#ftts

[randomkidstarfic]

We're still on hiatus, but have a double update for holiday season.

[tsunami-tears909]

It is time, after a bit for...

FADE TO THE STARS~

(Chapter 2: A Puff Of Pink)

“Matttteewwww….Mattteeewww…Matt.” a strange voice called out from inside Matt’s, Mark’s next door, ginger, neighbor, brain.

“What? Who said that??...” the pale man looked around, searching for the source of the voice. Then, he’d spot it as being from a fluffy, pink figure. He looked at her and noted her appearance as being unique and stepped closer.

In reality, Matt was sitting up after waking from a pleasant dream. But, just as Mark had it happen, an alien had jumped onto his face. However, his friends ignored his screams. As he looked around, the pink figure would step closer and look at him too, almost too innocently.

“Oh my, you must be Mattew! I am-” she would speak in an indiscernible language. She was rather excited, bouncing slightly as she spoke.

“Yes, my madam! I am Matt and this is..wait.. Where am I??” he would look around confused. Searching every corner and crevice he could. However, he found nothing on his short term search.

“This is your brain, silly! Here, we can communicate and discuss topics privately!” she would grin, pushing her hair out of her eyes to reveal them to be a rose gold color. Her gentle attitude put Matt at ease from the stressful situation. It also helped that he could hear all of her thoughts, vice versa too most likely.

“Anyway, what are you even? I heard your name but I can not pronounce it.. Is it a fancy language you have?” he tilted his head. His confusion wasn’t helped by his exhaustion from just waking up.

“Well, I am a fluff, an enemy of the slimes. As a fluff, it is…hmm…my duty to protect anyone from them! There was one on this planet as I saw and knew everyone here required protection.” as she spoke, she created a mental image of a diagram of them. Slimes were shown as basically puddles of slimes that were mainly greyscale colors. On the other hand, fluffs were shown as colorful creatures who thrived in groups.

“Wow, these fluff things sound amazing! Could I get one!?” he cheered and shook intensely.

“You have me, Matty! So, you already have one.” she would play with his hair. She would back up and smile. “I am glad I finally have someone, someone who understands me!”

“Yeah, it feels nice to know someone has my very own back!” he’d chuckle. Suddenly, his body lifted up and walked over to his closet with wobbly legs. The fluff and the man would look at each other with matching smiles. Matt had a feeling that today would be amazing.

[fizztapp]

chuckster custom

[kedreeva]

Sometimes I talk about some things that are more difficult in animal husbandry, like hard culling animals, and when babies experience failure to thrive.

The two animals below hatched at the same time.

What I want you to look at is more than just how small one of them is (because quail hatch at different sizes, being small isn't necessarily a problem). The runt has poor feather quality (powdery looking down instead of fluffy and sleek), thin/boney legs (which is a failure either of the yolk or the bird to get enough water), the squinted/small eyes (while they always kinda look grouchy, you can see the eye sockets here and this bird doesn't open its eyes even when alarmed), and the pale beak (these two are the same kind of quail, same color and pattern). When touched, I can easily feel bones in the runt, when I should mostly feel fluff and squish with legs.

This chick is one that must be hard culled. While I may or may not be physically capable of "saving" a baby like this, the process would not be good for either of us, and the animal would not have a good quality of life, possibly ever, and this isn't the kind of genetics you would ever want to breed, as it would likely produce more of the same. It would not grow like its hatch mates, and is very likely to die regardless of what I do, and in a much slower, and painful way than me giving it a swift, humane end.

When breeding animals, any animal, it's important to know what you're looking for when it comes to health- both good health attributes and poor health attributes. This chick IS drinking and might even be eating, it is moving around and making noise. It is, for the most part, BAR (bright, alert, responsive), but not in a fashion that means it is thriving. Knowing the difference is important to the health of the bloodline overall, and for preventing or ending suffering as quickly as possible.

[fearthetallman]

Maybe I am just a cat

[killedbythegroove]

[salty-ironstrange-shipper]

Stephen: I cannot conceive of a universe without you in it.

Tony: Yes you can, it's just less great and less hot.

[happyyft]

My beloved.

[enjoythesilentworld]

I can’t believe I almost missed the chance to ask you to write smth. That’s what I get for having a busy tumblr dash. Anyway. “Join me” as a prompt pls? 💜

hello my darling Lia. you know i'd write anything you asked me to. for today, here's a (not) little ficlet in which Simon neglects to read the fine print and somehow it actually turns out really well for him.

💜enjoy xx

Alone in a foreign country, Simon must find a stranger to join him on the romantic couples food tour he’s accidentally booked. (a 2.3k strangers to lovers, fake dating, speed-run of an AU) if you see this again for day 2 of simon's month dont worry bout it

Simon curses under his breath as the confirmation email comes in.

So, he’d booked the food tour a little quickly, possibly without reading all the fine print. He can’t even blame a language barrier because he’s in Spain and, thanks to his mamá, his Spanish is really better than his English.

The solo-travel thing had been a bit of a last-minute decision. Spurred by the post university graduation crisis of, ‘Oh Fuck What Am I Doing With My Life?’ whichled twenty-somethings around the globe to grab a backpack and buy a one-way plane ticket. Simon’s decision was also encouraged by the fact that he’d woken up one day and realized he was in a toxic relationship, quickly packing his bags and saying Hejdå to a two-year relationship. He’s only about three weeks into the whole self-discovery shtick, but it seems to be going well so far. He enjoys the independence of it all. Not that he’s not independent at home — in fact, he’s been a little bit too much of an adult since he was 10 — but more so that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else. Simon goes to museums when he wants to, stays for as little or as much time as he wants. He eats when he wants, goes to shows he likes, and doesn’t spend every second of every day worrying about everyone else. (Of course, he’s called his mama and sister nearly every day since he left, but he’s working on it.) He also, apparently, incorrectly books guided food tours that are actually romantic couples excursions. 

Glancing around the nearly empty breakfast room at his hostel, he chews on his options. One is to show up to this tour alone and look like a dumb tourist. Two is to find someone willing to go on it with him.

There’s a pair of British girls in the corner, giggling over their plates of breakfast. Simon recognizes them from the stand-up comedy show the hostel had organized the night before; they’d been attached at the hip the whole night. Slim chance of separating them. Crowding around the cereal bar is a group of American guys who all look like fraternity brothers. If Simon remembers correctly, he’d overheard some vile words from them in the bar last night, and so he’s is not too keen on participating in any sort of tour with any of them, romantic or not.

The only other person in the room is sitting a few seats down at the communal table: a very good-looking man with light auburn hair and high cheek bones. His long fingers, nails painted a deep purple, hold up a book with one hand and gingerly lift a coffee cup to his lips with the other. He’s dressed quite casually, in an un-done button up over a tank-top and baggy trousers, but somehow makes it look refined. Simon noticed him yesterday afternoon in the hostel café, noticed the way the man’s eyes tracked Simon from across the room.

His pretty brown eyes are no longer locked on the pages of the book, but have found Simon again and caught him staring. Simon forces himself to hold his ground and smiles, glancing down at the book title. It’s by a Swedish author, he realizes, and a gay Swedish author at that.

Gesturing with his head, Simon asks, “Is it good?”

The pretty man places his coffee cup down clumsily. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“I’ve read it a million times,” he says, closing the book. “I’m Wille.” 

The light blush on his cheeks is endearing.

“Simon.”

Wille smiles softly and nods, “Trevligt.”

He’s polite and looks suspiciously rich to be in this hostel, but his eyes are kind and has a rainbow pin on his tote bag so, before Wille can say anything else, Simon slides one chair closer.

“Are you doing anything today, Wille?”

Wille moves to the chair across from Simon. “Nope.”

Simon props his head on both his hands and gazes at this beautiful stranger, wondering why he didn’t speak to him the day before. “Would you like to join me on a romantic food tour around Barcelona?”

Wille quirks an eyebrow, then mirrors Simon’s position. “I would love to.”

The tour doesn’t begin for a few hours, so they sit and chat while the breakfast room fills up around them. Wille laughs when Simon explains how he’s gotten himself into this situation, and the sound sets little sparks bursting in Simon’s chest. What luck he’s had this morning.

Simon learns that Wille is also at the beginning of a self-discovery trip, running away from a family legacy and a desk job he desperately did not want. He also learns that Wille is incredibly funny and quite flirty, though whenever Simon starts flirting back he becomes incredibly flustered. His stare, though, is the thing that gets Simon the most. Wille looks at him so intently, gaze flitting between Simon’s eyes and his mouth, listening to every word and seemingly staring directly into Simon’s soul. It would be troubling if he wasn’t so goddamn beautiful.

The conversation flows so easily between them that Simon, so wrapped up in Wille’s laugh and crooked teeth, almost forgets they have somewhere to be.

They walk quickly through the streets of Barcelona together, heading towards the café at which they’re meant to meet the rest of their tour group. Wille’s fingers brush against Simon’s a few times, though his voice never falters, so Simon isn’t sure if it’s just him that feels the jolt of electricity each time.

“You said this is a romantic food tour?” Wille asks, reaching out to pull Simon out of the way of a passing cart.

The city is bustling with life around them, the sun shining hot between the buildings, people hanging off balconies, chatting with neighbors or stringing up laundry to dry. It’s absolutely beautiful, and somehow it seems a bit more colorful than it had the day before.

“Yes.”

“Is it going to be obvious that you and I just met?” he says, letting Simon go ahead of him to squeeze through the crowd, staying close, with a hand hovering over Simon’s lower back.

“Well,” Simon muses, “we could make it a bit of a game. If you’re down.”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Wille’s eyes light up with mischief. “I’m down. What kind of game?”

Simon chuckles and shrugs, checking his phone to make sure they’re still headed in the right direction. “We could pretend to be a couple. You know, really put on a show.”

“That sounds very, very fun, Simon.”

For the last ten or so minutes of their walk, they establish some basic rules. They’ll hold hands and gaze lovingly in each other’s eyes and ramble to anyone who asks about their beautiful love story. The goal is to one-up every other couple there by acting sickeningly in love. By the time they make it to the café, only a few minutes late, they’re holding onto each other and cackling at the increasingly ridiculous ‘meet-cute’ ideas they’ve come up with.

There are three other couples in the tour: one looks like a very young newly-wed couple, another is a pair of middle-aged ladies, and the third is a pretentious-looking, older couple who already look fed up with everyone else. As the tour-guide starts on their spiel, Wille wraps a tender arm around Simon, pulling him close and whispering jokes into his ear, somehow making them look more like a couple than even the newly-weds.

They sit down to start, and Wille lets Simon order for them off the selected menu. They feed each other bites of tomato toast and gently wipe crumbs from each other’s cheeks, all the while giggling to each other and only half-listening to the explanations of the food. It also seems they’ve unintentionally started a competition with the other young couple of who-can-look-more-in-love. When Wille hands Simon a napkin before he can even ask to wipe up his splashed juice, the man of the other couple tries to lovingly whisper something in his wife’s ear but gets brushed off as she’s too busy listening intently to the tour guide. When Simon holds out a forkful of potato omelette for Wille, the man tries to do the same, but his wife shakes her head, smiling, and fondly pats his cheek then turns back to her own plate.

As they move through the next few stops — a restaurant, a food cart, and an open-air market — he and Wille fall even further into their ‘game’. There’s plenty of very intentional touches and exchanged loving glances, but Wille also asks Simon about himself. About his family and his dreams and where he’s going next. Simon learns even more about Wille’s obsession with frogs and his love for lakes and his passion for writing. The rest of the tour group fades away, and things between them start to feel a little less like a game and a little more real. The prolonged eye contact becomes less playful and more loaded. The lingering touches become less out of competition and more out of some deep urge. Simon’s eyes flick more often down to Wille’s lips, watching him lick cream off his fingers or clean gazpacho off his spoon.

Maybe it’s the wine, but as they head to their last stop of the day, hand in hand, trailing behind the group, Simon finds himself hoping Wille isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He’d made a few friends over the past few weeks, but it always seemed to work out that when he was having a great time, the person would be leaving the very next day, heading off to some new country or heading back home.

Wille grins over at him and points out a pretty sculpture, mumbling something smart about the artist and looking absolutely ethereal in the light of the early evening with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Maybe it isn’t just the wine.

Their final destination is small tapas place on the beach. Simon and Wille have given up any pretense of listening to the tour guide or of playing their little game. Instead, they sit close at their table and chat about their favorite memories growing up and tell embarrassing stories. Simon, as he’s done at every place, translates every bit of Spanish on the menu and giggles helplessly as he corrects Wille’s pronunciation. They share a plate of pulpo and split a liter of sangria and it’s one of the most perfect days Simon’s ever experienced.

“I’m really glad I misread that website,” Simon says, fiddling with his fingers. When he glances up, he finds Wille grinning at him. He takes Simon’s hand.

“Me too.”

After the tour concludes and their guide bids they all farewell, their group mostly scatters. But, Wille and Simon stay at their table, finishing off their pitcher and becoming increasingly rowdy with their jokes. After a few annoyed looks from their waiter, they collect their things and stumble down to the beach. Simon jumps onto Wille’s back, laughing loudly and savoring the feeling of Wille’s strong hands wrapped securely around his legs. Wille wades out into the shallow water of the beach, and Simon yelps when he pretends to nearly drop them both into the cool water.

Eventually, Wille lets him down but takes his hand instead, and they walk down the sand, talking about the food tour and realizing that they maybe didn’t pay attention at all.

There’s a warm buzz in Simon’s body, making him giddy and calm all at once. When they make it to a small concrete pier, Wille pulls him out to the edge of it and they stand, arms wrapped around each other, staring out at the Mediterranean.

Simon sigh happily. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah. Very,” Wille says breathlessly, and Simon looks up to see Wille staring down at him. He smacks Wille’s chest playfully.

“You’re an idiot, Wille.”

Wille laughs, “I’m being serious!”

“Sure,” Simon hums, turning back to the water, biting back a smile.

“Hey.” He turns back again and Wille’s face has sobered, and he’s now gazing down at Simon with that same intense stare. “You are beautiful, Simon. You’re also funny and kind and— I had a really, really great time today.”

He squirms slightly at the force of the words, the conviction in Wille’s tone, but can’t help but let his eyes flicker down to Wille’s lips. He’s so close and looks so pretty in the cool lighting of the twilight evening and Simon’s never thought it could be possible to fall for someone like this, this hard, in one day.

“Me, too,” Simon whispers. Then, “Wille?”

“Yes?”

“Can I—”

Wille nods, gasping, “Yes,” before Simon can even finish his sentence and then they’re both rushing forward.

Finally, after thinking about it nearly all day, Wille’s lips connect with his. He tastes like fruity wine and olives and something so Wille, and Simon melts into his arms, coming up onto his tiptoes to press further into him. Wille’s hair is soft under his fingertips and though they’ve basically been touching all day, this is different and overwhelming and everything.

When they break apart, giggling into each other, the lights have come on along the paved pathway by the beach.

“Maybe we should head back?” Wille suggests, looking just as much like he doesn’t want to head back as Simon feels. But, it’s getting late and he’s also starting to feel tired from all the wine and walking, so Simon nods and takes Wille’s hand again.

They trail slowly back through the streets, pausing occasionally to exchange a quick kiss, or to slip into an alcove and exchange a slightly longer one. By the time they make it back to their building, Simon’s limbs feel syrupy with sleep and his chest feels warm with the events of the day.

Two steps up the stairs to the front door of the hostel, Simon stops and turns.

“Where will you be tomorrow?” he asks, looking down at Wille.

Wille smiles. “Wherever you are.”

[deadandgonefics]

Chapter 42 of Failure to Thrive is up!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51031033/chapters/163681975

Sydney showed up nervous, expectant, excited. Like a deer in a parking lot. Slightly out of place. 

Why are you here? She’d asked. 

So, to be back in Chicago, cradling everything that Mikey ever made — it wasn’t a pity, even if other people saw it that way. It was a privilege. Carmy was tasked with protecting this beautiful burden, but Sydney didn’t understand. And how could she? She had never known Mikey. 

[randomkidstarfic]

Freeze to the Stone Updates

I keep forgetting to update here, whoops

FttS got two updates last week

Chapter 23 - Draw 23

Chapter 24 - Draw 24

[esta-elavaris]

Part Nineteen [2,416 words] ~ James Norrington/OC

An AU of my completed, 400k+ word fanfic Catch the Wind [AO3], in which Elizabeth, not James, is the one to discover Theodora Byrne after she crash-lands into the world of Pirates of the Caribbean.

Page breaks by cafekitsune.

Also now on AO3 and FF.net.

Masterlist of all chapters.

Tag list [let me know if you want to be added!]: @teawithshakespeare @missfronkensteen @dancerinthestorm

A/N: I did not intend to take such a long break from this – but I’m so grateful for how patient you all were!

When Theo received her own personal invite to Amelia Simmonds��� garden party a week after the incident, she had no idea if it was because of the incident and the boundless gossip opportunities it presented, or because Port Royal couldn’t keep a secret for shit and it was now common knowledge that she was being courted by Captain Norrington.

Back home, a garden party would be a boombox in the garden with a cooler full of beers, and a few different choices of Dorito flavours artfully bowled across a white plastic table. It was a bit of a different affair here. The patio doors were flung open and a string quartet was on standby to greet the guests as they filtered out into the hot Caribbean sun under blindingly bright dresses with matching parasols, where canapes and fine crystal glasses of indistinguishable beverages awaited them.

It wasn’t surprising to Theo – and it was probably less surprising to everybody else – that she had no idea how to act. Oh, in settings such as these she had long since learned to follow Elizabeth’s lead, but there was no lead to follow when it came to her new status as far as Port Royal’s most beloved captain was concerned. And not knowing how to act while also being under such heavy scrutiny? That was yet another source of pressure.

Yes, she could follow James’ lead, as well as guessing based on how they’d conducted their visits – for he had visited at least once every day while she ‘recovered’, even if his schedule meant that visit was a mere ten minutes between other things. And she’d found she’d begun to actively look forward to those visits, and was disappointed when they were over.

Oh, she was completely doomed.

Still, that doom came to her dressed dashingly as usual in his full formal get-up the moment she was alone, wielding a glass with some indiscernible liquid in each hand.

“For you,” he handed her one of the tiny glasses.

Theo peered at the glass, barely bigger than her thumb, her brow furrowed.

“It’s Bénédictine,” he said.

“Oh, I know, I just…I don’t know if I can manage all of this,” she said.

James sighed his impatience – fondly, at that – and she continued.

“I mean, look at that. You could drown in there. No, it’s just far too much. I get bored of all drinks after the first mouthful, and this? This has two. Maybe even three. I’ll never manage it.”

“I see you’re feeling better,” he said, a note of humour breaking up his rueful tone. “You must be, if you’re back to teasing me.”

She did feel better. Whatever she’d been plied with for the sake of her ‘nerves’ had, at the time, left her feeling a little foggy, and with a sense of contentment too blankets like and hazy to be real...and once it’d worn off, she’d paid the price for that. Something to do with burning through too much dopamine in too short a time, she suspected, leaving her to do without after the fact. That had been rough. But it hadn’t lasted long, no more than a day, considering she hadn’t been on the stuff long enough to warrant proper withdrawals. Mostly she’d been tired.

...And a little scared. All right, more than a ‘little’ scared. Of what was yet to come. Of the mess she’d gotten herself into. Of the choices she was still making, to be ‘courted’ by a man from the eighteenth century, who should not exist, who was doomed to die, who would hate her if he knew all she kept from him...and who she couldn’t possibly actually have any future with, even if she did manage to circumvent his fate. Right? Staying with him would mean...staying altogether.

And worse still, she wasn’t standing here wishing that she’d done anything differently. Was it any wonder she hadn’t had the heart to needle him?

“Did you miss it?” she asked. “The teasing?”

“More than I should admit.”

All those in attendance at the garden party – all of the eyes who sought to discern just how Port Royal’s newest courting couple would behave around one another – would have no difficulty seeing how she blushed then.

Clearing her throat, she did her best to ignore that blush and spoke. “No regrets on not choosing team shark, then?”

“None thus far. Ask me again in a week or two,” he said drily, a small smile playing on his lips.

“A week?” she gasped. “You think it’ll take that long? You absolute saint, you.”

That earned her a full-blown smile. At least until he made the mistake of casting a glance about those gathered – all of the eyes flickering to them from beneath parasols, over fans, and across drinks. It was enough to dampen his joy, a little, for he straightened, but the smile didn’t fully disappear. Discomfort, it seemed, more than embarrassment. That was a relief. An Irish castaway with no social standing, save for Governor Swann’s daughter having taken a fondness for her, was an unconventional choice, and James Norrington was nothing if not conventional. Or, well, that was how it was supposed to be for now.

“I do hope I’m the only one between us who has the feeling of being an exhibit at a zoo,” he remarked.

“You get used to it,” she offered quietly.

“I...yes. I suppose it’s been that way for you here since the beginning. And my saintly behaviour did not help.”

“Eh, it was a welcome distraction. Passed the time.”

“You’re too generous.”

Feeling bold, she disguised her next words behind a sip of the drink he’d brought her. “You’re too handsome.”

A shocked laugh sprang forth from him, followed by a good deal of spluttering before he finally cleared his throat and shook his head, pretending to find the nearest patch of grass incredibly fascinating. Her smugness lasted about as long as it took her to actually taste the contents of her glass, though, after which her nose wrinkled and she went back to nursing the glass, wondering how exactly she could get rid of it without looking like even more of a wildly uncultured swine.

“There was a matter I wanted to raise with you, while you’re here. I didn’t want to trouble you with it before, nor ruin our visits together...but...well...”

Now she was standing in the garden of the House of Simmonds, there wasn’t much to ruin. She didn’t voice that fact, but the knowing look she cast about the setting seemed to show him that she understood well enough.

“Your father,” he said finally.

“My father?” she echoed weakly.

“I know there are things you have yet to share with me,” a note of sourness threatened to seep into his voice, but he fought it valiantly. “And I shall not rush you. But...you were trying to reach him, yes? And he is...he is a military man? Those are parts of your tale that I never doubted.”

“Yeah- yes. Yes.”

“Would you allow me to begin the process of attempting to find him?”

Theodora stared. And he apparently took that as an answer, continuing quickly but firmly.

“I will not rush you, I spoke truthfully when I said that, I swear it. Not in this, nor in...nor in this,” he motioned, barely, in a way that indicated between the two of them. “But I am keenly aware, as I’m sure you are, that this is a process that may take some time. A long, long time. By the time letters fall into the wrong hands, then reach the right ones, and then receive responses. Is it not better to begin it now? And then the rest of the timing will be at our leisure. At your leisure.”

Pragmatic to a fault. And still too, too fucking good. Whatever he saw in her face, he apparently disliked, for he adjusted where he stood so that his back would block her face from the view of all others in attendance.

“The last thing I wish to do is make you uncomfortable. I’ve done enough of that. And I do not ask this for my own sake, so that we might- I wish to reunite you. Only that. And what else it may or may not bring can be discussed at a later date.”

“Can I think on it?” she asked quietly, finding herself completely unable to look at him.

The correct thing to do, from a standpoint of cold hard logic, would be to agree. To let this already impossibly busy and dutiful man take on extra work, chasing down someone who had not yet been born, for a woman he likely would no longer regard with any affection once he knew the truth. Because what reason could she have to disagree? His patience, on this matter, was a finite thing, and sooner or later he would need an explanation. Telling him no would shorten that span of time, but telling him yes would only have her deserving his hatred twofold, should the truth come out and he realises it was a pointless venture from the very beginning.

“Of course you can.”

Sighing, she almost brought the glass to her lips for another sip, just for something to do with her hands, before she remembered how foul it tasted and dropped it again. “He’d really like you, you know.”

“Only if you mask some of the finer details of these last few months,” he mused, though his eyes remained trained on her features, seeking out any hint of what she really wanted to say.

“I may be open to bribes.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

A few beats of silence passed, and then Theo straightened, hesitated, and sighed.

“James...”

“Hello, you two!” Elizabeth was on them then, lowering her voice after her initial sunny greeting. “I am here in a glowing display of proof that I am neither spurned nor offended. How am I faring?”

James coughed, his current resolution towards candour challenged by Elizabeth’s bluntness, but when his eyes found Theo’s face again, she met his gaze and found he was doing his utmost to show through eye contact alone that he was not angry with her. Frustrated, perhaps, but not angry. 

“Valiantly. You haven’t slapped me or anything,” she answered Elizabeth, spirits bolstered enough by that reassurance to joke a little.

“Miss Swann must be too frightened to do so, after your victory against your last foe.”

“The shark? That was your victory,” Theo pointed out.

“I shan’t claim it. Consider that my first of many bribes,” he replied drily. “And this the second.”

As he spoke, he plucked the glass from her hand and, after making sure the view of the others was fully shielded, emptied its contents into the grass. It was criminal for a grown man to be that adorable. Especially when his face softened at how his actions had her fighting back a smile.

“I’ll leave you two in peace. Miss Swann. Th- Miss Byrne.”

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day when anybody could make him forget formalities so easily. Perhaps you really are a witch,” Elizabeth murmured conspiratorially – mercifully, once he was out of earshot.

Theo didn’t respond.

“The two of you really are so precious, you know,” she prodded again.

“He wants to track down my dad.”

“What?”

“My father. He was asking permission to get the ball rolling to track him down, and reunite us.”

“Oh that’s so romantic!”

“Elizabeth.”

Never before had she felt such a keen need to monitor herself so closely – her tone, her expressions, her body language. For not only were all gathered here watching, but she knew James would be too, trying to get a sense of her reaction when she mightn’t feel the need to filter it for his sake. For he knew that Elizabeth knew everything. And she could therefore be more forthcoming with her. If she freaked out now, if she spoke in anything other than a casual tone, with anything but a smile on her face, he’d grow more suspicious. He’d demand answers sooner.

And if he did that? She’d have a mind to just tell him the bloody truth and be done with it. But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

“What? It is! I’d never say it in front of him, I know how easily he embarrasses, but even you can’t deny it’s terribly sweet-”

“Elizabeth.”

“What, Theo?” Elizabeth laughed impatiently, evidently frustrated that she was equally thrilled alongside her.

“What am I supposed to say?” she said through a smile that was more just like gritted teeth. “What am I supposed to tell him?!”

“The only thing you can tell him. Yes. It’ll be a grave insult otherwise,” Elizabeth replied as though it were obvious. 

“So I’m supposed to just let him chase after someone who doesn’t exist?”

“It’ll make him happy!”

“And then when he finds out the truth?”

“...If he finds out the truth, you can handle it when it comes.”

There were times, when she spent time with Elizabeth, where she marvelled at how all of the divides between them made little difference. Those of the times, lifestyles, wealth, and even age. This was not one of those times.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is!” Elizabeth insisted, appearing irked at her now. “Enough of this, for now. We can’t be seen to be bickering now, they’ll assume the worst. We can discuss this later, Theo, but really you do have to tell him yes. He’ll think you’re not serious about him, otherwise! And then all of this heartache will have been for nothing! When you’re both so happy!”

We can discuss this later sounded a whole lot like I can explain why I’m right later, but Theo shoved down her annoyance, and her panic, and mostly just wished she’d suffered the damn Bénédictine after all. Maybe it would’ve been strong enough to chill her out.

That wish doubled in on itself when she noticed Groves weaving his way through the crowd, and Elizabeth murmured.

“I suppose I’m not the only one who needs to put on a show of not feeling spurned. Although mine may have been rather more truthful.”

Theo said nothing. At this rate, she’d be checking to see if Amelia was stocking vodka.

[fizztapp]

Played through Mike Bithell's Tron Identity earlier this month. Started playing Tron 2.0 from Monolith for the first time this past weekend. Both have blown me away.

Cleaning up those corners of Tron I haven't touched yet. I think there was a comic published at one point I need to hunt down. The world of Tron really is peak

[rook-specter]

some FTT stuff (mostly Kar)

[fearthetallman]

FRICK YOU

*unteeths your turtles*

[cheezyharu]

*crashes into ask box lol* oh hi can I request valor/starcross gijinka please

Shit sure lmao. Banger song, if only I wasn’t so ass at the Phigros chart

;-;