#troiing

The first pic doesn't capture the shininess of the paint. This was my first time binding a fanfic or anything really and I made a lot of mistakes, but I learned a lot. The fic is a hicsqueak fic by @troiings and I've read it many times, it's sooooo good and in so glad they were cool with me binding it. Sorry it took so long, I took many breaks lol. Shout to @renegadepublishing and their discord server, everyone was super helpful and knowledgeable.

You can find the fic here:

*fistpump* SANCTUARY FOR ALL

So I started a sequel to this fic with more of Hecate!Hades and Persephone!Pippa shenanigans. 

Snippet: 

She leaves Pippa to her own devices for a few hours. There’s nothing she can do, nowhere she can go, and Hecate isn’t keen on listening to her beg and plead her freedom.

She’s heard the same cries from countless dead, from those foolish enough to venture into the Underworld to take something or someone that no longer belongs to them.

Heroes desperate to save a loved one, others convinced they can escape judgement. She’s never quite understood those who believe the rules apply to everyone but them; why she should take pity on anyone simply because they’re brave enough or foolish enough to ask.

She thinks of Pippa, in her pink summer dress, wide, wet eyes imploring her—

Hecate clenches her jaw.

What’s done is done. Pippa will remain, and will simply have to get used to the idea—though Hecate imagines it might take some time.

It wasn’t her first choice either, if she’s honest with herself. Never thought she’d delegate herself to the land of the dead, to darkness and shadow.  But the lots were drawn fairly, and after the war—

She pushes the thought aside.

She’s comfortable now, almost proud of the world she’s come to rule. It’s efficient, and clear—orderly, as much as death can be. She’s been here so long now, she wonders if she’d leave even if given the chance. If the sky or the earth or the sea wouldn’t be too much for her, now—too much chaos and disruption.

Settling into the chair behind her desk, she purses her lips at the stacks of papers that have accumulated in her brief absence dealing with Pippa.

It’s easy to lose herself in her work—to execute the judgements passed on to her from the judges, to catalogue and sort and file the names of the dead.

It steadies her, enough that a few, blissful hours go by where she doesn’t think of Pippa at all.

i was THERE thursday and the answer is no that is a bad idea don’t do it drink water instead i have already made this mistake within the past week i cannot allow you to make it too

ARE YOU TELLING ME HOW TO LIVE MY LIFE

I don’t think I’m using it well today :’( Oh well, might be good to take a break, I really think at this point that I might as well talk to thin air too.

Bernie wants to stay awake forever–to keep the smell of Serena’s soap and skin constant in the air she breathes, to trap Serena’s warmth around her even on the hottest nights. To always hear the sound of her flipping through paperwork, marking important bits with the swipe of a highlighter, to feel her fingers returning to Bernie’s head after every click of the cap.

She yawns. Tries to swallow the yawn, jaw cracking and sound more obvious for her attempts to stifle it. Serena twists Bernie’s hair around her fingers, runs her nails against Bernie’s scalp. Places her notes down behind Bernie’s bent knees, that almost noiseless humming that runs through her entire body when she’s relaxed echoing against Bernie’s cheek. Rippling through Bernie’s own muscles and tendons like a joyful symphony because, well, she’s done that for Serena. At least this one night, this one moment, she’s kept Serena safe and content just by sitting close.

She can’t remember the last person (her children, tiny and sticky-fingered and crawling into bed with her before sunrise) for whom her presence alone was–

“Shall I turn this off?” Serena asks. Bernie startles–she’d forgotten the television altogether, has no idea what’s on. She shakes her head, “no, ’m'watching,” wants to keep everything just as it is. Wrap this moment around her like she’s currently wrapped in Serena’s dressing gown; keep Serena sat on their uncomfortable sofa until her flight back to England has long since landed without her on board. She presses a kiss to Serena’s thigh. Savors the resulting shudder. Leans into the scratch of Serena’s nails behind Bernie’s left ear; wishes, almost, that Serena would draw blood. Mark her skin, mark this moment, mark Bernie as Serena’s, eternal and forever.

Serena bends over, kisses just above Bernie’s eyebrow and sits back up. Head tilted, Bernie imagines, back against the top of the sofa. “Lie down with me,” Bernie says. Trying to nudge Serena to lie behind her, arms and fingers all swimming through fog as she reaches back.

“Just a minute,” Serena says, hand straying to the nape of Bernie’s neck. Fingers playing with Bernie’s hair. “I don’t want to fall asleep quite yet.” Bernie’s eyes slip shut; too heavy to keep open, too sated to keep watch. She thinks the television clicks off. Thinks Serena removes her reading glasses, places them gently on the side table. Thinks maybe Serena whispers something to her, something true and real, but she falls asleep before she can hear it.