

.... Except. That feeling gave Sir Pentious some *concern*. It was still lingering, not as strongly but it was there. He's thinking over something the talkative deerman had said...

".... NOT *ME.* I WAS BETRAYED, YES, AN ALASTOR BETRAYED A SIR PENTIOUS, INDEED.... BUT IT WASN'T *ME*." That was something that had always stuck around, lingered in the pit of his own long intestines. The serpent wrung his hands together, unconscious of his own idle fidgeting.

"IF THE ONLY REASON WE ARE FRIENDSSSS ISSS BECAUSE OF *RESIDUAL* GUILT, ISSNT THAT BOUND TO FAIL, TOO?"

Alastor

He shrugs and nods, granted, yes; they’ve both been content to treat each other as substitutes, even though each knows the other is different. Haven’t they?

But he doesn’t get a chance to address that before a question demands his full attention. “*No!*” The question horrifies him enough that he takes a step closer to Sir Pentious, hands half raised, like he’s bracing to try to stop him from swinging around a knife. “No no no, I—w—if I was motivated by avoiding guilt, then I’d be avoiding *you!* I’ve felt more guilt in the last two months than I have in the last twenty years! No. We’re friends because I *want* your friendship.”

He lets out a rattled laugh. “And you can see how well I’m proving that! I try to reassure you, it makes you worry about something else, now I have to re-reassure you.” He gestures between the two of them. “*This* is why I’m trying so hard. Because I can’t quite get it right yet.” He holds up a finger. “*Yet.*”

Sir Pentious

He's startled by the other's sudden movement, and his hood opens up. Alastor's insistence, that earnest way of speaking. It made that feeling even *stronger.*

He almost expected Alastor to grab his hand, but that didn't happen. Sir Pentious rubbed at his arm.... He's feeling guilty, too. For being so paranoid, skeptical. *Afraid.* It was a lot to think about.

"YET..." He looks away. "... I. AM SORRY, THAT I AM. LIKE THIS."

Alastor

Alastor blinks, then leans back against a work table again. Taking in the apology, turning it over in his mind. It feels like needles lining the inside of his ribs, stabbing when he tries to inhale. “For—for what, a little healthy suspicion? I didn’t get you and you didn’t get got by me, but—your suspicion is more than justified. I don’t hold it against you.” The corner of his mouth twitches weakly. “I’m amazed you’re giving me a chance at all.”

Sir Pentious

A little healthy suspicion? Sir Pentious makes a face, digging his talons into his arm further, scratching now.

"IT *ISN'T* HEALTHY, THOUGH. IS IT." This was a.... Decidedly more vulnerable topic, but this was the boiler room. No one came down here anymore, not since Penny set up shop.

"I AM NOT HEALTHY, NOT IN THE LEAST."

Alastor

Alastor tenses as he sees Sir Pentious’s talons tighten on his arm. He wants to reach out. Instead he just grips the edge of the table with both hands, claws digging into the bottom of it.

“If I were the one in your sh...” No shoes. “... If I were standing where you are? I would never so much as *speak* to a Radio Demon again. No matter what dimension he’s from or what promises he makes. So... I know you've said your mind is unhealthy, but *that suspicion*, I don’t think *that's* unhealthy.” He leans a little closer, not quite getting off the table. “If *you* think it is, I won’t know how unless you tell me.”

(He’s dimly aware that the radio distortion modulating his voice has been ebbing and flowing like waves on a beach—but like the tide going out, steadily declining. He can’t remember the last time he spoke so plainly for more than a sentence or two.)

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious doesn't lean back this time, but he's scrunching up more. His skull is *abuzz* with activity, and what feels like pressure on his brain.

".... YOU WOULDN'T, AND YET, WHEN I BECOME SSSO SSSKEPTICAL, I CAN... *FEEL* LIKE I'VE FAILED. IT TURNSSS ME AGAINSSSST THE ONES I." Love. "THE ONES THAT ARE IMPORTANT TO ME. AND I." Lose them.

He can't even finish his sentence, dragging his talons down his arm, a grounding technique that was more self punishing than helpful.

Alastor

Alastor automatically guesses what the first word left unsaid is. His heart leaps into his throat. He swallows it back down; the word isn’t meant for him.

He can’t watch that clawing anymore. “Maybe I can’t help—I think I’d make a poor alienist—and I can’t speak for everyone else important to you” (he feels daring just including himself on that list) “but, for what it’s worth... I’m hard to break and harder to scare off.” He’s gonna. Just. Carefully reach out, and put a hand on Sir Pentious’s wrist. Hi, can he take that? He’ll even let Sir Pentious claw up his arm instead if he wants. It’s fine if not, he’ll just wait and see.

Sir Pentious

The second his wrist is taken, Sir Pentious' eyes widen *considerably.* There's that rush in his chest, a dull *aching.* The puzzle piece was just out of reach, he could *feel* it.

He doesn't even fight it, even as his mind screams at him, *you failure, you absolute failure, look at you! Might as well offer your neck for the chopping block, you miserable failure.* He *winces*, though it isn't at Alastor. Stressed out tongue flicks, he's having a hard time maintaining eye contact.

".... YOU. PROMISE. YOU HAVE TO *PROMISE* ME THAT YOU WILL NOT... LEAVE." With every second that passes, it is like an eternity of ache in his chest. Similar to when Valera held his hands, rubbed them and spoke to him so softly. Grounding him.

Alastor

Alastor flinches when Sir Pentious winces, but Sir Pentious isn't pulling back, so Alastor isn't either.

"I promise." His voice is so blatantly, embarrassingly human. "I promise that I won't leave." He'd seal it in magic if Sir Pentious would let him. Instead, he just squeezes a little more firmly. "I'm your friend and your ally. I promise."

Sir Pentious

*But why?*

Why did Valera have so much patience? Why did Alastor not hate him? By all rights, he should infuriate them, but instead, they always reached out to him...!

... His eyes snap open wider than ever, and he feels like the last puzzle piece slips into place.

       "ALASSSTOR. ARE YOU...?" OH, boy. He wants to be wrong, right now, more than ever, he wants to be wrong. If he *isn't* wrong, then... All of those moments, all of those playful snuggles and schemes.... Well they weren't just friendly, were they?

He's looking very pale, suddenly, a grit teeth sort of look. He's realized it. The reason why he stuck around was the same as a Valera's.

*Love.*

Alastor

Something went wrong. He can see it. "What?" What did he do? What did he say? Was it—?

Is his hand too close to Sir Pentious's? He jerks his hand back. "Sorry! I'm sorry, that was—It's a unilateral promise, not a bargain, I wasn't trying to shake on it."

In his heart he knows that's not the problem. But he can't see what the problem is—unless it's the worst.

He hopes it's not the worst.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious moves back, out of the way suddenly, staring at Alastor like he's a different person.

Was this even *possible?* He.... "ARE YOU IN *LOVE* WITH ME, ALASSSTOR???" Even if the deer said no, Pentious wasn't sure he'd believe him this time. Everything they did together, the way Alastor had warmed up to him, sooner than most others ever would consider...!

He liked him *like that.* And Sir Pentious, lonely Sir Pentious, had never questioned it.

Alastor

His stomach lurches. What did he say wrong? What pushed it over the line? He tries to deny it but all that squeezes out of his throat is static. After months spent trying to reassure Sir Pentious that he DOES value him, that he IS his friend, that he would NEVER betray him again... denying the accusation now would be too much a rejection of everything he's tried to prove.

He sinks down on a bench. He didn't say anything wrong. He said what Sir Pentious needed to hear him say. This was unavoidable.

He tries to give the same response he did to Valera—*no, I'm not; just with someone who looks the same*—but words catch in his throat as he suddenly realizes they're not true anymore. He knows this Sir Pentious too well to still see him the same as his own; but that's done nothing to break his fever. *Damn it.* He twists his hands together and stares down at them, defeated.

Just a few minutes ago, they were...

But Sir Pentious is never going to touch his hands like that again.

Sir Pentious

Of all the things Sir Pentious had expected to come out of this meeting, he couldn't have predicted that Alastor, the Radio Demon, was in love with him. This explained *everything...* Eager for friendship? Wanting so desperately to be around him, to not anger him, to spend as much time as possible?

Love was the *only* answer that made sense. Friendship was difficult enough with the serpent, but love! Oh, this was so much to process. He could only stare down at the deerman. For once, for *once* in his entire unlife, he'd never seen the other so *silent.* Unable to speak, unable to say a thing. Static choking up from his throat, and Sir Pentious found his hands at his own, remembering how it felt to be unable to speak. What to even feel? What could he feel?

Shouldn't he be laughing right now? Feeling so *powerful* for being the object of *Alastor's* affections? This should be making him feel unstoppable, but instead it felt like daggers plunged into his back, dragging down. Every breath wrung with *pain.* Sir Pentious' teeth grit, and he glared, flexing his talons out toward Alastor.

"I LET YOU *TOUCH* ME, I THOUGHT WE WERE *FRIENDSSS*, BUT YOU WERE JUSSSST USING ME, WEREN'T YOU!?" There it was--that hatred for himself bubbling up, paranoia clawing its way out of his throat, "YOU SSSSAY YOU WANTED TO BE MY FRIEND, BUT YOU WERE TRYING TO--  YOU JUSSSssT WANTED--" Wanted what? Alastor hadn't *lied,* he just hadn't been forthcoming. But here, Sir Pentious felt wave after wave of feelings that he couldn't describe. Why did he feel so *betrayed?* "FROM WHENCE DID IT **BEGIN???** HAVE YOU ALWAYSSS BEEN LUSssssTING AFTER ME!? I AM *ENGAGED*, ALASSSTOR!"

He was starting to be so cruel, and he could taste his own venom on his tongue now. Why did it matter this much?

Alastor

He can already see how this is going to end: with Sir Pentious throwing Alastor out of his afterlife completely; with Alastor alone again; with Alastor having merely been taunted for two months with the hope of getting back the best friend he's ever had, before being rewarded for his audacity in daring to think he'd found a cross-dimensional loophole around his rightful punishment for his betrayal.

He can save them both time by apologizing for inconveniencing Sir Pentious, walking out the door, and never coming back.

"I'm sorry." Start there. But he can't let go. (Isn't that the whole problem?) And he can't be the one to turn his back on Sir Pentious. If Sir Pentious throws him out, so be it—but this time, at least, it's going to be for the truth, not for what Alastor leaves Sir Pentious to assume. "For—for what little it's worth—lust never factored into it. And I never—I do—we *are* friends. I've never thought otherwise. I'm not trying to come between you and your fiancée. I've always—I've tried to let you take the lead, to... to decide when and how to touch—*because* we're friends, I—it was your right to set the limits."

Sir Pentious

*For what little it’s worth … we are friends.*

   These few words were enough to send stabs of agony through his chest, and Sir Pentious wasn’t much for subtlety. His eyes widened again, and he clutched at where his black heart ought to be. He shouldn’t be feeling enraged, betrayed at all! He shouldn’t be! *Penley, you idiot, what are you doing? So obsessed with yourself, you’re making this all about you, too. Looking for reasons to be alone again, aren’t you?*

   But it DID hurt. It *did* hurt. There was something here, something that hurt beyond all measure–if Alastor truly wanted to be his friend, if Alastor, of all damned sinners in this inferno of suffering, truly loved him… wasn’t that a lie? It wasn’t him that he loved, it was… a different man. The same man, but different.

   Rage wet his eyes, and he brought up a sleeve to wipe at them–*no*, do not *cry* in front of ~~*your enemies*~~ *anyone else* you damned old fool. Least of all The Radio Demon! Do you want to get laughed at???

              *He wouldn’t laugh at me. He is my friend.*

             *HE IS NOT* YOUR *FRIEND. YOU ARE A* SUBSTITUTE.

   With that wicked quickness the King Cobra is known for, Sir Pentious closes the gap between them, his hood flared out as he bares those yellow fangs of his, “DON’T **FUCK** WITH ME, YOU BASTARD! HOW COULD I SET LIMITS WHEN I THOUGHT ALL IT WAS WAS SSOMETHING WITHOUT SSSUCH FEELINGSSS INVOLVED!? THOUGHT YOU COULD GET A LAUGH OUT OF ME, THE LONELY INVENTOR!!! I WAS JUSSST A SSSSSUBSSSTITUTE FOR YOUR SSSSERPENT. IF YOU HADN’T **FUCKED THINGSSS UP** BACK THEN, THEN WE’D NEVER HAVE BECOME FRIENDSS!!!!”

   Oh, he was going for the jugular now. All of that pain was coming out now! And though he’d wiped his eyes, the tears brimming were unmistakable. Lonely Sir Pentious was crying.

Alastor

Alastor leans back when Sir Pentious looms over him, gripping the edge of the bench as he fights down the automatic instinct to defend himself.

*If you hadn't fucked things up*—He flinches like he was slapped. Sir Pentious is right. He's right, and Alastor knows it, and they're the same words he's told himself for the past fifty-four years; but they hurt so much more in that voice. They hurt so much more seeing the fury and pain and tears in Sir Pentious's eyes. The last time he saw Sir Pentious like that, it was among the ruins of his flagship, begging Alastor to explain why he'd just destroyed everything they'd worked for.

And yet, Sir Pentious is *wrong.* "You—think I've been laughing at you?!" He lets out a high, nervous, hysterical laugh—NO that is the EXACT WRONG PANIC REACTION for this situation—he claps a hand over his mouth with the sound of a radio dial firmly clicking off and just shakes his head *no* until he's sure he can control his voice.

"Maybe we wouldn't have met—and maybe you started out as a substitute for mine, but—you aren't now! I know you, not well enough, but well enough to see that the things I value in him *do* exist in you, and where you differ, I value you on your own merits! And if mine slithered in right this second, said all was forgiven, invited me onto his airship, and promised everything I've ever wanted—it would hurt to leave! I'd *miss* the picnics, sitting around watching ASMR videos, sparring with you, figuring out how to cook for you—even how you *breathe.*" He's digging himself the deepest grave Hell's ever seen. At least let Sir Pentious hate him for the right reasons.

Sir Pentious

That was most assuredly the worst possible panic reaction, and it would have ruined whatever it was Alastor was trying to do here–had he not continued. Sir Pentious stared, watching him explain himself, watching him dig a hole so deep he might as well have ended up in Heaven after all.

   Perhaps that hole would have made Penny hate him more, but instead… he felt his chest ache further, and he grabbed at his hood, *pulling* it *harshly* to compensate for the pain, to try to keep himself grounded. Alastor was listing off things about him, things that he and Al had done together. Things that were somehow special between the two of them.

   Picnics and silly little videos and making ridiculous jokes about things nobody else would care about nor have reference for. Alastor had been the closest in years for someone that Sir Pentious could have related to—he wanted so badly for that companionship, that *understanding* with another demon in Hell who *really understood him.* And now, more than ever, he really had it.

   Valera would often list things that Penny did, talked about how much she loved him. The way he is always making some kind of sound, his mannerisms for talking, the way he cares so deeply for her… Every time she’d do so, he could feel his chest swell with such love and passion. It was always too much for him to handle in those moments… words always failed him, he could think of naught to say except “Thank you”, which scraped the bare minimum of how he felt about her.

And Alastor… he had begun to do it, too. It was obvious now, to Sir Pentious, that Alastor had since stopped talking about things that likely *any* Genius Inventor Supervillain had done, and rather had began to talk *specifically* about him. It made him feel seen in ways only Valera had made him feel before.

        They *loved* him, and he *hated* himself.

             One hundred and fifty years of self loathing

        was having a difficult time combatting all of this **love.**

   Sir Pentious leaned back, and attempted to speak–he pointed a finger at Alastor, fangs bared as he prepared to let loose into another barrage of insults, of *cutting* words… only to find himself *unable* to speak.

   He tried again, and again, to no avail with each attempt. Here he was, forcibly speechless, as panic began to steal him away. His eyes widened further, and he began to scratch at his throat, *furiously ashamed* with this total failure he was showing himself to be. *How pitiful, Sir Pentious. And you wonder why █████ left you. You can never be counted on when you’re needed most.*

Alastor

It's a barbed wire-wrapped sword through his heart when Sir Pentious's expression of fury melts into panic and he starts clawing at his own throat.

"No, oh no." He automatically reaches up, grabs Sir Pentious's hands, and pulls them down. His hands feel like they're holding red hot irons.

"*I'm sorry.* I shouldn't touch you. But I'm not letting you hurt yourself on my account." It's the first time this whole conversation he's felt like he sounds like himself, albeit an unusually serious version of himself. "If you need someone to claw up, let it be me."

Acid blood, Sir Pentious had called it; brain-storms, they were called in Alastor's time—temporary bouts of madness brought on by distress too great for a rational human mind to endure. And Alastor is the one who pushed Sir Pentious into this one. His mind races as he tries to figure out how to fix his damage. (Stupid question. He doesn't fix it. He knows that. Didn't he himself tell Sir Pentious he's better at knocking things down than setting them back up? Didn't Sir Pentious call him a wrecking ball?)

Sir Pentious

They might as *well* have been red hot irons–Sir Pentious’ eyes were glowing brightly, wide as they were. At this proximity, Alastor would be able to feel the tremor running under that grip–He tried so hard to mask it, but he was trembling from the intensity of his emotions.

   Still, that *smile.* It wasn’t quite as strong as he knew Alastor was capable of, but the fact he could see it at all cut him to ribbons on the inside. Sir Pentious, in his haze of self loathing and fear of being a joke, took that smile as confirmation despite Alastor only saying the opposite. How many times must he say it before you *believe* him, Penny?

   So close now, and he could easily pull away–but instead, he sought to cause pain. This was his way of coping, and he always managed to hurt the ones he cared about. Why should now be any different? He had bitten Valera when he was like a feral beast, and here he would tear Alastor apart in just the way he wanted. After all, he *offered.*

   His hood flaring out and a monstrous *hiss* escaping his throat, Sir Pentious lunged his head forward, burying his fangs into the base of Alastor’s neck, right where it met the shoulder. He easily penetrated the flesh, sinking in to the gums as his eyes carried *madness.*  Not only had he bitten him, but it was the same place he’d bitten him before, two months ago.

Alastor

He gasps in with an awful feedback noise, pain shooting across his neck and over his shoulder. On some level, he isn't surprised. On some level, he realizes, he was hoping for this.

He doesn't know if Sir Pentious intends it as his forgiveness, his penance, or his punishment.

And between the pain and the uncertainty and the knowledge that even though it's agony he's still not worthy of it—he finally breaks. He bursts into noisy, crackling sobs, his voice hardly audible under the distortion, shaking so hard he might not be able to sit up if Sir Pentious himself wasn't inadvertently holding him up by the shoulder.

"I'm sorry!" He clings desperately to Sir Pentious, he can't stop himself. He's talking fast, words spilling out, trying to get it all out before Sir Pentious stops listening to him for good. "*I'm sorry.* I know you hate how I feel, I hate it too. I'd shut it off if I could! It's why I ruined everything and *ran*, because I'm a *coward* and I was *afraid* of what love would make me—I was afraid of being *this.* I'm sorry you have to put up with it too!"

One hand curls clawlike into Sir Pentious's lapels to pull him closer and his fangs deeper. This is going to be the last time. He has to make it hurt. "I wish it—I *wish* it could have been something good for you. I'd fantasized about confessing someday—when you needed proof of my loyalty, I could have made some—some grand gesture—"here, here's your proof, here's how you know I'll never betray you!" Even if you don't reciprocate, I'd hoped you could—could draw strength from it! Here's one more person who esteems you so highly! Here's one more more person who would give you Heaven and Hell! Here's one more person who would do anything to see you happy and triumphant! But I can't even do that much for you, I—I'm so *sorry*—"

He can't get any more out. His last few words break up like a signal in a tunnel, and all he's left with is wordless sobbing and shaking.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious had a chance now, to spill his venom into Alastor. He had a chance to watch him *writhe* in physical agony to match the swirling intensity that the serpent felt inside. But it was clear, from the way the deerman broke so suddenly in his jaws, that Penny realized there was no need.

   Alastor was *shattered* in a way that Penny had never, ever seen him. Never heard him. This man, who carried himself with such superiority and class, now a broken, sobbing ruin of a demon clung to the hellish gentleman’s body. He wasn’t goading him, he wasn’t boasting. He wasn’t destroying everything he’d built only to run off or laugh in his face.

   He was just… miserable. And it was misery that Sir Pentious could not enjoy… it reminded him of his own wretched wailing when Valera had been there to hold him, too. Suddenly, Alastor stopped being The Radio Demon to Sir Pentious, and had become something else.

      *Al. My best friend. You’re not so bad, you old bastard.*

   But he wasn’t in the right mind to forgive him, just yet. Forgiveness… what a laughable thing for a *demon* to consider. He pulled his teeth from Alastor’s neck, staring him hard in the face as tears of his own ran down his cheeks. That horrid smile of Alastor’s, twisted with intense sadness…

   “Ssstop *sssmiling*, you imbecile.”

   He brings his hands up, grabbing at Alastor’s face with both of them, and *forcing* the corners of that mad grin down, to the best of his ability, even if his talons pinched that face. Once he was done with that, he’d return the hug, tightly, his tail slowly wrapping up the other as the most grounding thing he could think of. Emotional intimacy was not his strong suit, but Valera had taught him some things, too.

   “… JUSSST… BREATHE… AT THE SAME TIME AS ME. FOLLOW *MY* LEAD.”

Alastor

He can't meet Sir Pentious's gaze; he squeezes his eyes shut automatically. And immediately opens them again when Sir Pentious touches his face. He's distantly surprised to be told he *is* still smiling. He can't feel it at all. The crumbling remains of his smile collapse effortlessly under Sir Pentious's hands and he bites his lower lip, the corners of his mouth twitching like he doesn't know what to do with them when they aren't twisted up.

Why is he being *held*? He doesn't deserve this. But he leans into it, eyes shutting again, face pressed to Sir Pentious's shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his back. He can feel Sir Pentious's chest rising and falling with each breath—it's the most reassuring feeling, the most reassuring sound in the world. He can breathe. He can do that.

His shuddering reduces, his sobs slowly stop. He isn't sure if he's still crying or if it's just the old tears clinging to his face. But he's breathing. And he's—god, how did this happen?—he's exactly where he's wanted to be for the last fifty-four years.

He croaks, "If you're planning to exterminate me, please make it now." Cue the world's tinniest laugh track.

Sir Pentious

Satan himself, it actually worked. He managed to… calm Alastor down. He’d done exactly what Valera had done for him before, and… well, he sold himself short, now didn’t he? He’d calmed down Valera before, too. Maybe he didn’t destroy everything he touched. Maybe… he was good at maintaining his relationships, after all. Why, these two thought he was good enough to willingly be around, so… maybe he could give himself a chance, too.

    The love aspect that was added on… Pentious still wasn’t sure what to do with that. Could he handle knowing that Alastor loved him? That every action between the two of them had this tension? Or would it only have tension if he allowed it to? Sir Pentious bumped his forehead to Alastor’s, a little rougher than usual to at least show he was irritated…

    “YOU ARE OFF THE AIR. GIVE YOURSSSELF A BREAK.”

    He adjusts the deerman’s monocle, and straightens up his suit, before he reaches into his own suit jacket and pulls out a handkerchief. Penny moves to undo the neck portion of Alastor’s suit, so that he could place the handkerchief inside and on his shoulder–but he stops himself, instead just handing him the cloth.

    “…I AM ANGRY WITH YOU. I AM FRUSSSTRATED AND I DO NOT KNOW WHEN I WILL FEEL ABLE TO BE COMFORTABLE WITH YOU AGAIN. BUT I WILL WANT THISSSS HANDKERCHIEF BACK, DO YOU UNDERSSSTAND? SSSSO. DO NOT RUN AWAY FROM ME, ALASSSTOR. I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN IF YOU EVEN *THINK* ABOUT RUNNING AWAY FROM ME.”

    His own voice was hoarse, despite how loud it was, and he was clearly tired from crying and shouting. Sir Pentious looked thoroughly tired, as if he had been drinking and yet he’d had not a drop. Emotionally drained, and all out of spoons.

Alastor

Alastor is more than capable of tidying himself up, and under any other circumstances he *would,* irritably pushing off whoever dared try to fuss over him—but it's such a shock that *Sir Pentious* is doing it, and it's so *nice*, he just stands there in stunned silence, letting him.

He numbly takes the handkerchief, and for a moment stares blankly at it before figuring out what it's for. He quickly undoes his bow tie—his fingers twitch when he remembers whose it is—and then hastily undoes his collar and slides the handkerchief under.

"I can send it back this evening after I launder it." His voice is filtered through a radio again—Sir Pentious is wrong, he's *always* on air—with the crackles and pops like an old phonogram record complimenting the hoarseness of his own voice. He looks down to avoid meeting Sir Pentious's gaze, realizes that doesn't solve the problem, and glances to the side. "If you're trying to use the handkerchief to say that you see this ending some way other than never wanting to speak to me again... then be more direct."

A few members of the invisible studio audience weakly chuckle. Alastor waves them off with his free hand, muttering, "Shut *up,* not the time," then winces as the gesture makes his shoulder sting.

Sir Pentious

Ah, he was called out. It gets a frustrated look out of him, but… you know. That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d have said to Alastor, before. Sir Pentious folds his arms, flinching a little as the pain from having scratched at himself reminds him that it is still present.

    “… I DON’T WANT YOU TO RUN AWAY FROM ME, BECAUSE I WANT TO SSSEE YOU AGAIN, ON MY TERMSSS. BUT IF I SSEE YOU TOO SSOON… I MIGHT HATE YOU FOREVER.”

    A deep inhale, and slow exhale. Sir Pentious slowly unravels his tail from around the other demon, though it remains behind him in case he cannot stand on his own, “… I REQUIRE TIME TO PROCESS THISS, ALASSSTOR. PERHAPSS YOU ARE RIGHT, THAT I SHOULD NEVER WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU EVER AGAIN. BY ALL ACCOUNTSS, I OUGHT TO AGREE WITH THAT AND NEVER SSSPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!”

    His tail lashes with some irritability, and now it’s his turn to avoid any kind of eye contact. “… But. I sstill want to. I do not want you to leave. I have… *fun* when you are around. The kind of fun that I never had before… Because. I do not have friends. There are very few people who would want to be around me.”  Blast it he was rambling on again. He covers his face with a hand, grimacing as all he can taste on his tongue is Alastor’s blood. It made him dizzy with misery. “I will be on Okkylk. When I am ready to take back the handkerchief, I will pick it up in *person.*”

Alastor

He listens to the half-threats as stoically as he can with his smile missing—he feels naked and raw and exposed—and he fears that with his face twitching after every sentence, it's not nearly as stoic as he'd like to think.

His heart nearly leaps into his throat when Sir Pentious says he wants Alastor to stay—then plummets back down. It's not because it's Alastor's friendship, specifically, that he values; it's because he needs anyone's friendship, and Alastor's the one offering it. Piss-poor and putrid though it is. He already knew that, didn't he? Hadn't he said to Valera that Sir Pentious doesn't like Alastor—he just likes that Alastor likes him? He wishes he could bring anything more to the table than this desperate last resort friendship—but he shot any chances of that in the head decades ago.

He nods wearily. "You know where to find me. You won't hear a peep out of me until you come calling, barring emergencies—overheard assassination plots or the like."

Sir Pentious

How they hated themselves. If he'd known that Alastor had come to that conclusion, well... maybe he'd have said something else. But as it stood, right now, Sir Pentious was beyond exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to wrap himself up in his fiancee, to breathe her in and feel some form of comfort after all of *this*...

    It wasn't fair to think of it that way, he knew that Alastor was suffering, but what could he do? His cup was empty, and he could not pour from it. His eyes looked back up to see that pitiful expression, and... he gestured with his index talon--a smiley face. "... YOU CAN SSMILE AGAIN, ALASSTOR. YOU'RE NOT DRESSED WITHOUT IT." Ha...ha. Ha. He immediately looks like he regrets the sentence before he turns, and begins to slither back through the piping.

    How he hated himself, but they loved him.

Alastor

He attempts a smile. He fails. He isn't surprised. He almost responds "*No, I can't,*" but Sir Pentious is dealing with enough of Alastor's personal problems. He doesn't need another.

He watches Sir Pentious go; pulls the bow tie out from around his collar, drops it on the workbench beside the travel mug; and then melts into the shadows.

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely

Yes, I’ve found my way into the Schitt’s Creek fandom - it’s a lovely, hopeful place to be.  And of course, having met these wonderful people, I need to throw some angst and h/c their way.  Please enjoy this, the first chapter of my whump!Patrick fic.  

Thanks as always to my beta @perryavenue for coming along with me to yet another fandom :)

David/Patrick, M, A03 (tags/warnings this chapter:  injury, hospitalization, loss of consciousness, blood (minor))

Chapter 1 

David is arranging a new shipment of lavender sage lip balms by the cash register – he’s not sure they will sell as well as the honey vanilla but they are definitely more interesting – when he hears the crash.  

He grumbles again at Patrick’s insistence on spending their Sunday morning at the store when they could have just as easily slept in another few hours, and ambles to the backroom to see what happened.  It’s the last calm thought he processes.

There are wires hanging from a ceiling light fixture, a step ladder tilted at an angle against the shelves, and Patrick, lying on the floor, oddly twitching.  David crashes to his knees, hands flying to Patrick’s head, as words flow out of his mouth in a panicked stream.  “Patrick – Patrick- are you okay?  Patrick-”

Patrick is still breathing, David can feel his breath on his cheek when he presses his face close, but he’s not responding.  David’s hands are fluttering up and down Patrick’s body, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong.  He tries to hold Patrick’s head steady as his husband’s muscles continue to spasm.  “Patrick, wake up.  Please, come on, please, Patrick.”

David can feel something warm and wet in Patrick’s hair, and he faintly realizes that Patrick is bleeding.  “Oh my god, Patrick, open your eyes, please.”  He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and calls emergency services, one hand resting on Patrick’s head, trembling so hard he can only hope the operator can understand what he’s saying.

Something in his brain finally connects the wires still swinging above him with Patrick unconscious on the floor and his breath leaves him in a horrified gasp.  “Send help now, right now.  I think my husband has been electrocuted.”

*****

It’s David’s first time riding in an ambulance while he is sober enough to remember it, and it’s terrifying.  He can’t wish for anything to dull his senses right now, though, because he needs to be here for Patrick.  He needs to get a grip, to stay strong, to not fall apart like he absolutely thinks he’s about to do, because Patrick needs him to keep it together.

The EMTs don’t offer much information, and the ride to the hospital in Elmdale is a nightmare of spiraling anxiety.  David feels like his chest is going to implode, the only thing keeping him from losing it completely is his hand on Patrick’s ankle, his arm stretched out to touch him in the only place he can reach.  

He wants to say something, to do something, but his voice seems to have abandoned him.  Finally, the questions in his head break through.  “Is he going to be okay?”

He barely hears the noncommittal answer.  Patrick has to be okay.  Their story can’t end here.  They haven’t even been married a year.  David has plans for their one-year wedding anniversary, only a few months away.  He’s going to take Patrick on a hike.  He’s going to do it right, make up for how David almost ruined Patrick’s proposal with his grumpy mood.  He’s not going to complain, and Patrick’s not going to get stabbed in the foot with a branch.  David is going to pack a picnic, with Patrick’s favorite foods this time, and serenade him at sunset - or maybe not quite sunset, because hiking back down in the dark seems like a bad idea, but he still has time to figure that out.  They still have time, they are supposed to have time.  Lots of time.

David’s come far enough to believe that he’s pretty good at making Patrick happy, and at letting himself be happy, but there’s so much more he wants to do.  

So many more smiles he needs to see on Patrick’s face.

There’s a rush of activity as they arrive at the hospital, and David has to let go of Patrick’s ankle, even the loss of that small connection paining him.  “I’ll be right here,” he says, although Patrick can’t hear him, and no one is listening.  “I’ll be here.”

*****

David is pacing in the waiting room.  He has already filled out the necessary forms, his handwriting barely legible since he’s still shaking all over, and now there is nothing to do but wait.  He knows he should probably call someone and let them know what’s going on, but Patrick’s parents are on an Alaskan cruise, and his own parents are in Fiji.  Stevie’s in New York for a conference, and Alexis is in L.A.  He’s got to handle this on his own.  

David used to be good at handling crises.  He prided himself on it.  Even when he was at the height of his drug happy party boy phase, he was always able to make a call to the right consulate and get Alexis sprung from whatever ridiculous situation she had wound up in.  He could act the part of a confident, competent savior, equipped with enough money and pull to get things done.  But things are different now.  Patrick has changed him, has cut right through all the walls he built to protect himself.  His defenses are gone.  And now this panicking, flailing, frightened man is all Patrick has left.

It seems like forever but finally a doctor comes out to talk with him.  Patrick is stable, but still unconscious.  Apparently he is more impaired than would be expected from a minor electric shock, because he hit his head when he fell.  Tests are being run.

David takes a step towards the doctor as his vision narrows, and someone is there next to him, a hand on his arm.  “Would you like to sit down?”  He doesn’t seem to have any choice, as he’s pushed into a chair, and a moment later handed a cup of water.

David takes a sip, then shakes his head, squeezing his eyes together and forcing himself to take a deep breath.  “When can I see him?  Can I see him, please?”

Not yet, they tell him.  Soon.  They’ll let him know.

*****

<i>Four hours earlier</i>

David wakes to the feel of his husband’s lips on his own, and he hums and wraps a hand around Patrick’s head and holds him close.  But instead of finding a sleep-warm, enticingly aroused and naked Patrick shuffling closer to him under the sheets, he opens his eyes to see Patrick sitting on the edge of the bed, already showered, a towel around his waist.

“Mmm, no, come back to bed.”

“Can’t do that.  We’re going to the store early, remember?”

David groans and flops over, pulling the duvet over his head.  “I don’t want to.”

“But we said we’d do it, and if we don’t, our lovely shelves will be empty on one of our best selling days of the week.”

David doesn’t really care to remember this fact, although it’s true.  Thursday afternoon he and Patrick had gotten into a disagreement about whether to keep sourcing peppermint foot cream from a particular vendor, and by the time David shut his mouth long enough to figure out why Patrick had developed a sudden aversion to Mr. Braden (he was unforgivably rude to their intern), some rather less than pleasant things had been said by David, too.  David suggested he make it up to Patrick by trading their regular Thursday evening at the store doing inventory and stocking shelves for an impromptu date night, and Patrick had agreed, on the condition that they come in early on Sunday instead.

“I’d like to suggest an amendment to our agreement,” David says, sitting up and slinging both arms around Patrick’s neck, loving the smile it brings to his husband’s face.  “Come back to bed for just a little while, and I’ll put all the labels on the body milk bottles myself.”  Patrick doesn’t like sticking labels on the bottles, he says the adhesive makes his fingertips itch.

“We’ll be late,” Patrick objects, but he’s already relaxing into David’s arms.  

David knows Patrick’s protest is mostly for show.  He runs his tongue up the side of Patrick’s neck, inhaling the smell of his warm, damp skin.  “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Patrick caves, attacking David’s mouth in a hungry kiss, as they both fall back onto the bed.  “You always do.”

*****

It seems like forever, but finally someone comes and tells him that he can see Patrick.  They lead David down hallways and around corners and finally into a room.  He goes past an empty bed and a partly pushed back curtain and then he’s there, staring helplessly at his husband, laid out unnaturally where he absolutely does not belong.

All the tropes are true, David thinks to himself.  Patrick looks small, diminished by the machines and the wires and the strangeness of the setting.  He’s lying flat on his back, which is just wrong – Patrick sleeps on his side, his knees always bent, body twisted around a pillow or the sheets or, when at all possible, David.  He says it’s because he doesn’t breathe well lying on his back, but David knows he likes the comfort of it, of being surrounded and held.  David likes it too.

They’re a good pair, right for each other in all the most important ways.  David swallows hard and moves closer to this fragile version of his beloved husband.  <i>Patrick has to be okay.</i>

“Here, sit down,” the nurse at his side says, sliding a chair closer to the bed.  “You can touch him.”

David sits down, stiffly, and hovers his hand near Patrick’s.

“You won’t hurt him.”  The nurse is looking at Patrick’s chart, and then back to David.  “He hit his head pretty hard, but there’s no sign of any other injuries.”

“Is he… is he in pain?”  David thought Patrick was still unconscious.  

“No, he shouldn’t be,” she says.  “But we’ll ask him when he wakes up, and go from there.”

David bites his lip, and forces the words out.  “He’s going to wake up, isn’t he?”

The nurse puts her hand on his arm, and David forces himself not to flinch.  “There’s nothing to be gained by not staying positive,” she says patronizingly, patting him twice and then, mercifully, leaving the room.  

David indulges in a moment of fury, imagining himself storming out of the room and demanding to speak to a doctor, throwing a Moira Rose-style tantrum until someone gives him better customer service, but then he sees Patrick’s hand twitch and all thoughts of histrionics disappear.

“Patrick?”  David takes his husband’s hand and squeezes it.  “Patrick, are you awake?”  He reaches over and runs a finger along Patrick’s cheek.  “I’m right here.  Open your eyes, baby, look at me.”  

Shaking, he leans close and presses a kiss to Patrick’s dry lips, and then another.  But there’s no response, no Sleeping Beauty moment of grateful awareness.  David takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and sits back up.  

“It’s okay,” he says, scooting the chair closer so that he can rest his elbows on the bed and hold Patrick’s free hand in both of his own.  “You don’t have to wake up yet.  You can sleep some more if you need to.  Rest all you want.  Heal that beautiful head.  I’ll be here when you wake up, Patrick.  I’ll be right here.”

*****

A doctor comes by a little while later, and tells David what he’s pretty much figured out on his own – they can’t say when Patrick will wake up.  So far, they don’t have any reason to believe he won’t, which is good, as far as it goes.  It’s not very precise, but Patrick suffered a head injury along with some level of electric shock, so they have to wait and see.  They’ll run some more tests tomorrow if there’s no change, but they are “cautiously optimistic,” whatever that means.

After the doctor leaves David makes the mistake of googling “traumatic head injury.”  He reads for a few minutes and then practically throws his phone across the room, watching as it slides across the linoleum floor and comes to a stop by the IV stand.  He’s historically not very good at looking on the bright side, but he refuses to entertain the possibility that Patrick is going to be permanently disabled from his attempt to make the backroom overhead light stop flickering.  

He leans down against the bed, resting his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, his hand still wrapped in his own.  He can feel the panic rising in his chest again, and he fights it, not wanting to be any more useless to Patrick than he already is.

“Hey, I know I said you could rest, but maybe just wake up for a minute?” he says softly into Patrick’s ear.  “Just squeeze my hand, or blink your eyes.  Can you do that for me?”  He waits, not really expecting a reaction, but it doesn’t seem fair to ask for something and then not wait for an answer.  “No matter what happens, I’ll be here, okay?  Even if you’re hurt, even if…” David can’t really put into words what it might be like if Patrick doesn’t recover.  “No matter what happens, we’ll get through it together.  Just come back to me, okay?  I can’t… I won’t make it if you don’t.  I need you.”

“David.”

David looks up to see Alexis standing by the foot of Patrick’s bed, looking almost as pale as Patrick.  Then she moves closer and folds David into a tight hug, squeezing him until he can hardly breathe.  It’s the safest he’s felt since he heard the crash in the back room.

After a few minutes of Alexis’s pointy chin digging into his shoulder, David eases himself back.  “Maybe give arm day a rest,” he says softly, as she loosens her boa-constrictor hold around his waist.

“Everyone always says I’m stronger than I look,” Alexis says, tilting her head as she gazes at him.  “And you are too, David.”

He shrugs and glances away, his gaze inevitably going to Patrick, still just as quiet and unresponsive as he was a moment ago, and then back to his sister.  “How are you here?”  he asks, not wanting to dwell on the topic of his questionable ability to handle this particular situation.  “I thought you were in L.A.”

“That was last week.”  Alexis drops her bag to the floor, then drags a chair around from the other side of the curtain and positions it next to David’s.  “I was in Toronto, working with a new client, when Jocelyn called me.”

David blinks.  “Jocelyn?”

“Yes, David, Jocelyn called me, when you didn’t answer your phone – and so did Twyla, Roland, Ronnie, and everyone else.”  She waves her hand, apparently to indicate the universe of people blowing up her phone.

“But… why?”

“David, did you really think that an ambulance could show up in the middle of town and whisk you and Patrick away without anyone noticing?”  Alexis boops his nose and looks from Patrick back to David.  “They’re worried about you.  Half of the town is in the waiting room right now.”

“Wait, what?”

Alexis lets a smile tug at the side of her mouth.  “Kidding, no they’re not.  But they’ll come, if we need them.  Twyla did drop off some food, it’s in my bag.  Muffins, or something, she said you didn’t even come get one this morning.  And sandwiches.”  Alexis reaches down and pulls out a bag.

“I’m not hungry,” David says.

“Yeah, because you and skipping meals is a good idea.”

“I’ve had other things to worry about,” David says, his voice cracking.

“I know, David,” Alexis says softly.  “But you have to take care of yourself too.  And then we can take care of Patrick.”

It’s what breaks him, finally, that “we,” and David loses it, sobbing in Alexis’s arms at the side of his husband’s hospital bed.

[animalfalls]

Never Good Enough

Leviathan X GN!MC (Angsty and unedited)

Warning: this is really angsty and there is a lot about self-hate so if you are easily triggered I don’t recommend this fic for you.

Word Count: 1813

AN: OMG wow I actually finish something lmao. It includes a phrase in Japanese, I don’t speak the language but I did take a few classes a while back. If it isn’t used right or I was WAY off with it’s meaning please let me know lol. I got it off of a site that explained how in Japanese they aren’t direct with speaking so instead of “I love you”, “I like you” would be more appropriate for this situation. Plus to me it fits Leviathan’s personality.

You know you should’ve seen this coming, yet no amount of preparation could he stop the tears from flowing. Your blank eyes stare back into the piercing gaze of the unnamed demon before you. No matter how strong you are physically one thing always hurts more than anything else. A tinge of pain began to stew in your chest, festering up and choking you out. A clawed hand pressed to your throat in a death grip. You knew this would be your fate as soon as you stepped through the gates of RAD. A school of demons was no place for a powerless human. You were surprised how you managed to last this long.

This was not what caused your tears to overflow and flood your face. Nor was it the sharp edges of the claws ripping into your skin causing blood to trickle down from your neck and seep into the clothes on your chest. Not even the growing suffocation of disruption of air to your lungs. No, it was far worse than any physical pain that could be brought upon you. It was those words that made you lower your guard and give in to your fate. You knew you stood no chance once those vile words flittered off of the lips of this demon. You will never be good enough for him.

It was as if the demon had a paralysis spell over you, your body declining any thoughts of running or fighting back. You knew it was true already, but you never wanted to face the truth. Leviathan… He was too good for you. Any fight you had given up to this point had since coming to an abrupt halt. What were you thinking anyway? You were only a human, you had no right to even hope he would view you as anything more than an annoyance. You were just a burden to all of the brothers and you knew this so well. Yet for a moment you thought you could actually belong somewhere. With others that would understand you and maybe even enjoy your company. What a stupid thought, nothing but the fleeting hopes of a useless human. Pathetic human, you really think he could ever love you? No, but I hoped he could.

The world seemed to be so colorful when Levi was around, a smile from him could send a beautiful warm feeling through you. Listening to him go on about any one of his shows was blissful. He would get so excited at times his demon form would emerge and the way his tail shot straight up as he would go into great depth about his favorite parts. That boy’s passion for anime and video games was second to none. You always liked how he would lend you his manga without you having to ask for them. He’d often leave them in a box outside of your door with a note on them in the middle of the night so he didn’t wake you.

You kept every single note, they were your treasures, he may not have the most legible handwriting but it was adorable to you. The last one he gave you had a phrase on it, it was in Japanese and you hadn’t been able to translate it properly yet. It was a shame you were going to die before you could translate it. The characters still haunt your mind. 好きだよ You curse yourself for never finding the answer, you almost wish you would have just asked him. Now is far too late for that though.

Your attention now returns to the demon in front of you, some low life demon you have never even seen around the school. Not like anyone would really remember you to begin with, despite being fairly outgoing you could never fit in here like you had hoped. You were just too weak and helpless to be able to survive in this world. You were just a burden to the brothers, you understood that it would be annoying to have to look after you. So you opted to go alone to most places, it may be dangerous but it was better than pissing off powerful demons like the brothers.

The world started to fade and finally your instinctual will to live kicked in, you claw and struggle with all your might to remove the vice that clamped shut around your throat. Despite all your effort it wasn’t enough to save you, you were so much weaker than this demon. The most you could do was scratch their hand, your vision starts to fade out and you can feel the pain starting to reach your limit. You shut your eyes tight the only thing you wanted to think about now in your final moment was Leviathan. 好きだよ

This was the last thing the third eldest thought he would see on his way back to the House of Lamentation. He had thought he heard the sound of MC’s voice coming from a well-isolated alleyway so he went to investigate. They should already be home so he thought it was strange that they would stop here of all places. He still hadn’t heard back from them since that last note he left with the latest edition of “I am in love with a human but they won’t take a hint and I am too scared to say anything because I am a yucky otaku.” Maybe they couldn’t translate it properly, they were a normie after all. 

Leviathan’s heart stopped the moment he saw you laying there. He had never understood how Satan could lose control to his wrath so easily. This made him learn just how easy it was to let rage control you. Pinned under some demon who would never be missed and being choked out of their life was his beloved MC. They lay there barely able to hold onto the demon’s hand little lone try to pry it off of them. Their eyes shut tight whispered his name and before he knew it Levi was holding you close, you were alive but barely. He hadn’t remembered how he got to this point or where that pathetic waste of space that hurt his MC had ended up. That didn’t matter at the moment, but the blood-covered walls were enough of a hint that the demon wasn’t going to make it far.

Leviathan clung to you tightly, he never thought he would feel so concerned for someone who was 3D, nor a normie at that, yet his heart ached as he called out to you so desperately. Pulling himself together the best he could, he scooped you up into his arms and ran, ran as fast as his legs would allow him to. He knew if you were going to continue to live he had to act fast and get you medical help, not knowing where else to turn to he took you back to the House of Lamentation cursing himself for not finding you sooner.

As your eyes fluttered open the first thing you noticed was the ceiling of Leviathan’s room, the soft glow of the fish tank lit up your vision. Your head was still groggy and you couldn’t remember how you had gotten here. Trying to sit up sent pain shooting through your body, but also made you well aware you were on a bed, not in Leviathan’s bathtub he called his bed. When did this get here? Why was it here? Wait… Why am I here? Memories of what happened before you were about to die hit you like a tsunami. Your breath quickly picks up and you start to lose control of it, your body starting to shake violently. That is when you feel a weight lift off your stomach, and feel a hand in yours holding it tightly.

“I thought I lost you… MC never scare me like that again!” Leviathan cried out to you, quickly pulling you into a warm embrace. His sobs where half-muffled by the crook between your shoulder and neck. “Why wouldn’t you call for my help?! Our pact would have let you contact me! I don’t even care if it wasn’t me! Why didn’t you call anyone?!” He seemed so desperate for answers and he bordered on being hysterical. As you tried to answer him your voice failed you and all you could do was hug him back running your fingers through his hair. This seemed to calm him down enough to stop the never-ending stream of questions. They could wait, right now he had you in his arms, no amount of self-doubt would pull him away at this moment, he needed you to know how he felt. “好きだよ (Suki da yo), it’s what I wrote on the last note, it means I like you… MC I know you will probably never like a yucky otaku like me but I had to tell you. No matter what you feel for me I want to protect you. Even if you can’t be mine I will try to keep my jealousy to a minimum if that means I can just be there with you!” The poor boy had already assumed he’d be rejected.

“Why would you like a useless human like me?” These words hurt him more than any rejection could ever. He was prepared for any type of rejection MC could throw at him no matter how brutal but those words cut deeper than anything he could have imagined them saying. MC thought they were useless… Why would someone he came to treasure so much think they were useless? They were nothing like him, yet they thought they were the one undeserving of him. Leviathan’s heart shattered, he was at a loss of words. His sobs came to a stop right then and there, his grip loosened and he pulled away enough to look into their eyes. He knew these feelings all too well, this wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair. THIS WASN’T FAIR!

“MC! Why would you think like that?! You mean everything to me! I wouldn’t trade any of the time I have with you even for a limited edition Ruri-Chan figurine! Although that would suck losing the chance to get it... You are so precious to me! You are my Henry and I would be stupid not to like you! Even if you are a normie!” You have never seen him blush so hard, and it was taking everything in him not to flee after saying something so embarrassing. The only thing you could think of to do was pull him into a kiss, your hands cupping his face and you took one last glance at him before shutting your eyes and melting into the kiss. While you weren’t sure if you could ever get rid of these feelings of self-hate, for a moment you had hope that maybe you two could work together to be more confident.

“I like you too Levi.”

[princessjungeun]

7:30 Backstories: Soojin

Content warning: blood, violence, guns, switch blade

“Don’t go...stop why are you leaving me? Can I fix it? Come back! Please....no!” Soojin tossed and turned in her sleep. Jolting awake, her eyes flew open, tears running down her cheeks. The woman sleeping next to Soojin turned and asked “Jin-ah? Baby whats wrong?”

Soojin sobbed, the woman pulling her girlfriend into her arms. Crying in her arms Soojin choked out “You were l-leaving me...and you d- you didn’t even look back.” Pulling her lover closer the woman said “I’ll never leave you. I’m always going to be with you, in this life and another.”

Shaking the memory out of her head, Soojin slipped a piece of paper out of her pocket, the messy handwriting and faded ink made it barely legible. However Soojin knew by heart the last words her lover wrote to her:

Jin-ah,

I don’t know when I’ll see you again, I miss you everyday. If I don’t see you in this life, know that I’ll come back to you in another. Please never forget how much you’re loved, let Shuhua be your only love.

~Shu ❤️

Soojin snapped out of her trance, wiping a few tears from her face. The man next to her threw his arm around her shoulder and asked “What’s wrong? A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be crying.”

His voice sent chills down her spine, and not the good kind. Soojin lowered her hand onto his thigh, squeezing it softly. She sighed “missing someone...maybe you could help me forget yeah?” He smirked as she pushed him back onto his sleeping mat. She pulled her shirt off, and used it to tie his hands above his head. Bringing her lips close to his ear she nipped his skin softly and whispered “trust me baby this will make it feel better”.

Straddling him she leaned down, carefully slipping the switch blade she carried out of her back pocket. Seductively she trailed her fingernails up torso, feeling his abs and chest up. She cooed “Mmmm you’re so...strong.” The smile on his face grew in anticipation grew as she trailed her fingers up his body. However his excitement quickly depleted when her eyes narrowed and she lowered her voice “but i’m stronger.”

With one hand she pushed his chin up forcefully leaving his throat exposed. Only using one swift movement she swiped the blade across his throat, killing the man immediately. Leaning down she kissed his jawline, leaving a lipstick print on his skin, her signature. She ran her fingers over his face softly “a shame really...you were pretty cute.”

Wiping the blood off of the blade with his shirt, she untied his hands, pulling her own shirt back over her head. Slipping her blade back into her pocket she walked over to his belongings, taking what she wanted. As she walked away she placed a hand on her neck, feeling the heart locket that hung away from her body.

Not looking away she moved on, his body would be gone by morning, he was no longer her problem.

By seducing men and killing them, Soojin managed to survive alone for a year and a half. Quickly she ended up being wanted by authorities, however nobody ever escaped her. Nobody knew what she looked like other than the fact that she wore a red lipstick, something many woman wore.

Soojin’s habitual behavior of seducing, killing, then running away became a second nature to her. She didn’t always kill them with her blades, sometimes she’d slip poison into their food or drink. She often preferred that method, it was less messy. However sometimes she’d go for the other route.

Soojin didn’t necessarily want to do things this way, but how else could she get money. All she wanted to do was get to Taiwan to see if by any off chance, her lover was there waiting for her.

Before the war started Soojin was in a serious relationship with a Taiwanese young woman, Shuhua. She met her lover through a friend. Although Shuhua started out as an exchange student, she decided to transfer universities just so that she could stay by her girlfriend’s side. Many wouldn’t leave their home countries and families behind for a girl, but Shuhua had very little to lose. Her mother encouraged her to follow her heart so she did.

However when the war started, Shuhua’s mother quickly brought her beloved daughter home. Despite the couple’s pleas, mother knew best and there was no way to avoid it. The two girls kept in close contact for the first few months, but as more and more cities were attacked, they lost contact.

After Soojin’s family either split up or died off, she decided to just be alone. She developed her seductress assassin behavior one random night. But after a few times she realized it was easier than she thought. It was simple. All she had to do was find a man or woman, seduce them, kill them and take what she needed. Soon enough she’d accumulate enough money to get to Taiwan where she might find Shuhua.

•

•

•

Wandering for days Soojin had finally grown tired enough to stop, maybe she’d find her next victim. Walking through the barren streets of Busan, she looked around hoping she’d find someone. Occasionally there was someone, but they weren’t worth stopping for.

Soojin was close to giving up until she saw a boy walk into a house up the street. She waited a few minutes before knocking on the door. Only opening it a crack he asked “who are you?” Soojin immediately smiled and said “just someone looking for a place to lay her head, I have nothing that can harm you. I’m even willing to pay you...I’ll be out before sunrise.”

Carefully he looked her up and down before pulling the door open just enough so she could slip past. He helped her pull off her jacket and shoes, getting arranged for the night.

The boy asked “what’s your name?” Soojin responded “Soojin, and you are...?” The boy flashed a smile “Henry.” Soojin looked around “nice place you have, big. Anyone else live here or is it just you?” Henry replied “It’s not my place, just one I found. But it’s not just me...I’m with my friends. Three girls. They’ll be back soon, if you’re wondering if where they are.” Soojin asked “is one of them...you know... your girlfriend?” Henry laughed and said “no no they’re just friends.”

Soojin kept him engaged in conversation for at least an hour. As bored as she was, keeping him talking was the only way she could let her eyes wander over the possible escape routes in this house.

“Henry we’re ba- who the hell is that?” A lavender haired girl spoke up. Henry told her calmly “Roseanne relax...she was passing through and she just needed a place to lay her head. This isn’t our home anyway, she’ll be gone in the morning.” The lavender haired girl told Soojin “ok well you can sleep with Henry then since he likes you so much. I’m going to sleep.” She walked out with another girl holding her hand and following behind.

That now left Soojin with Henry and a girl with short platinum blonde hair. The girl eyed Soojin up and down multiple times, her brown eyes landing on Soojin’s plump red lips. Narrowing her eyes, the blonde girl looked at Soojin again, but moments later simply walked away into a bedroom. Soojin heard the door click indicating that she locked herself in. Turning to Henry, Soojin asked “uptight is she?” Henry replied “i wouldn’t say that...that’s just how Ryujin is I guess.”

Soojin nodded and asked “can we go to sleep? I want to be well rested so I can get out of your hair before sunrise.” Henry nodded and led her to a room in the back of the house.

Soojin scanned it quickly, eying up the windows and exit before smiling softly to Henry. Climbing into the bed she patted next to her indicating that it was fine for the boy to sleep aside her.

•

•

•

Hours passed and Soojin didn’t know when to make her move. She knew that Ryujin girl was suspicious of her, and judging by the two AK47s strapped on her back and handgun on her hip, she wasn’t one to be messed with. The other two girls didn’t seem to mind Soojin’s presence. While it was very clear to Soojin that Henry was already growing fond of her.

She turned to the boy and asked “how are you single?” Taken aback by the question he hesitated before answering “my lover died...i don’t like talking about it though.” Soojin responded “oh...i’m sorry. Mine was taken away from me. I don’t know if she’s still alive, but i’m hoping to find her soon.”

A heavy silence fell over the two as they laid stiffly next to each other in the old bed. Until Soojin slowly reached for his hand, lacing it with hers. She asked “I-I know I don’t know you. But maybe you could help me with something...”

Henry swallowed thickly before nodding as she continued her actions. Slowly she climbed over him so both her legs were on either side of him. Slipping a hand behind his head she leaned in and kissed him passionately. His hands found her waist as he softly rubbed her sides. She slid one hand up his shirt before tugging at it, indicating that she wanted it off. Henry obliged and slipped it off and over his head quickly.

Soojin whispered against his lips “give me your hands, just trust me ok?” He watched as she tightly tied his hands to the headboard of the bed. Soojin asked softly, her free hand cupping his cheek “Do you ever want to see your lover again?” He responded “yeah...I do.”

Soojin smirked before tightening her grip on him, “i can fix that for you.” His eyes widened as he realized her true intentions. Right as she slipped her hand to grab her blade she felt someone pull her off and throw her into the floor.

The person tossed Soojin’s blade across the room, much to far for her to even try to get. Soojin recognized the blonde hair, Ryujin.

The young teenager climbed on top of Soojin, pinning the black haired girl’s hands down with her knees. A hand found its way to Soojin’s throat, the other hand holding a gun to her head.

“I knew it was you.” Ryujin spoke lowly, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. Henry managed to slip his hands from the restraint before running out to get the other two girls. Moments later the three returned staring at the two girls on the ground.

Ryujin didn’t look up as she talked “she’s the girl who’s leaving prints on men’s corpses.” The other girl, Soojin didn’t know the name of, put her arm around the lavender haired girl, pushing her towards the exit of the room.

Ryujin tightened her grip on Soojin’s throat, “you have two options. Either you join us or I finish this right now. Take your pick.” Soojin gasped out “j-join you.”

The blonde moved her hand from Soojin’s throat, fingerprint marks left on her soft skin. Ryujin turned around and said “and next time, i won’t give you a choice. You’re done. Do you understand?” Soojin nodded, holding her throat carefully

“I understand.”

[gluestickcherrybum]

Ahoy there! I'm back with another study post °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

 So if you aren't aware already, me as well as various other study bloggers are notorious for writing aesthetically pleasing handwritten notes. Notes aren’t absolutely necessary if you prefer to do without.  A lot of my friends and acquaintances don’t bother with them and prefer to rely entirely on the lecture materials provided. I find that it helps me indefinitely in my studies and as a brief creative outlet which I rarely give myself the time for.

Why take Notes? 

Instead of printing the lecture materials given digitally, I've taken it to re-write the lecture notes a few days prior to the lecture. Some lecturers insist their students read the material to get a grasp of the topic before the lecture and this is taking it a few steps further.  They say writing something down is equivalent to reading it 7 times, meaning getting into memory this way is so much more efficient which is one of the biggest reasons I insisted myself handwrite my notes. Also writing your own notes is totally customisable to your needs, do you prefer mind maps or lists? Infographics or paragraphs? Minimalistic or colourful? It's all up to you.

Why I personally take notes

Different plants have different needs. Some need to be watered daily, some twice a day and some every other day. Some thrive in nutrient-rich soil and some prefer to sit in dry sand. Just like plants, each individual student has different needs and circumstances to thrive. For me, since I have a relatively low attention span and am a relatively slow learner, I needed the head start of reading topics beforehand to catch on with the rest. To me, with proper preparation for lectures, attending the lecture is like filling in the missing puzzle pieces. At least it should be. Also, I'm more of a visual learner, so if you're like me, then well structured, colourful and easy to read notes are not only more appealing but really help me in my studies and help me grasp topics a lot faster.

SUPPLIES

Probably the part where everyone is pumped for but I'll to simplify as well as be in-depth as possible.

Basically, you need paper and a pen. Need some colours? get some highlighters or coloured pens. Some people usually go one or the other but you can benefit from using both systematically. 

What I look for in my preferred paper:

Thicker paper (120gsm) because I use markers and pens that bleed through anything less and I like my paper sturdy because I heavily reference my notes and I don't want them to get worn out as quickly (i want to actually try to use thinner paper and be gentler but not sure how much I can commit to it  o(╥﹏╥)o).

Smoother paper is good if you use felt tips so they don't get damaged that quickly.

Line spacing. Its a waste of space and paper if you have small handwriting but largely spaced outlines. Not easy to find though.

Line colour. I prefer lighter lines such as light grey if possible, it just looks tidier that my writing contrasts more than with jet black lines.

Recycled or sustainably made paper. Because environment. Trees happy. Duh.

At the moment I'm a fan of loose-leaf paper because I'm not a fan of wasting notebook paper at the back (plus its even harder to get the paper features I want in notebooks unless I'm lucky) but if I were to succumb to using notebooks, I would definitely prefer thread-bound or hand-sewn over spring bound just because I think metal springs are annoying and if they're plastic, they aren't recyclable. You know me.

In conclusion, it's hard to find test pad with all of these features, you can consider printing your own notepaper if you're as picky as I am but you do you. If you can only afford flimsy see-through paper, that's alright. But make sure your supplies are appropriate for them as most of the supplies I use will bleed even on regular paper

Pens

Don't bother going all out and using fine liners or drawing pens to write notes. Get practical. Pick your poison. Smooth gel pens or dry ballpoint? Ergonomic or Budget-friendly? Disposable or refillable? My only guideline is to make sure they have waterproof ink because in any case, you need to send in an assignment last minute and have to rush through the rain without a folder you definitely want your writing to be at least legible if anything. (yes I learned this the hard way, yes illegible work will cost you a lot of marks. don't make my mistake ｡：ﾟ(｡ﾉω＼｡)ﾟ･｡

 Also. Black or Blue? Studies show that writing in blue improves memory collection but black is the more neutral aesthetic. What do I do? I use black as my main colour and write keywords and important facts in blue to take advantage of its memory-enhancing properties.

My current preference: Zebra Sarasa Clip (because its made of 75% recycled plastic and is a good quality pen) with Pentel Energel refill (gel ink that dries quickly. that's all I need)

Budget-Friendly: There are good quality pen sets at the ECO shop (Malaysian dollar store) or buy disposable pens in bulk at any book store. Trust me, it saves a lot more than buying a brand new 80 cent pen every now and again. (Also including the cost of transportation to the store because when you live independently, every cent matters) It's not exactly environmentally friendly but hey, anything to cut the cost right?

Zero Waste option: Fountain Pen with a converter (not the cartridges) and glass bottles of ink refill. Yes, it sounds daunting but its zero waste if that's your cup of tea. You don't have to go all out and buy an expensive luxury fountain pen made of stainless steel, or go fancy and get a flexible nib. If you ask me, I have my eyes set on the pilot kakuno fountain pen, its simple, aesthetic and highly recommended for beginners (although not plastic-free its made out of 85% recycled plastic which is cool since I'm hoping to make a one time purchase, I won't mind it being made from plastic but that just my taste)

Coloured Pens

So I haven't been a fan of using coloured pens for a while but ill tell you I'm currently using a cheap set of coloured gel pens from Kaison just because they have cute patterns but the ink flow isn't that smooth so I should've bought something more practical. The ultimate budget-friendly option which is not only cheap but long-lasting and good quality, and ones that I’d recommend for anyone is the Papermate Kilometrico ballpoint coloured pens. So far I only know they come in five colours but they've been my favourite for years. Most people I know that disagree with me usually don't like the colour range or arent a fan of dry ink but if you aren't that picky and looking for a reliable option they're a good option, plus if you're using cheap paper, they won't bleed or anything so that's cool.

Highlighters

I love pastel highlighters. Its soft, cute, aesthetically pleasing to the eyes and some colours are better at actually highlighting words rather than their neon counterparts like green and purple. Although not the cheapest option, I doubt ill ever go back to neon highlighters ever and ill only be recommending pastel highlighters thanks.

My current preference: I'm currently using Monami Pastel Highlighters just because they were on sale with comparable prices to unbranded cheap pastel highlighters. I will never recommend commonly branded highlighters like Stabilo Boss or Zebra Mildliners because the extra pennies just aren't worth it since the unbranded kind has lived up to my standards. (also I haven't tried those branded highlighters mind you but I doubt I'm missing out on anything)

Budget-Friendly option: While Zebra Mildliners are being sold at RM5 for one and RM25 for a set, Mr DIY sells knockoff brand "BEIFA" for RM7 for a set of six which is a pretty good deal if you ask me (also there are double-sided ones with a bullet and chisel tips if you thought mildliners were the only option with those features). I've also found some rare gems, unbranded pastel highlighters hidden in common bookstores for an even cheaper price, but they're really hard to find unless the pastel highlighter trend decides to catch on. I digress.

Zero Waste option: I heard about highlighter pencils, just wooden pencils with neon colour pigments, but why get trendy when you can use any old wooden colouring pencils lying around? I don't think ill give up plastic highlighters for wooden pencils despite being a strong environmentalism advocate but there are a few options for highlighters made from recycled plastic but they either don't come in pastel colours or too pricey for my taste (yes I'm a cheapskate for crud sake)

Extras

These other things aren't exactly necessary but they add little flourishes and/or aid you in your note-taking. Not exactly an extra investment but its completely up to you

Sticky notes (or coloured memo pads) for extra notes, diagrams or equations which I like for them to stand out a bit. (Pastel over neon of course)

Washi tape to divide subchapters (but a highlighter streak does the job)

Correction tape because never will I ever use correction fluid mind you

Brush pens for headers (completely unnecessary but I don't have any other outlet to practice brush lettering so.) Recommendations: Artline Stix (chunky but super cheap, marker type not for thin paper), Pentel Fude Touch (great for beginners, small and practical, 83% recycled plastic, but will bleed on regular paper)

Alternatively, a regular black felt tip marker just to make the title stand out is good enough.

NOTE TAKING TECHNIQUES

An underrated note-taking method is the Cornell method which is frankly a systematic way to write notes in which you divide the paper into 4 sections, a place for title and date and stuff, the main body for notes, extended side margin for extra info/lecture comments/questions/subtitles and bottom quarter reserved for a summary of the notes. Some people modify this technique by omitting the summary section, depending on your needs.

Bullet points and indents. This is pretty self-explanatory, but it's pretty much notes that aren't chunky paragraphs. Easier to read, easier to register information, easier to skim through. You get the gist of it.

Highlighting system. Some people go all out with their highlighting system and designate colours to certain things such as green for vocab, orange for equations, blue for subtopics. etc. You can try this out if you want, but for me, the plethora of colour is quite distracting and not that aesthetically pleasing, but you do you.

BREAKING DOWN MY METHOD OF NOTE TAKING

My priorities to note-taking are: Easy to read, simple, decluttered and visually pleasing. For colours, I mainly use up to 4. Black pen for the main information, blue pen for keywords (or any coloured pen that matches the highlighter), one or two highlighters as a colour theme and matching sticky notes for extra info, diagrams or equations.

I assign a whole chapter to a specific colour theme, first assigning a certain highlighter colour to the first six chapters, if there are more than six chapters, I use 2 accent colours just to shake it up a bit. This makes it easier to differentiate the chapters when flipping through your notes.

So its, hand-lettered title (i do my lettering quite quickly, mind you) or all caps title in black marker. Mini banner doodle for subtitles (a simple box with a drop shadow works just fine), contrasting coloured keywords (or underlined) and highlighters just for accents like dividing subtitles or drawing boxes for extra info (that or sticky notes). I don't simplify my lecture notes, rather rewriting them in a more orderly manner and leaving a good amount of extra space here and there (or an extended margin if I use Cornell) for extra lecture notes. Also, I highlight whatever notes that my lecturer would point out as important or worth remembering. And that's pretty much it. After the lecture, I then know which parts of the notes were more vital and can then simplify those key points into flashcards which ill discuss in a different post.

Thanks for reading, I know my posts are pretty long but that's the way I like them, long but in depth. As usual, if you would like me to cover any specific topics, feel free to message me or give feedback. I hope to be able to write 2 or 3 articles a month if I can but until then, have a nice day. Study smart peeps. 

ヾ(@°▽°@)ノ 

[rynhaswritersblock]

the benefits of fake dating | p.p.

summary: although incredibly annoying, flash thompson’s arrogance was just what you and peter needed.

warnings: some cussing, flash being an idiot, and 5K WORDS I POPPED OFF SO HARD

+ + +

"Flash, I don't know how you got into this school with that pea-sized, misogynistic brain of yours, but somehow it still leads you to think that you telling me how I feel is attractive. Just fuck off, please," you sigh, shutting your locker with a bang.

"Alright, for now," the boy says, smug smirk on his face. "although I know you're just denying your undying love for me. I'll wait."

Your eyebrows furrow. "Did you not hear a single word I just said?"

"Nope," a new voice pops in and you turn to see Peter, words and expression monotonous as he stares at Flash.

"Aw, and the protector swoops in to save the day. Aren't you two a cute couple?"

"Oh-" the two of you blurt at the same time.

"We're not-"

"a couple," Peter finishes for you, roses blooming on you guys' cheeks.

"It's the only explanation for little Y/N's 'disinterest'. See you later, babe," Flash nods, walking off with a wink that only bewilders you more. You and Peter look at each other.

"Did he just call me babe?"

"Apparently," Peter shrugs.

Peter should be in theatre considering the acting he does around you. It enrages him to see such a jackass bother you constantly, and the pet names only make him even angrier. If it wouldn't ruin his hero image, he'd totally wipe Flash out during one of his patrols.

"I swear, that kid makes me question things I shouldn't have to even worry about. For example, why isn't part of the requirements for getting into this school common sense?" you ask, shaking your head.

"No clue," Peter sighs. "Sorry to cut this off, but I gotta go to-"

"Physics now, yup. See you later, shithead." you nod, shoving him the other way, laughing as he almost crashes into the cheerleaders.

You resume your way to AP Calc, letting your mind inevitably fall back into your conversation with Flash. Every freaking time Peter steps in, he immediately calls him your boyfriend. But, honestly, the thought of that didn't sound too bad.

+ + +

"MJ, you're not helping."

"All I'm saying is: you tell Flash he's your boyfriend, he leaves you alone. In addition, dating Parker doesn't seem so bad, especially to you, right?"

"MJ!" you groan, falling back onto the pillows of your bed. "It's fake dating. It's not like we'd..."

You suck in a breath.

"It's not like we'd actually date."

"Yeah," she scoffs, "tell that to the prolonged hesitation in the middle of that sentence."

Goosebumps ran across your skin at the gust of cool midnight air that rushed through your window, but you didn't bother close it. You were too comfortable.

"Whatever, MJ. I'm just saying, if Flash and the rest of the school thought we were dating, not only would that jackass leave us alone, but everyone else would. And maybe even Tony and the rest of the team."

And it was at that point that Peter, donned in his Spider Suit, landed on your fire escape. You didn't notice though, too preoccupied in your conversation with MJ to change your focus. He peeked through the window, the words "fake dating" immediately making him spin around against the brick wall, telling Karen to project your conversation to him.

"Imagine having the Avengers ship you with your partner in crime. Couldn't be me."

"MJ," you groan, "It's not like they actually think Peter and I like each other."

The boy's eyes widen.

"They just saw the opportunity and took it. We're each other's age and work well together. Seems like an easy target to me. Plus, they were probably getting tired of making fun of Nat and Bruce," you explain.

A small pain rips through Peter's heart. Even though he didn't act like it, he loved the way everyone acted like they were dating. It made him feel like it was real.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get you to believe it, Y/N. But seriously, I don't see anything bad coming out of a fake relationship with Peter Parker," MJ states. You can practically see her shrugging smugly right now.

"Well," you say, firing up, "something bad that could come out of a fake relationship with Peter Parker-"

The poor boy outside, already looking stupid and stalker-ish, becomes even more flustered.

"- is that I could lose control of the feelings I already have, MJ. Do you realize how much that would mess up our friendship?"

Your words sting like icy-hot. On one hand, it sucks to Peter that you sound totally opposed to a relationship with him, but on the other hand, he's now 99% sure that you like him too.

He couldn't bare standing there any more. He swung home, all-consumed by his thoughts.

It would be a long night for Peter Parker.

+ + +

The bags underneath Peter's eyes were enough of an example of his insomnia last night. As if his brain didn't already love to overthink, the conversation he eavesdropped last night was enough to send him into overdrive, going over possibilities, how the two of you'd act, and just the very concept of fake dating itself.

Little did he notice, you shared the same look of under-eye bags (which you failed to cover with concealer), kept up by the same conversation.

The two of you were, obliviously, on the same page. You both thought that it was a pretty smart solution to the dilemma, but both were terrified of confrontation.

For being Avengers, the two of you sure were cowards when it came to love.

The school day passed quickly and slowly at the same time, the two of you fighting to stay awake as your history teacher rambled on and on about the Sokovia Accords. It was a Thursday, so the two of you kept your weekly plans to hangout at Peter's after school to study and just hangout. Needless to say, you two almost failed to miss your stop on the subway due to your sleep deprivation.

You enter the apartment, immediately greeted by May.

"Hi, you two," she smiles, grabbing her keys off the counter and swinging her purse over her shoulder as she talks. "I have a shift in a few minutes, so you'll be on your own, but I trust you."

"Thanks," you smile.

"Of cour-" she frowns. "Y/N, did you sleep at all last night?"

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and cringe. "What? Oh, yeah, I did, I'm just... stressed, is all."

"Okay.." she eyes you, half-playful, half-serious.

"She's fine, May," Peter nods, which eventually eases the woman.

"Okay, fine. Don't keep her here too long, Peter, you both need some rest."

You give him a look and the two of you say goodbye to her before you go to his room. You eye him closely.

"Peter!"

He jumps. "Goodness, what?"

"Why do you have bags under your eyes?" you furrow your brows.

"I should be asking you the same thing," he huffs.

His attitude catches you off guard. "I asked first," you retort.

"Okay, okay, fine. I couldn't sleep."

Well, that was slightly underwhelming. "Why not?"

"I was... thinking about stuff," Peter shrugs. "not that big a deal."

"What stuff?"

A sigh of exhaustion and desperation falls from his lips as he shuffles through his bag, not looking for anything in particular, but rather a distraction. You clear your throat and hear his breath hitch.

"Do you want to date?"

Whoa there.

...

What the fuck?

The breath catches in your throat before your voices finally regains itself, a bit louder than you meant it to be. "What?!"

"No-" he sputters, eyes wide, "Like, fake date."

By some force of nature, his correction of fake dating surprises you more than just straight-up asking you to date him. Your mind becomes invaded by thoughts; questions about how he thought of that and oh shoot did he hear me last night? You sit down on his bed.

Silence fills the room that sends Peter into a thought spiral similar to your own, just about to make him break into a nervous sweat before you pipe up.

"Did you hear me last night?"

His chocolate eyes widen.

"You heard my call with MJ, didn't you?"

"How.. how would I even do that?" he stutters, rubbing the back of his neck with the hint of a crooked smile. You give him a look and he sighs. "Okay... maybe when I was on my way home from patrol I stopped on your fire escape, and maybe when I was about to come in through the window I heard you say my name, and just maybe that made me hide and listen to the rest of your conversation. And maybe I got Karen to hack into the call so I could hear it."

You shoot up from his bed excitedly, "Gotcha!"

"Whatever," he jumps back, startled, but with a smile.

You raise an eyebrow at him and plop back down on the bed, letting your back fall against the mattress. Peter marvels at how your hair is sprawled across the mattress before he, too, lays down next to you with a thud, making you laugh.

"So, fake dating, huh?" you tease.

"You're the one who came up with the idea in the first place!" he scoffs. A huff falls from your lips and Peter looks over at you. "Do you actually wanna do this?"

You shift your head to look at him. You feel that familiar feeling of the tingling in your stomach; the butterflies fluttering, the fireworks going off. Still, you hide it. "Eh, why not?"

The two of you sit up on the bed, legs criss-crossed and your foreheads less than a foot apart. Words began to fill the air as the two of you devised an intricate plan to fool everyone- well, except for MJ. And maybe May.

You came up with a set of rules:

1. No exposing yourselves to the public (duh) 2. Make it seem AUTHENTIC (hand-holding, nick-names, kisses on the cheek) 3. Go to and from school together 4. ONLY kiss on the lips if put under pressure and make it QUICK! 5. Love letters (????)

These were all scribbled on a scrap piece of paper from your journal, donned in your messy yet legible handwriting.

The whole process of coming up with this was a bit weird for the two of you. On one hand, you were super awkward with romance; your dream relationship was one where you could make fun of each other and laugh at rom-coms. On the other hand, as much as he hated to admit it, Peter Parker was a hopeless romantic. He wanted to be able to show you off and make you smile. Hence, rule #5.

He'd seen Instagram posts with clips of To All The Boys I've Loved Before. And, although he knew that movie didn't make sense to you, he found the idea of writing you love letters every day an incredibly good tactic to get you to fall in love with him.

Because, let's be honest, a huge reason that he was doing this was in hopes that just maybe the two of you would actually date. For real.

Little did he know, you felt the exact same way.

With a sigh, you folded up the scrap paper and handed it to him, getting a puzzled look in return.

"What?" you ask. "If anything, you're the one who's gonna mess up about this."

He perks up, an offended look painted on his face. "How would I possibly do that?"

"I don't know, you'd probably accidentally let it slip that this isn't real-"

Ouch.

"- or go too far with it. I've seen the look in your eyes whenever we watch rom-coms, Petey." you raise an eyebrow.

Jeez. Not only did you hit him with the already incredibly enforced friendzone (again), but you called him out for his love of rom-coms and called him Petey, a nickname that pulled at his heartstrings every time.

Guess he'd be hearing that name a lot more now.

He scoffs and shakes his head. "Whatever."

The paper crinkles as he unfolds it, scanning over the list one more time.

2. Make it seem AUTHENTIC

Hmm.

"Y/N?"

You hum.

"How are we gonna make it seem authentic if you can't even hear the word 'babe' without making a face?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's a good question. Maybe we should... practice?"

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you cringe. A crooked, smug grin tugs at Peter's lips and you scold him, only getting a boyish laugh in return before he pounces onto you, teasing you with lovey-dovey words and tickling you.

"PETER I WILL NOT HESITATE TO SEND A POWER BLAST RIGHT INTO YOUR CHEST RIGHT NOW!"

Your words make him freeze and he hovers above you, chocolate curls hanging over his forehead as the two of you pant, slight smiles on your lips. You raise a brow.

There go the butterflies again.

Peter's eyes light up and he plops down beside you, beginning to wrap his arms around you. You slap his wrist.

"What?" he asks accusingly.

"I should be the one asking that! What do you think you're doing?" you question, slightly bewildered.

"Jeez, Y/N, I'm trying to cuddle with you."

His blunt words practically knock the air out of your lungs, but you and your stubbornness refuse to let that happen. You relax slightly at way his eyes give you a look of "just let me do this" and you give him a small sigh and nod of approval.

Peter tries to hide his happiness and content as he turns onto his side, turning you with him. His arms wrap around your waist gently and pull your back to his stomach, lacing your fingers together.

As much as you hated to admit it, this was nice.

And it was especially nice when you felt him bury his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a relaxed sigh.

A few minutes pass and you lay there, eyelids getting heavier by the second.

"Pete?"

He hums.

"Are we supposed to fall asleep?"

He shifts, opening his eyes drearily. "Yeah, that's kinda the point."

"Alright, dumbass, I was just checking," you say with a smile, pausing for a moment. "Okay, my turn."

Peter furrows his brows at your words before he feels you shift in his arms, turning to face him and settling into his chest. He lets out a soft hum that makes you scrunch your face with a smile, feeling him pull you closer and entangle his legs with yours.

So, who's the one that made Peter Parker a god at cuddling?

You ignore your thoughts and eventually let sleep pull you in, relaxed by the soft breaths of the boy you were so close to- not just as best friends, but now physically.

When May got home late that night, she walked into her nephew's room to catch the sight of you two, having to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from letting out an excited yelp.

Naturally, she left the room with at least fifty pictures of the two of you.

+ + +

Despite the deepest sleep you two had ever had, your restfulness was broken within a split second by the piercing noise of Peter's alarm. You shoot up, eyes wide, only to be dragged back down by Peter's strong grip.

"Peter!" you yell.

"What?" he muffles into your hair, pulling you closer.

No time to fall into that. No matter how hard you want to.

"It's morning!" you exclaim, finally receiving the reaction you expected.

The boy practically flies up, expression matching yours. His eyes shift over to the clock, which, although inanimate, makes him jump out of the bed and begin hunting around his room.

"May!" he yells.

You snatch your bag and begin rummaging through it for your phone when Peter's door busts open, a very tired-looking May appearing in the doorway.

"Peter, what is it?" she pants, messy hair correlating with her exasperated expression.

"You let us fall asleep!" he exclaims, running his fingers through his hair.

Which- not that you notice- somehow looks even better in the morning. You completely ignore how its normally styled chocolate curls have gone wild and how it makes him even more attractive to you.

Yup. Totally ignored.

"Oh, honey," May sighs, a tired smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, "I called Y/N's mom last night to let her know she was sleeping over. I couldn't stand to wake you two up, especially considering the position you were in."

You whirl around to look at her, cheeks bright red as she wiggles her eyebrows playfully.

"May," Peter groans.

She laughs. "Not sorry!"

The door shuts and you two let out a collective sigh. You begin putting your bag together, feeling a bit out of place. The sounds of ruffling in the background makes you furrow your eyebrows.

"Pete, what are you doing?"

"Oh, uh," he turns from his dresser, shirt in hand. "I didn't think you'd want to go to school in the same stuff you wore yesterday."

Your breath hitches as he tosses you a t-shirt with a science pun on it. Classic.

You hum, smirking.

"Thanks, babe."

His expression is priceless.

"What? Might as well get practicing now," you shrug innocently.

Peter lets out a small laugh and the two of you resume with your routine, leaving the apartment with lunches from May and intertwined hands.

And, in addition, a sweatshirt from Peter that smelled just like him.

The two of you walk to school, sharing headphones and getting mildly surprised looks from the other daily commuters on the subway, surely pondering about how the quiet schoolboy from Queens was holding hands with a new mystery girl.

The looks only amplify once the two of you step onto campus.

Your hands are sweaty, fingers having been locked together for a solid twenty to thirty minutes. Still, it's easy to ignore when suddenly you're getting looks from mutual classmates whose gazes now have a weird magnetic pull to your hands. The two of you are mere inches away from your locker before MJ veers in front of you, smirking and clearly satisfied.

"Looks like the idiots finally got their heads out of their asses," she smiles.

"Michelle."

Her eyebrows raise in (impressed) surprise. You never call her Michelle.

"Fine, whatever, I know what's up," she shrugs.

Peter squeezes your hand reassuringly, a silent message of "everything's okay."

"However-"

Oh boy.

"Let's not waste time pretending you both don't want this to be real."

"MJ-" Peter blurts, pleading in his voice.

Right in time for Flash Thompson to enter the scene. Both MJ and Peter can practically hear your annoyed groan at his presence.

"I'll take that as my leave," the curly-haired girl winks before she beelines the other way.

"And that'll be my entrance," Flash smirks. "Parker, I see you've taken the whole protection thing up another notch?"

You practically feel the boy next to you puff his chest up in pride (whether it was fake or not was beyond you). "Well, as her- um- boyfriend, I'm pretty sure it would be a problem if I didn't stand up for Y/N."

You look up at him, smirk on your face. Maybe you were a little peeved at the idea of having to have a boy stand up for you, but you'd let it slide in this situation.

"Boyfriend, huh?" Flash asks, a hint of confusion written in his expression that you pick up on immediately.

"Boyfriend," you nod firmly.

God, if you and Peter were alone right now you'd totally intimidate him to get rid of his rising ego.

"Well then. If the two of you are dating, why don't you kiss her, Parker?"

Or Flash can do that for you.

You look over to see his cheeks bright red. He stutters for a second before Flash raises an eyebrow, prompting Peter to lean over and plant a quick kiss on your cheek.

There.

"On the lips, dumbass."

Nevermind.

"I... uh," Peter chokes out. He's not the only flustered one anymore.

"Oh, don't be a wuss, Parker. Just give Y/N a kiss or I'll do it," Flash smirks.

Whoa there, bud.

You squeeze Peter's hand both anxiously and reassuringly, frantically trying to silently tell him to just do it. Thankfully, he gets the message, taking a deep breath and turning to face you, fingers still loosely intertwined. You give him a slight nod and he slowly leans down, minty breath lightly fanning over your lips before a loud yell erupts in the hallway, making you two jump, as well as everyone around you.

"Eugene Thompson!"

You two, free-handed (which feels refreshing), look up to see Principal Morita speeding over to the boy in front of you.

"You're coming with me," he mutters angrily, grabbing a spluttering Flash by the wrist and dragging him down the hallway.

Grateful smiles bloom on you and Peter's faces and you laugh, resting your head on his chest.

"This isn't the end of this!" Flash shouts, pointing back at you two.

"Yeah, okay, Flash!" Peter yells back, donning a boyish grin. He speaks again, whispering, "What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know," you mutter, resting your head on his shoulder and smiling as he wraps his arms around you softly. "Jeez, cuddlebug."

Peter's face burns at the nickname, but he smiles, drawing circles on your back with his thumb.

"Whatever," he murmurs. "We're definitely not bad at PDA, though."

He got that right.

+ + +

You had everyone fooled.

The news spread quick, to both the school and the Avengers team.

You and Peter became relationship experts, holding hands in the hall, giving the other occasional cheek kisses, following all the rules you two had layed out.

Essentially, you both were living out your dream relationship.

You'd both be lying if you said you weren't trying to somehow make the other fall in love in hopes that the relationship would turn into a real one. You both went the extra mile- in your own ways. You'd make sure to give him plenty of kisses on the cheek- which he'd return- and call him Petey, all while wearing his clothes and using TikTok videos to guide your way (hehe). Peter would take extra thought into every word he wrote in his love letters and made sure to keep them interesting, writing them on leftover bags, old notes, or gum wrappers.

You open your locker, alone for the first time today after spending every second possible with Peter and talking to friends about your "relationship." A small, folded piece of notebook paper flutters to the ground and your face lights up, realizing it was your first letter from Peter. You unfold the paper with a smirk on your face.

"My favorite element is Uranium because I'm in love with U.

- Peter ;)"

The air in your lungs flies out. Of course he'd use a nerdy pickup line, but god, if it didn't make your stomach flutter.

"Hey."

You spin around.

"Speak of the devil," you say, waving the paper in the air.

He lightly smiles. "Was it good?"

"Are you made of Copper and Tellurium? 'Cause you're Cu-Te," you respond, getting a confused look from Peter before he's struck with realization.

"Nice."

"I know."

It almost made you want to write notes to him, but you'd figure you'd find a better idea rather than steal his.

The two of you walked into the Avengers Headquarters, fingers intertwined (as always).

"Well, well, well," Sam says, shifting his gaze from the TV over to the two of you.

The group was split in half when you and Peter announced the "news" about your relationship. One half was immediately ecstatic, running up to you with bright smiles on their faces and asking hurriedly about details. Opposingly, the other half didn't buy it one bit. When they heard the news, they gave each other wary looks and analyzed the two of you.

"Hi, guys," Peter greets, giving your hand a slight squeeze of anticipation.

"What on Earth-"

Tony is cut off by the sound of squeals from Wanda, Bucky, and Bruce, the group eagerly running to you with the biggest smiles you'd ever seen.

"FINALLY!" Scott yells as he runs down the stairs, ice cream covering his mouth and bowl still in hand.

It was a bumpy road.

You lay on your stomach, working on a physics worksheet, nearly falling off the bed when you heard a knock at your window. You raise your head to see Spider-Man gazing in. A sigh falls from your mouth as you roll off the mattress, stumbling over to the window and sliding it open.

"Peter, what are you doing here?" you yawn, falling back onto your bed and nearly crushing all of your papers.

He pulls off his mask. "Why are you so tired?"

"Pete, it's nearly one in the morning."

"Oh," he says quietly. Late nights never got to him.

You close your eyes. "Why are you here, again?"

"Well.. I uh," he hesitates. You grumble and he continues. "I was thinking about this whole relationship thing and it's authenticity and I don't know I kinda missed you and I was thinking maybe we could cuddle just cause it might help with the chemistry and stuff you know-"

"Just get in bed, Peter."

He shuts his mouth immediately, hesitating before piling your papers and neatly placing your things on your desk. Then he looks down at himself.

"Do you by chance have any-"

"Top drawer."

He pulls open the drawer to see a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt you'd stolen from him a few weeks ago. A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth at the knowledge that you'd worn these and kept them. He glances at you before pressing the spider at the center of his chest, feeling the suit loosen and fall to his feet.

You open your eyes.

Of course, you and Peter had seen each other in just underwear; you'd known each other for ages. But it was different now.

Your eyes scanned over his body, just donned in a pair of plaid briefs as he dressed himself. You look away as he turns around, clothed.

The boy then walks to you, picking you up lightly and adjusting you on the bed, pulling the covers and sliding underneath them behind you. You let out a sigh of relief, easing into him and letting sleep overcome you.

+ + +

You should've seen it coming.

Sure, you did, but you never acknowledged it. Your subconscious was playing a manipulative game and you desperately wished to have a talk with it.

You were in love with Peter Parker.

It was known well within you, but you'd never fully registered it until now, here, in the middle of a training session.

Heavy breaths flew out of you as you panted, sweat dripping off of your forehead. Peter stood a few feet away from you, in fighting stance, panting and sweating just how you were. His front curls were getting soaked in sweat, hanging over his forehead as he bounced on his feet. You couldn't help but let your mind get pulled away from your session and towards the fact that he looks so incredibly hot right now.

And then you got angry.

It made you mad that you'd held these emotions in for so long. You'd loved Peter your whole life and never once thought about making a move. It was stupid.

You didn't even give him the nod you normally do, throwing a punch and just barely skimming him in the gut. His eyes widened.

"Jeez, Y/N! You know I have fast reflexes, but that doesn't mean you ignore the signal," he pants, exasperated.

Your hard gaze meets his soft one for a split second before you begin laying it on him, the hardest the two of you had ever sparred. The poor boy was trying to talk to you the whole time, letting out pleads between his pants of desperation, trying to get you to calm down.

"Wow, you two really like getting at it, don't you."

You pull back, snapping your head over at Sam, open door behind him and smirk on his face.

Peter stops. "Uh, now's not a good ti-"

"Get out, Wilson, or I'll shove my finger up your nose so hard that-"

"Okay, okay, jeez," Sam smiles, walking out and shutting the door behind him.

An exhausted huff falls from Peter's lips as he looks at you.

"Y/N," he pleads, "what's wrong?"

You shake your head, entering fighting stance again. He sighs, doing the same before you resume your session, taking a swing at him and barely missing.

"What's wrong," you huff, knocking him out from underneath and pinning him to the ground. "is that I'm in love with you, dumbass."

His eyes widen. You let out a sigh, relief and sympathy immediately washing over you. You look down at yourself, practically straddling the boy on the ground.

And then he flips you around, hands on opposite sides of your head and his breath fanning over your face. He has a soft look, mixed with exhaustion and what seems to be relief and joy. Finally.

Peter Parker smiles, tilts his head down, and lays his lips on yours.

Fake relationship my ass.

+ + +

goodness gracious that took so long to write