#anyhow...bit of a tangent here rip

[baekuras]

still amazed at my friend who is oh so politically activate and climate change and racism and bla bla bla the usual

but then uses chat gpt to write e-mails

siR

[honeyhonest]

✧˖°. habituality

warnings: gn!reader, fluff and comedy mostly, reader is ADULT yuu, curse you sinclair for giving me visions again, one (1) dirty joke, not edited, this is kinda nothing just an exercise in crowyuu thought

length: not too long

It started Sunday.

You were prone to periods of strangeness. It was symptomatic of your tenure at Night Raven College; some days, you'd be, well, you, your normal, sane self. And some days, you'd be a stranger to your friends; fits of maniacal laughter, moodiness, melancholy, a complete lack of appetite and no motivation, and a repulsion to touch and talk, that all left your friends at a loss.

This was different.

Based on your bright smile and sunny disposition, one might have assumed, from a distance, that today was a "you" day. Your head held high, you walked with a spring in your step, humming some mysterious tune. You weren't bothered by the blinding sun or the bothersome, boring tasks that the Headmage had given you the keys to the library for, which you were now loosely twirling around your fingers.

It was as if nothing could make you happier than surveying the school, first thing on a Sunday morning.

You had even asked Ace and Deuce to come along, although you usually did these things yourself; which should have been their first clue that something was horribly wrong.

"And all Saturday, too," you explain, reshelving the books that had been ripped from their beds during the last "incident" (a Diasomnia student had accidentally taken a Savanaclaw student's seat).

"I am getting better at it, though, if you can believe. It's just a matter of knowing how to pace oneself... typewriters are an amazing feat of technology!"

You finish your tangent abruptly, as if expecting a response from someone whom was absolutely not your friends.

Deuce's head bobs, and Ace pulls him back by the hair to keep him awake.

"...Anyhow, it can be- and should be- said that the students of this school could stand to learn a thing or two from the patience and delicacy it takes to master the typewriter,"

Again, you wait for a response, as if either of them had anything to say to that. Ace is checking his Magicam DMs. Deuce wipes his nose on his sleeve without thinking and then silently curses himself for it.

You clear your throat. "...Right. Well, how have you two been faring?"

"Hurmg?" Deuce gurgles, half-awake. Ace sighs.

"Do you need help?"

"Me?" you ask, shelving another volume of Encyclopedia Twistanica. "No, I'm fine."

"Then why are we here?"

You stare blankly, unblinking, as if shocked to be asked. "What do you mean? I thought you might want to spend some time together. I've been so busy lately, I..."

"All you can talk about is work," Ace says. "You need a break, seriously. Go home and take a nap, Deuce and I will finish this for you."

"Hurrg?" Deuce groans. Ace shakes him by the shoulders until he's upright.

You look between the two, a bit taken aback, but no less thankful for the help.

"If you insist, I... I'll go back to Ramshackle,"

You hesitate, still, to leave, lingering in the doorway as if your friends might beckon you back at any moment.

"Good!" Ace calls. "And, seriously! Go rot your brain on Magicam or something! Play a game, feed Grim, just, no working!"

---

It carried on to Tuesday.

The courtyard is unusually (and unluckily, for the events following) devoid of life today, the cloudy weather having driven the students of Night Raven College indoors.

Its only occupants- Ace Trappola, moaning in misery, and Deuce Spade, insistent on revising their history of magic report before taking shelter in the warm, comfortable, strawberry-scented rooms of Heartslabyul- are sitting on a stone bench.

The following voice from behind is near unrecognizable:

"Ah! You're here! I have a surprise for you~!"

Ace stiffens, as if being caught in the act of something criminal, and Deuce stiffens, as if ready to salute whichever housewarden or member of the staff had came at them from behind.

It's you.

"Prefect?" Deuce asks, picking up the pen that had fallen from Ace's loose fingers.

"You scared the crap out of us!" Ace snaps. "I thought you were Crowley or something! Geez!"

You sit between them on the bench and scowl. "Not funny. Crowley and I are nothing alike. And you shouldn't say "crap", swearing on campus like that, you'll set a bad example for the others,"

Ace and Deuce exchange a look.

"Now, who wants to hear the surprise?"

You don't let them answer, throwing your arms out into the air with a dramatic flourish. "I've got the whole week off! Isn't that wonderful!"

Ace sniffles. "...Well, good. You're really starting to freak me out. I asked Trey about you last night and he says you might be manic,"

"Manic?" you ask. "I've never felt better. I just thought if I spent my time more wisely, I might have less work to do. Of course, I'll still have to regularly check in with the Headmage-"

"Woah," Deuce says. "You just said you have the week off."

"Yes, that's right. I do,"

Ace narrows his eyes. "Then why are you still going to see Crowley?"

You give the two a confused glance, as if the thought to not see Crowley hadn't occurred to you. Ace just sighs.

"Your brain is totally fried from overworking yourself. Just take the week off, okay? No staff, no extra studies, no doing Crowley's dirty laundry. Get a hobby or something, man, this is just sad,"

Deuce nods, though his eyes are softer, and more sympathetic. "Take it easy, Prefect,"

You ponder on that for a moment, and then, with an unusual amount of flair and flourish, throw your coat out and stand.

"Very well. I will... retire to my room, for the evening," you say, as if it were some awful thing. "Alone. All alone. With no one to talk to. Or to listen to me... ah, very well, I'm going now! Goodbye! Good night! I'll see you first thing in the morning!"

Ace sighs as you drag your feet all the way inside.

Deuce's smile drops. "Do you think they're going through something?"

"I'd say something is going through them, more like it," he mutters, and then makes himself sit straighter to think. "Y'know, this isn't like when they start acting all freaky and moody."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when they get weird like that, they start acting like a stranger,"

Deuce raises an eyebrow. "And this isn't the same, how?"

"They're not acting like a stranger. We know good and well who they're acting like,"

---

"And then they all but told me to leave and barricade myself in my room!"

Crowley tsks, cradling your face in the palm of his hand, taloned fingers softly caressing your cheek.

"I'm certainly not surprised. No matter how many times I've lectured the students of this school on decorum, they're resoundingly rude! I could not count the times I've been shooed away..."

You whine. "They're supposed to be my friends, though,"

"But they're only children," he reminds you, his other hand holding your hip, readjusting your weight in his lap. "It's in their nature to be cruel. It's our job to teach them better, is it not?"

"I guess," you grumble.

He playfully pinches your side and then cups your face in both hands, holding you still so that he can kiss the side of your head without you losing an eye to the beak of his mask.

"Worry not. They're only protecting their own precious egos- I am sure they respect you just as much as they respect myself!"