#inclined to state that this was just. a quick sketch :)

[milolovesbmc]

Yeah Star Butterfly was my favourite character as a kid (<- trans guy)

[cosmicalily]

"someone bagged the rockstar" a han jisung oneshot by @cosmicalily

"someone ran homе empty handed, someone bagged the rockstar. but how sweet, sweet, sweet it'd be, be, be, just to dream, dream, dream, next to me." - 'sweet to dream' by tv girl & jordana

author's note: "guys i'm gonna be inactive" okay so why are your pants on fire lily? warnings: implied sex (no actual smut, you nasties), making out, mentions of alcohol

You woke up with Jisung’s bare chest pressed tight to your back. “Whore,” you’d mumbled under your breath, letting your eyes and hands wander down his arms. Tattoos littered his chest and collarbone, ones you hadn’t noticed in your frenzied state last night. It was strange seeing them on his skin; physical memories he’d chosen to have needled onto him, maybe for fear of forgetting.

“You got it,” a sleepy voice murmured, warm arms slipping around your waist. He nuzzled his head into your shoulder, and you breathed in his scent. It was musky, with a mix of aftershave and your pomegranate perfume.

You let your finger trace the tattoos littering his torso. He didn’t seem to care; he simply watched you outline each drawing, each piece of him.

You’d never gotten tattoos, nor did you ever feel inclined to. You thought they were meaningless, permanent sketches on someone’s skin. 

You suddenly got the desire to cover yourself in delicately traced ink, linking all the parts together that were important to you. It was a quick thought; it came and passed.

“You like them?”

“They’re pretty.”

“I’ll get one for you next,” Jisung yawned, pulling your body flush against his again. “What do you want? Or do you want to sketch it yourself?”

“So are all these tattoos of other girls you’ve taken home?” you teased, pushing his hair out of his face.

Jisung pouted. “I’m not that whoreish. As a matter of fact, I haven’t gotten a tattoo for a single girl. Except for my mom.” He shifted his body slightly to show a small magnolia on his hip bone. 

“I didn’t take you for a ‘gets a tattoo for his mom’ kind of guy,” you giggled.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t take you for a ‘goes home with a guy she’s known for barely a day’ kind of girl.”

You wrinkled your nose a little. You didn’t take yourself for that kind of girl either, but here you were. And it wasn’t like you regretted your decisions either, though you were beginning to regret that final round of beer pong. Of course Jeongin’s terrible coordination had only worked in his favour when alcohol was involved. 

Oh well. Maybe it was worth it. You’d ended up with a pretty boy, his arms around your waist, pressing kisses into your shoulder.

You could be in worse situations.

Your dark hair was in a messy braid, one you remembered Jisung putting it in for you. Your makeup was on his pillowcase, and your eyeliner smudged. You hadn’t brushed your teeth, and your mouth still tasted like alcohol, sour gummy worms, and him.

He didn’t care. He pulled you in by the nape of your neck, just like you’d remembered he had before you’d fallen asleep, and pressed a soft kiss onto your lips.

It wasn’t worth it, was it?

He wasn’t going to stay.

They were on tour.

He’d leave you behind.

Your mind clearly didn’t comprehend these thoughts. You found yourself kissing back, running your tongue over his bottom lip. 

His fingers played with the soft hairs at the back of your neck.

You’d known him all of twenty-four hours.

He was barely doing anything. His kisses were soft and sweet, occasionally accompanied with a soft mumble of incoherent words against the lips. You shoved your face into his shoulder, and he continued pressing kisses into your collarbone.

It was the way he could so easily make you fall for him,

Even though you knew that tomorrow, he might not be there.

You pulled away from him, and Jisung stared at you in confusion, lips glossy, eyes wide.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, looking at you worriedly. “I’m sorry. It’s probably too much. If you want to go home now, you can. I can drive you home or walk you or you could go by yourself if you don’t want me to-”

“No, it’s not that. Can I draw my tattoo on you?”

His eyes softened and he nodded excitedly. He rolled over, his lower body tangled in the sheets, and retrieved a Sharpie from somewhere beside his bed. You didn’t question why it might be there. You didn’t question a lot of things about him.

He laid down on his back, and you sat down on his lower stomach, hair falling in your eyes as you drew a design on his collarbone. You weren’t exactly sure what it was initially, but Jisung encouraged you to just sketch whatever came to mind. So you did.

A black cat, a pair of cherries. A small guitar pick.

As the black marker outlined illustrations on Jisung’s skin, he stared up at you, eyes full of stars. 

Oh, there weren’t even words to describe how mesmerising you were to him. As he took you in, all of you, his heart would beat a little faster. And those lyrics he’d write frantically in his notebook, the words that would melt off his tongue so seamlessly when he sang?

Gone. Traceless when you were within some kind, any kind of proximity. 

You did all that to him, something so intentionless. In the way you breathed, the way your bangs fell in front of your eyes no matter how many times you tucked them back agitatedly. In the way you bit your lip in concentration as you traced and coloured and dotted, until at last, you were satisfied.

Once the cap was on the Sharpie, Jisung gently but firmly tugged your body down on top of his, hands resting on your hips. 

“You should come with me,” he mumbled into your ear. “On tour.”

You’d known Han Jisung for all of twenty-four hours, 

And yet you found yourself answering him with a kiss.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts @zelinkcrossing - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[natty1730]

Ch. 1: The Palette and the Predator

🫀 Dinner & Diatribes🫀

The bustling traffic outside the SoHo art gallery starkly contrasted with the serene atmosphere within. At twenty-three, Antonina had carved a niche for herself in the city's whirlwind as a visual arts student at NYU. Her days were filled with the scent of turpentine and the boundless potential of a blank canvas, a far cry from the solitary estate of her childhood. This sharp dichotomy between her past and present was a constant reminder of her evolution and a testament to the intensity of her journey and the depth of her experience. She had also inherited his observant eye and awareness of the hidden beauty behind the scenes. This served her well in her studies, helping her grasp the softer play of light and shadow and the delicate form of the human figure. Her artistic inclinations had turned toward the natural world—the inherent patterns of leaves, the fleeting beauty of wildflowers, and the silent language of the forests she had climbed with such delight at home. These elements of nature, so pervasive in her work, evoked a sense of calm and a profound connection to the beauty of the world around her, a connection she sought to share with her audience. Her father's text message interrupted her thoughts. "MoMA's Rothko exhibit is quite intriguing. It might inspire you," It read. A faint smile tugged at her lips. Despite its brevity, her father's message was a thread that bound them together across the distance. Their relationship was woven with deep love and latent tension. He nurtured her passion for art and the finer things in life, serving as her gateway to knowledge. Yet, there were unspoken aspects of his life, murky areas that she sensed more than understood.

Later that afternoon, after a fruitless effort to capture the fleeting quality of rain on a city street, Antonina was lured back to the comforting familiarity of the Union Square Greenmarket. The explosion of color on the fruits, the acrid aroma of the herbs, the friendly banter between the sellers—it was an olfactory lotion to the all-too-often-grueling demands of her studies. She instinctively gravitated to a stall chock-full of wild mushrooms, their damp aroma releasing a flood of memories about rambling in the woods that edged their state, her father slowly teaching her what was edible and poisonous. Foraging was one of their shared rituals, a wordless communion with the natural world. He'd taught her plant names in Latin, the subtle differences in texture and scent, and the ecosystem's delicate balance. She'd always known a profound peace in those woods, a sense of homecoming that the city, for all its pulse, couldn't rival.

A memory arose as she carefully picked a few chanterelles— a quick flash of her father cooking a colorful, pungent dish with wild mushrooms. The memory was not just strong; it was almost tangible, but something beneath kept her from pursuing it. There was a metallic smell she couldn't identify, and there was intensity in his eyes as he cooked. She shook her head slightly, pushing aside the fleeting unease. Her father was a man of refined tastes, a genius. His passions were always intense.

Later that evening, Antonina spread her sketches in her small, cramped studio apartment. Her charcoal sketches were typically close-up portraits of the human form, a raw exposure she only occasionally expressed through her soft smile. Tonight, however, her hand was in agitated motion, the lines darker, more angular than she tended to use. She sketched the gnarled roots of ancient trees, their forms almost skeletal, plunging deep into the hidden earth. She drew the delicate veins of a leaf, how easily they would break, how fragile even the most robust life was. And then, her charcoal danced across the paper, drawing the intricate patterns on the cap of a wild mushroom, the same one she had gathered that day, a fungus that was nourishing and fatally poisonous if mistaken by a hair.

A sense of unease, akin to the unsettling allure of a bruised flower, twisted in her stomach. The memories of their shared forays for food, once a source of comfort, now carried a strange, unsettling familiarity. His intense focus and almost clinical precision in naming each plant seemed less like a shared pleasure in nature and more like a profound observation. She extended her hand to her phone, thumb hovering over the contact number for her father. Some of her longed to hear his gruff, questioning voice, his telling quip. But his expression of increasing intensity in the kitchen, the shadow of the metallic smell, and that hushed, authoritative quiet she caught—that created an impassable barrier. The scene was like a piece of invisible glass falling quietly between them, distorting what was once familiar into a dimly foreign version. Looking over her sketches, Antonina saw a reflection of this growing dissonance. The delicate lines were rimmed with darkness, beauty tainted with the faint smell of rot. The wolf in the blackness of the wildflower's den was no longer simply basking in the filtered light; she was beginning to feel the coldness of the blackness surrounding her, a primal sense that breathed to her the possibility that the sweetness she had grown used to was perhaps a more savage, brutal edge. The air in her small flat was thick, thick with unspoken questions that hung like the eerie melodies that lingered in the black spaces of her mind – melodies that attested to hidden hunger, the squalid origins of the family, and the sick beauty that could bloom in the most unforeseen and vile of soils.

[ryutarotakedown]

[ID: Four pieces of crossover art for Ace Attorney and Disco Elysium.

The first shows Harry du Bois and Phoenix Wright lying on the floor together, both in their underwear. They look disoriented. Phoenix is holding a cigarette, and his beanie is a distance away. There's a smashed wine bottle somewhere. Harry says blearily, "Where are we?" Phoenix responds, "I don't know. Some room." Harry: "Well who are you?" Phoenix: "I don't know that either. Some kind of court jester? …Doesn't matter. You?" Harry: "I'm a harbinger. The end is coming and it starts here." Phoenix: "Great."

The second drawing is an uncolored sketch of Miles Edgeworth and Kim Kitsuragi standing together, looking annoyed. Miles is emitting a set of red ellipses, while Kim is emitting a set of orange ones. Text above them reads, "Meanwhile… These two have been waiting in complete silence for a very long time after an incredibly brief introduction which allowed them to identify each other as the same kind of wet blanket. This has made them natural enemies and they are attempting to bombard each other with negative psychic energy."

The third drawing shows four Disco Elysium-style skill portraits:

The first is Legalese, which looks a bit like a skeletal Edgeworth with a cravat. The description reads, "Cool for: Ace Attorneys, Red-Tape Aficionados, Courtroom Pedants. Know and deploy the law. Take advantage of loopholes."

The second is Kinetic Vision, which is a swirling yellow entity with multiple diamond-shaped eyes. The description reads, "Cool for: Card Sharps, Amateur Interrogators, The Magically Inclined. Notice other people's tells, conceal your own. Tap into the body's knowledge."

The third skill is Rebound, which is a red silhouette that looks like Maya Fey with her face blurred. The beads in her hair are at different heights, and floating around her neck is a tilted circle of more beads. The description reads, "Cool for: Waterfall Bathers, Taser Recipients, The Cave-Cloistered. Get back up when you get knocked down. Brush off life's harsher turns."

The last skill is Turnabout: a swirling purple entity forming a silhouette that looks like Mia Fey. Her body consists of multiple abstract magatamas. The description reads, "Cool for: Underdogs, Parrot Examiners, Cold-Case Savants. Turn your thinking around. Snatch victory from the jaws of defeat."

The final drawing is a mock-up of a Disco Elysium screenshot. It shows Kim and Miles standing in the Whirling, facing Phoenix and Harry, who have gotten dressed — Phoenix in his blue beanie and green hoodie. There is a panel of text on the right, in the style of Disco Elysium dialogue. Attached to it is a portrait of Edgeworth as he appears in the Ace Attorney sequel trilogy (glasses, looking at the viewer with eyebrows furrowed), which has green and red static over it. The text reads,

Kim Kitsuragi - "So, Mr. Prosecutor, now that you've found your associate I'd like to formally request that you leave this investigation to the RCM. There is already enough jurisdictional squabbling at play here without further complicating the issue." Miles Edgeworth - "I have yet to figure out exactly what transpired here that's responsible for Wright's memory loss. I won't be rescinding my right to investigate." Kim Kitsuragi - "The state of the hotel room seems to make those events rather clear." Miles Edgeworth - "Hm. If the RCM is so quick to jump to conclusions, forgive me if I don't have the utmost faith in your investigation." "Regardless. Wright, what do you make of all of this?"

Four choices for the player follow:

Wright? That's me?

We should investigate. The ghosts want me to.

I feel like you're part of what I wanted to forget in the first place. Even just looking at you makes me feel worse.

(selected by the player) [Turnabout - Impossible 18] Actually, I feel like I remember something about the case…

End ID]

Aa and disco elysium crossover

okay yeah ill bite

[constellationcrowned]

~"Okay I'm going to start counting and once I say stop I'll tell you where to turn and then keep counting! It's like a treasure hunt!" (for Kariom)

If it were anyone else his refusal would be immediate---I don't have time for such childish things when the WHOLE OF THE FLAT IS AT STAKE---but this was Miche and the Traveler and this game did feel a little familiar so....

".....Fine. But only if it doesn't take too long." She'd even made a map---and going by the quick glance Kariom had managed to snag THE TRAVELER HAD HELPED MAKE IT TOO, her notes and sketches were unmistakable at this point---and that made things a tad more interesting.

"You have to SKIP THE NUMBER TWENTY-SEVEN WHILE COUNTING though, because nothing good ever comes from that number." If he found any 'treasure' on that number it'd be empty for sure. With his condition stated the star-reader inclines his head towards the immortal's map as his expression shifts into one of earnest concentration. "Okay then, tell me where to go. Do I just...start walking when you start counting?"

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 10

You were packing up your stuff as students filed out of the lecture hall, it was your last class of the day. As you were walking out towards the parking lot, your phone started to vibrate in your bag. It was the school.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hi Y/N. It’s Mrs. Flynn. I was just calling to let you know that Jo is now waiting inside with me because she was getting cold outside,” she informed you.

“Spencer’s not there?” you questioned, looking at the time displayed on your phone.

Pickup time was fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Sorry for the inconvenience,” you opened your car door and set your bag down in the passenger seat, turning on the ignition.

“No worries, I have to reorganize the classroom library anyways so I was already planning on staying after.”

Once the call ended, you tried to call Spencer but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey Spencer, I don’t know if you forgot but it was your day to pick up Jo. I’m getting her now,” you said as you reversed out of your parking spot.

Minutes later, your phone rang again. Expecting Spencer’s contact to show up on screen, your brow furrowed when the name read “JJ” instead.

“Hi JJ?” you said, more of a question than a greeting.

“Y/N, Spencer has been shot. I already told Will to go back to the school to pick up Jo. You should get here if you can. He’s in surgery now but there has been no update since he went in,” JJ explained.

“Oh my god. Okay, I’m turning around now. How did this happen? He didn’t mention he was on a case?” you pulled into a random parking lot to turn around.

“Well technically, we weren’t. We had a lead on a possible local case and we went to interview a potential witness who could give us some more information. We realized too late that he was the unsub. He thought we were on to him and shot Spencer in the leg while trying to escape.”

You had silent tears running down your face.

“I’m five minutes out” is all you could muster and then you hung up the phone.

You ran into the ER doors to find the rest of the team in the waiting room. You were glad you went to Rossi’s dinner party now or else this would have been a much more awkward first meeting.

“Any updates?” you asked frantically.

“No,” Derek sighed, “But no news is good news.”

You took the empty seat in between JJ and Penelope and put your face in your hands, not wanting everyone to see your tears.

-

Two hours of crappy coffee and vending machine snacks as your only source of sustenance later, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors.

She had a completely neutral expression that you couldn’t read but then again you weren’t a profiler.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” she asked, glancing down at her clipboard.

All of you stood and desperately crowded around her.

“Dr. Reid is in stable condition and awake. The bullet went into his thigh but it wasn’t through and through. He will need to be on crutches for about a week or so but luckily the bullet wound is near the edge of his thigh rather than the middle, meaning recovery time will be shorter,” she explained.

There was a collective sigh of relief along with a few “thank god”s.

“Although he is awake, I don’t think it’s best if you all go in at once since he is very drowsy. He has been asking for a Y/N?” the doctor looked around at you all.

All eyes fell on you. You collected yourself, grabbing your purse and following the doctor down the hall.

“I’ll let you know how he is,” you told everyone before you disappeared past the double doors.

The doctor guided you into a room at the end of the hall. You thanked her quietly and she nodded in acknowledgement, leaving you two alone. Spencer had his eyes closed but his hospital bed was inclined so he was sitting up slightly. You briskly walked over and took the seat right beside him. You took his hand in yours and squeezed it lightly, combing his messy hair out with your fingers.

As you were softly massaging his scalp, you heard a light groan. You retracted your fingers immediately as Spencer began to open his eyes.

Once Spencer took in his surroundings, he quickly sat up completely in bed, letting out a yelp of pain.

“Jo...it was my turn to pick up,” he said frantically.

“Hey, look at me, Spence. It’s okay, she’s at JJ and Will’s. You were shot in the thigh though so you’re not going anywhere. Please lie back down,” you assured him.

He nodded his head, relaxing a bit and looking down at his hands in his lap. He seemed to be processing something in his head.

“You called me ‘Spence’,” he stated.

Shit. That was twice now. It keeps slipping.

“Sorry, I-,” you began to ramble some apology that you didn’t even know where you were going with it. Luckily, he stopped you before you could further embarrass yourself.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he spoke softly as he looked up at you, tears threatening to fall.

“I was so scared, Y/N,” he sobbed.

You swiftly pulled him into your embrace, tucking his head into your neck as you began to gently stroke his hair again.

“It’s okay, let it out. I can’t imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through that but you're safe now, I promise,” you whispered to him.

“I was so afraid I was going to abandon you and Jo again. It hurt worse than the actual bullet,” he muttered into your neck.

You removed your hands from his hair and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you.

“Spencer Reid, you did not abandon Jo in the first place so there is no ‘again’. Second of all, you would have died a hero saving lives and I would have made sure Jo knew that and she never forgot her Daddy or how much he loved her,” you spoke earnestly, never breaking eye contact.

Spencer’s eyes softened. A second later, his lips were on yours again. This time, however, you didn’t pull away. Life was too short and this was already complicated as is, what’s the harm.

You basked in the familiarity of his lips locking with yours. Once he finally pulled away for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Go out with me. A real date. No more college dorm dates with takeout,” he smiled.

“You know you didn’t have to get shot to ask me out, right?” you teased.

“I thought I needed a grand gesture,” he beamed, chucking lightly.

“Yeah, Spence, I’ll go on a date with you.”

His lips found yours once again.

-

“Jo, are you ready?” you called out from the kitchen, packing snacks.

“Mommy, I’m already at the door!” she exclaimed.

Jo was eager to go see her Daddy at the hospital. You would spend the day there until he was discharged and then he would live with you guys for the week. You insisted on being there to take care of him while he was healing. You didn’t want him hobbling around all alone in his apartment.

When you walked out to the front entryway, there was a stack of various toys and books that hadn’t been there when you came down the stairs.

“What is this?” you gestured to the pile, amused.

“Daddy has big boo-boo so he needs stuff to cheer him up,” she stated.

“I don’t think we are going to be able to bring all this. Plus, remember Daddy is coming home with us later today. So here’s what we will do,” you handed Jo her dinosaur backpack, “You pack all the stuff you can fit in this bag that you think Daddy needs right away and the rest of the stuff can wait.”

Jo made quick work of sorting through her massive pile, trying to decide what would make her dad the most happy.

-

“Daddy!” Jo excitedly screamed, running towards the bed.

“Jo!” he returned with the same sentiment.

She was unable to get up on the bed herself so you had to lift her up.

“Remember what I said, careful with Daddy or he won’t get better,” you reminded her.

“You can sit her on my good leg,” Spencer patted his right thigh where you gently set Jo down.

“We brought you loads of stuff, Daddy,” Jo chirped, looking over at you.

You revealed a box of donuts from your bag and the coffee tray you had been holding. You handed him a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles and Jo a strawberry frosted with sprinkles. The two ‘cheers’ed their donuts before biting into them.

“Jo also brought you some things to cheer you up,” you handed her her backpack.

First, she promptly pulled out a pink Disney princesses band-aid and stuck it on Spencer’s already bandaged thigh.

“You need that so it doesn’t get infected,” she repeated Spencer’s words from when she fell at Rossi’s dinner party.

“Thank you, princess. What would I do without you?” he kissed the top of her head as she rummaged around in her backpack some more.

She set up her five favorite dinosaur toys on his tray table in front of them, glancing up at him for approval.

“Perfect,” he smiled, nodding.

Next, she pulled out a piece of paper that had been colored on.

“Who’s this?” Spencer asked, looking at the three stick figures doodled on the paper.

“That’s you, that’s Mommy, and that’s me,” she pointed to each of the sketches.

“Aw, that one is definitely making the fridge,” you smiled.

Finally, Jo took out her Magic Tree House book that she was currently reading. She needed help with some of the words but either you or Spencer or the both of you would help her read it every night.

“You already finished the last one?” Spencer picked up the new book that was next in the series, examining it and smiling proudly.

“And I didn’t need help with a single word on the last chapter,” Jo beamed.

“You’re so smart,” Spencer kissed her head again, “let’s see how far we can get on this one before we can go home.”

[jihyuncompass]

Sincerely With All My Heart

Jihyun Week 2020 Day Two ( @mysme-events​ )

Letters

Jihyun Kim x MC 

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: N/A

Summary: On your one year anniversary you and Jihyun reminisce. 

On the first anniversary of being with Jihyun, and the third anniversary since you first met him, the two of you sat together at the dinner table. Dinner had been finished for a while by now. Both of your plates are empty and glasses of wine are already finished. Now you were just sitting at the table, talking about whatever was on your mind. 

“Dinner was good?” Jihyun asked you. You smiled. 

“Dinner was amazing. That recipe you found was incredible, we’ll definitely have to hold onto it.” 

“Agreed.” Jihyun inched his hand over to hold yours. He had the most gentle of smiles, the ones that warmed your heart and made butterflies flutter in your stomach. It’s a smile that could take over the world if he wanted it to. 

The past year could only be described as the best year of your life. From the day Jihyun returned to you at the RFA party it felt like your world had been filled with so much more life. The things you previously found dull like cooking, cleaning and doing the smallest of household chores felt like grand adventures and sweet romanticized moments you could only find in a film. Jihyun truly felt like the last missing puzzle piece of your heart, and with him you felt happier than you’d ever been. 

Now sitting here, holding onto his hand, staring into his eyes you could help but smile like an idiot. You just wanted to keep staring at him and never stop, let yourself get lost in his vibrant eyes over and over again. 

“I have a gift for you.” Jihyun said, snapping your out of your train of thought. You leaned forward. 

“So do I.” You said.

“Then why don’t we take care of these first?” Jihyun’s smile grew while he pushed his chair back and grabbed the plates you both had pushed aside, taking the plates he went back to the kitchen. Getting up from your chair you took the two dirty wine glasses and followed him. 

You began your usual routine, Jihyun washed and scrubbed the dishes while you rinsed and dried them. At this point it was automatic, you knew when to reach out your hand to take a plate and he knew when you were about done with whatever you were drying in order to hand you the next one. Together you hummed along to the music you had playing over the sound of the running water. Little words were spoken, but they didn’t need to be. The feeling of being close to one another was more than enough. 

Working together the two of you finished washing the dishes quickly and then made quick work of putting them all away. Again with few words needing to be spoken. 

Choosing to move to the living room you both brought out the gifts you’d prepared for each other. Earlier in the month you’d both agreed not to go with anything to fancy. Preferring gifts more from the heart than something expensive. 

The gifts were two similarly shaped boxes. Sitting beside each other you both slowly tore off the wrapping paper covering the gifts. Both finding matching boxes willed with envelopes. 

You both looked at each other, similar looks of confusion. 

“Jihyun are these?” 

“They’re some of the letters I wrote to you while I was gone.” He said. “I sent you some but there were dozens I couldn’t get the courage to send. So I put them in this box to hold onto, but. I want you to be able to read them now.” You smiled and looked back into the box, sure enough you could see several dozen letters, all with your name written on the envelope in Jihyun’s messy handwriting. “And these letters are?” 

You looked over to the box you’d given him. “Well I couldn’t really send you letters, since I rarely knew where you were but I would write to you, a lot. And since I couldn’t send them I just collected them.” He looked into the box, at the similarly dozens of letters you wrote to him. The two of you laughed. “I guess great minds think alike huh?” 

Jihyun kissed your cheek. “I guess so.” He turned back to the box, taking out the first letter in the box. Dated just a week after he had left. Being careful to not tear the envelope he opened it and pulled out the paper inside. Unfolding the pages. 

“Dear V,” He started. “It’s only been a few days since you’ve left, and yet I miss you so much already. We knew each other for such a short amount of time and yet I find my world completely changed. I still remember the way you looked at me that last time we saw each other, I want to remember that look forever. 

I don’t know where you are right now. You could be anywhere in the world right now, but I hope wherever you are you’re safe, and I hope you can find some of the answers I know you are so desperately looking for. 

I miss you, and I promise I’ll wait.

Sincerely yours, MC.”

A small smile was present on your face. Even though you had collected these to give to him, you hadn’t read them back since you first wrote them. Inclined to just seal them up and move on with them. Jihyun put the letter back into the envelope and then motioned towards you. 

“It’s your turn.” He said. 

“Is that how we’re doing this?” You laughed. “Alright, I’ll read one of yours.” You took out the first one. Dated just merely a day after he had left. You opened up the envelope and cleared your throat. 

“Dear MC, 

I still can not get the picture of you out of my mind. I’m currently at the airport, waiting on a taxi to take me to a hotel I’ve booked, and sitting here I can’t get you out of my head. There’s this temptation in the back of my head to turn around and get back on a plane home. But I won’t. This is something I need to do, and I’ll return to you when it’s the right time. 

Even though I’m not with you I hope you know I’m thinking about you. I wonder if you can feel my heart reaching out to you. 

As selfish as it might be. I hope you’ll wait for me. 

Yours truly, V.”

You closed the letter, even just reading it you can remember the voice of the man you met first. The mysterious photographer V, and thinking about Jihyun now, it truly was like he was a  completely different person. Yet still in his words you could feel the seeds of the Jihyun Kim you know starting to take form. 

Setting it aside so you would remember you’d opened that one you looked back to Jihyun. 

“Your turn.” He turned back to the box and retrieved the next envelope. This one dated one month after he’d left. You tried to think back on what you had written in, or what was on your mind at that point. While he opened it you couldn’t force yourself to remember. 

“Dear V, 

The past month has been so strange. Adjusting after everything has been a lot harder than I expected. Though, I guess I didn’t expect it to be easy either. I guess you don’t just get abducted by a cult and go back to normal life huh? 

Luciel told me you were in Europe recently. I wonder what you saw there, I keep imagining you in art museums, walking along the city streets with your camera. I hope you’re enjoying yourself, and I hope your eyes are healing well. 

I constantly find myself thinking about you. Every time something happens you are the first person I always want to tell. Even though by now we have spent far more time apart than we have together I still think of you. And I can’t help but wonder, if you’re thinking about me too. 

I’m still waiting, and I don’t plan on stopping. 

Sincerely yours, MC.”

Jihyun looked at you, closing up the letter. “I did think about you. All the time. Everywhere I went I would constantly imagine you there with me. The first few months, those were the most difficult and imagining you with me. It always helped.” You leaned over kissing Jihyun’s cheek. “Now. I think it’s your turn?” You pulled out the next one. This one marked around three months after he had left. 

Two things also came inside it. One was a torn up plane ticket. Listing for the same date as the letter. A flight that had obviously been cancelled. The second thing, what looked to be a sketch. It looked like a bustling coffee shop. In the corner of the paper, Jihyun’s signature. 

“Dear MC, 

I’ve been in London for the past week and a half. Being here I am struck by just how beautiful it is, and just how much I wish you were here with me. 

Last night I bought a plane ticket on a whim. I had been struggling, nightmares seemed to be constantly plaguing my mind, and when I would wake up all I could think of was you. I almost longed for the days I was under the influence of that drug, if only so I could wake up with you next to me. There to comfort me when I felt scared. 

I ended up cancelling the ticket, as badly as I want to see you. I also want to see you when I’m the man who deserves to be around you. And considering my state last night, I still have a lot of work to do. 

This morning I sat in a coffee shop, feeling lost in my own thoughts. And for the first time in as long as I can remember I felt the urge to draw my surroundings. My skills aren’t very good yet and I wish I could have done better, but this is progress. 

I miss you, and I hope you’re well. 

Yours truly, V.” 

You held the sketch in your hand, You could nearly imagine yourself sitting there, seeing all the very things he saw, and looking over the details, you could see where his art style was taking shape. Although only in small details here. 

Jihyun shook his head at the sketch. “That is much worse than I remember it being.” You raised your eyebrow. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I think it looks great.” You smiled looking over the details again. “I can tell you worked hard on it, and I love it.” You slipped the ripped up ticket and the sketch back with the letter in the envelope. You motioned towards the box in Jihyun’s lap. “Your turn now.” 

This letter was dated six months after he left. Like the others you wondered about its contents. Jihyun opened it and unfolded the page, before he spoke you saw the way his eyes read the first sentence with hesitation. 

“Dear V,

I broke down in front of Jumin today.

We were just having dinner. Like we have for months now, I’d had only one glass of wine. We were sitting on the couch, just talking. He’d been talking about his childhood with you. He even pulled out old photos of you. 

He showed me a picture of when you were a kid, and ones from highschool. But then there was this one. It was you and Jumin, and Rika. 

There was something about seeing her that set me off. I just kept imagining her standing over you back at Mint Eye. Down in that dungeon after you’d been drugged. I kept seeing the way you looked after she’d stabbed you. I just. Kept hearing her voice in my head. And I broke down. 

I feel terrible for Jumin. He had no idea what to do, and I couldn’t stop crying. In the past six months I’ve cried a lot sure, but never in front of anyone, and especially not in front of Jumin. 

I guess. I guess what happened left a much bigger mark on me than I thought. 

I miss you V, but I’ll keep waiting. 

Yours truly, MC.” 

Jihyun closed this letter slowly, He looked at you, you took his hand. 

“I had a rough go of it for a while.” You cringed. “Actually the six months to one year point was pretty rough.” Jihyun moved to sit closer to you, to see your face more up close. “I don’t think I really dealt with what happened, and then it all kind of hit at once.” Shrugging you rubbed the back of your neck. 

You and Jihyun moved through the stacks of letters. Some were written days apart, others, weeks. Some of them were deep and philosophical, others were mundane. Like the one where you spent all of the page complaining about your grocery list, or another one where Jihyun wrote about a terrible plane ride he’d been on. Some were positive, filled with hope and a belief that things would get better. Then some were sad, like when Jihyun wrote about his mother, or his relationship with Rika. Some of yours were angry. Angry at the world, at life, at Rika, at him, at yourself. 

The both of you cringed at the angry ones you had written. He read them while you apologized continuously. You assured him you were just struggling and didn’t know how to direct your emotions. And Jihyun forgave you with a kiss and a hug. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you when you were struggling. You shouldn't have felt like you were going through it alone.” You held him tight but shook your head. 

“No, you shouldn’t have had to feel like you had to care for me. You had so much you were also trying to figure out. By staying you would have ended up taking care of me instead of yourself.” 

“I guess you’re right about that.” He put the last letter he read back in the box. “You do know me well.” You laughed. 

Like with the letters you wrote, there were ones Jihyun had written that made him cringe. Though instead of the anger you had, Jihyun’s letters held sadness. The kind that felt reminiscent of your time in the safe house while he was recovering. When he was determined to go back to Rika, to sacrifice himself. In his letters he wrote of how much he missed you, how much he wanted to come back. 

After a particularly cringy one Jihyun had pulled part of his sweater over his head in embarrassment. 

“I was not having a great time that night.” He said. “I also think I’d had a little too much to drink, I’m so sorry.” You laughed reading over the letter again. 

“I want to paint only you forever, I don’t care if I become poor and destitute, I only want to create your image.” Jihyun groaned. “I think it’s cute.” He shook his head. 

“Can we just move on?” You put it back in the box and ran a hand through his hair poking out from his sweater where his face was hidden. 

“Sure love, why don’t you read one?”

You read through more letters and notes until you got to the last one. You read the date, only one day before his return to you. A smile crossed your face while you pulled out this final note. Unfolding it you began to read aloud, one more time. 

“My dearest MC, 

I’m sitting in the airport now. My flight to you boards in just under an hour. I can’t deny how excited I am to return to you. Everytime my mind wanders it goes to you, I wonder what you’ll look like. How much you’ve changed since I saw you two years ago. 

I keep thinking of what I want to say to you, I tried to even write out a speech for you. Confessing everything I feel, everything I’ve learned since I’ve been away, but no matter what I wrote it never seemed to sound right. Maybe it would be better if I just spoke from the heart. 

This is the moment I’ve been dreaming about for the past two years. Since even before I left you. Somehow I’m still nervous though. So much can change in two years, I know I have. The one thing though, that hasn’t changed is my feelings for you. 

Even if I couldn’t admit it then. I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. 

I imagine this will likely be my last letter to you. Since I’ll be seeing you in only a few hours, but I love you. I love you so much. 

With love, Jihyun Kim.” 

Tears filled your eyes, Jihyun’s hand moved up to wipe the ones that escaped away from your cheeks. You sniffled and put it back in its envelope. Putting it back so carefully. 

“I love you too Jihyun, My feelings never changed either, just got stronger.” You leaned in and kissed him. The words of the latter written 366 days ago still in your head, then pulling away you glanced to the last letter you wrote to him. Dated for the same day.  “Go ahead.” 

He opened the final one, taking in a deep breath. You curled around him, arms circling his waist and your head on his shoulder. This is one you remembered well. 

“My love, V. 

I just picked up my dry cleaning. Tomorrow is the RFA party. The first one since the cancelled one two years ago. I’ve been planning it for months now, this party is going to be huge. We have celebrities of all kinds coming, and so many different unique guests. I can't help but be thrilled. 

I’m scared too. Jumin has assured me that everything will go well, but I hope I did okay. I think most of all, I just hope that you’d be proud of this party, and think I did a good job. 

The fact it’s been two years since I last saw you doesn’t feel real. It feels like just yesterday I said goodbye, and also? It feels like it has been a million years. 

I hope wherever you are you’re warm and comfortable. I hope you’ve found the courage to paint again, I hope your heart has healed since I last saw you. As much as I want you to come home to me I also hope you’re at peace. Because you deserve to be happy, and you deserve to feel at ease. 

I’m still waiting, and I’ll keep waiting. Even if it takes two more years, or five, or ten, even if you don’t return until we’re old and wrinkled I’ll still wait. My heart is yours, and it will always be. 

Tomorrow and forever, everything I do will be dedicated to you. I love you Jihyun Kim, and I’ll keep waiting for you. Forever. 

Sincerely, with all my heart, 

MC.” 

[chill-fixations]

New Encounters

The boy couldn’t have been very old at all. Standing before her in mundane clothing with a determined gaze, he didn’t rise beyond her chest; which said something, really, as Charlotte’s petite figure stood above him, her chocolate eyes widened in surprise. 

“I am a Shadowhunter,” the young boy stated, voice steady and eyes locked onto hers. “I want to be trained, and live as one of you.” Despite his oddly steely stature, his clothes looked worn, and dirty from what she could only assume was his journey to the institute. He also smelled… different. In a dozen ways, he smelled different than how he sounded and partially looked. 

--- As head of the institute, Charlotte had invited the boy, William, inside, and led him to an empty bedroom. She knew it was her duty to take in nephilim children who chose to live as Shadowhunters. She had been too young to understand when his father had left the Shadowhunter world behind to marry a mundane, but she definitely knew the Herondale name. Charlotte tried conversing with Will, but he only gave quick and short answers, speaking only the absolute necessary, bare minimum to her before while evading the rest of the questions. It was all so confusing, leaving her puzzled and determined to figure out his situation. She sighed as she entered the great library, wondering what must be going through his head. “What made you decide to come train?” “Is your family alright?”

Her questions rang in the back of her mind, but she tried to ignore them. “He probably recalled being previously asked if he wanted to train, and decided he now did…” She mused to herself, although it wasn’t even half true, not even in her head, walking deeper into the library.

“What’s that, now?” Henry called distractedly, in the middle of carefully drawing up some sort of sketch over a round table. He was her husband, her partner, her beta. 

“Will - I mean William, the boy… I was just trying to figure something out.” She glanced over to him, taking in the intense concentration on his face, as it faded for him to turn away and smile at her reassuringly. Henry’s scent was warm and deep, like spiced fruit or cinnamon. Just being near him made her feel like an invisible, soft blanket had been thoughtfully draped around and over her. 

“I’m sure he had some sense in it, dear.” 

She nodded her head, but couldn’t help but recall the shimmer of something else in his eyes, when he had first knocked on the door. Charlotte couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about him felt… tragic. He reeked of a deep, guttural sadness. It made Charlotte want nothing more than to bundle him up and warm him, but she doubted he’d be well receptive to any sort of treatment like that.

--- The next day, after he once again dodged her questions, she introduced him to Thomas. “You can train with him, and I can teach you both.” She smiled between the two, hoping they could become friends - he seemed like he needed one. “How can he possibly keep up with me? He’s just a scrawny little twig of a man.” Will sneered and puffed his chest out. Thomas frowned, but didn’t say anything back. “William!” Charlotte turned to him with narrowing eyes. Despite her disapproval, and his rude behavior, something in her chest wanted nothing more than to turn that joyless smirk into a genuine smile. Maybe that was part of why he seemed so quietly full of despair- he hadn’t smiled once since he’d arrived at the London Institute. Unaware of her tangled emotions, Will simply laughed and turned away. Even his taunting laugh sat sadly within her senses.

---

He didn’t warm up to the idea of Thomas through his training. Rather, he just seemed physically exhausted and upset as he ducked away and down the stairs leading to the training room. Charlotte sighed, putting away the wooden sticks they’d been using. Thomas was actually stronger than Will, and while Charlotte was mostly just teaching Will basic poses and grips today, Thomas had agreed to spar with the seemingly cocky Welsh boy, and had knocked him down, too. A starburst of emotion had flooded Charlotte’s senses in that moment, and she’d rushed over to help the boy up off the ground. “I don’t need your help!” Will had snapped, cheeks flush from excursion as he fell out of range of her hand. It hadn’t deterred her, though, something else taking over - protective motherly instincts? - as she checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” She had asked, still hovering protectively above him, but giving him his space. “You don’t know a damn thing!” He had yelled before leaving.

Charlotte shook her head out of her thoughts from earlier, and went to change for dinner.

---

At the table, it was only Henry, Charlotte, and Will. While she viewed Thomas as family, he was a mundane, and didn’t frequently sit to dinner with them, as his choice. Henry attempted to make conversation with Will, but he continued to retort shortly, or, he responded with much more detail in a much colder, harsher manner. While Charlotte remained feeling conflicted, Henry just laughed it off as he daydreamed of his newest invention. “That’s no way to speak to people if you want to make friends, Will-” “Who on earth said I wanted to be friends with anyone here? You’re all dreadful, really. Orphans on the streets seem more interesting than you two!” He scoffed. She could feel her heart jump at the clearly hurt, defensive words, but she laced her fingers together on her lap nonetheless, keeping her eyes steadily pointed onto him. “You’re hurting. Something is… wrong, but instead of letting anyone help you, you’re lashing out and pushing away.” The words tumbled out of her pursed lips before she gave them permission to, and she nearly felt surprised with them herself, despite her saying them. “No one can help the damned…” He muttered under his breath, pushing away from the table and storming out the room. Charlotte gasped and stared after him, suppressed her instincts to follow him and confront him. “Well I-!” “Hmmmm?” Henry hummed, breaking out of his reverie and looking around the table. “Huh, William disappeared.” She sighed, pressing her thumb and forefinger against her forehead and rubbing her temple. “Yes, he ran out. It seems I’ve upset him. I just want him to talk-” she let out a frustrated breath. It made sense. She would care like this about any random 12 year old who came wandering into her home, but… She wouldn’t have ever snapped and said those things so loosely with anyone else. What was it with William Herondale? She felt such a suffocating need to protect him, although she did not know what from. Henry’s finger traced the tablecloth beside his plate of food, tracing some invisible thing only he could picture in his mind's eye as he listened. “-I just don’t understand! Why he’s so allusive, why it’s so frustrating - I simply want to help him! I want to love him and soothe him and see his smile! Something is so clearly wrong, yet he won’t trust us-” “He is an omega, Lottie… it’s only natural you feel so extra inclined with him…” He wasn’t even looking at her anymore, lost in his thoughts as he replied.

“He’s an - omega?” She tipped her head to the side, finally halting her monologue. “Well, that and you described him as terribly sad…” Henry nodded.

Charlotte blinked over at him, stunned and curious. “I’ve never been so close to one before: I didn’t even know he was one… That cannot be why he is so full of despair, but… Perhaps it’s been getting to me even more so, due to it…” “Yes! Look at you, Charlotte! Making your own theories, your own hypothesis!” He grinned over to her, and she was momentarily shook out of her fixation thanks to the wide, beaming smile he gave her. “Yes…. I want to take care of him, Henry. Like he’s our own - he’s so small, despite his words, and he needs to be loved and nurtured…” She began fawning quietly, mentally concocting ways to make him smile. She would teach him to fight like a Shadowhunter. She would teach him love, even if he wasn’t consciously allowing her to. She would give him safety, and hopefully, happiness and healing. And Charlotte did, to an extent.  It just wasn’t until Jem came along that he truly started to bloom. But that’s a different story.

[bisexualsforprompto]

Miraculous: Reborn Chapter Five

Omg it’s been so fricking long I’m sorry

AO3

First Previous Next

~~~~~~~~~

What their history teacher neglected to tell them was that the assignment assigned the day prior was going to be unbelievably difficult. They only had one day to work on it, and they had barely made any headway in study hall.

Damian huffed to himself as he watched Mari stare intently at a book.

I could’ve done this much quicker without her. He brooded to himself, although deep down he knew that was probably a lie. Mari had worked much faster than he expected.

“Aha!” She smiled, pointing victoriously to a passage in her book. Her eyes lit up, and if possible her smile made her eyes look more blue. Damian finally noticed her freckles too.

He felt a smirk tug at his lips by how excited she got a small triumph. Not unlike Jon, he noted. Ugh another Jon.

But maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, he decided when he saw her tongue stick out slightly from her focus as she wrote into her notebook.

“Okay!” She exclaimed, snapping her notebook shut, “Done with the research! Now off to the project part.” She let out a small groan, “Any ideas?”

Damian held his sketchbook closely to his chest, not ready to let her see it. “Perhaps we can devise a poem and be done with it all.”

Mari pouted, then she smiled smugly, “Wanna take the easy way out, huh Damian?” She jibed.

“W-what?! No!” Damian spluttered, how insulting how dare she-

Oh...Damian realized as she saw her hold back a chuckle. She was joking.

Well two could play at that game.

“Very well, what do you suppose we do oh great Dupain?”

“Well...if you’re not opposed...maybe we could meet up later to work? We don’t have a lot of time now, but I can probably explain my idea.”

Damian hesitated, he didn’t want to bring this girl back to the manor. Solely because he wasn’t sure he could trust her, certainly not because he didn’t want her to judge him for being a Wayne.

“We can meet up at a nearby coffee shop once school is over. I’ll inform father. What’s your idea?” Damian asked as he pulled out his phone.

“Well...I’m an amateur designer.” Mari said, looking slightly flustered, “And I thought since the project is an extension of what we’ve learned maybe I could design some period appropriate clothes? Just a sketch of course, I doubt I’d have time to actually make something seeing as its due tomorrow but-“

“May I see what you have?” Damian interrupted.

Mari nodded slightly before pulling out a black book, not unlike his own sketchbook. She handed it to him and immediately looked away, embarrassed by her own work.

Damian flipped through the pages, “These are more than adequate Dupain.”

Mari blushed at the praise. Damian considered showing her his own drawings, but...considering he would seldom show his family or even Jon his sketches he was not inclined to show his to a girl he’d known for not even a full day. He handed the book back to her just as the bell rang.

“I’ll meet you outside of the main entrance when school ends. Goodbye Dupain.” Damian said hiking up his book bag and heading off to his next class.

Of course she was in his next class.

And the one after that too. She was even in his last period, which meant Mari Dupain was in All. Of. His. Classes.

He understood, she was gifted academically and so was he, so they would share classes. Plus, the private school was relatively small in the number of students who attended, but still there was no other person Damian shared all his classes with.

Suffice to say, if he hadn’t tolerated Mari before he’d need to now considering the new circumstances. Just as the final bell rang, instead of meeting Marinette outside he walked to her desk and silently waited for her to gather her things.

“I’m ready!” She beamed, zipping up her backpack.

Damian eyed her, small and frail at first analysis. Her backpack had accumulated lots of books because she had transferred so late in the year.

“Would you like me to carry something?”

“No! I’ll manage! Thanks for asking though-“

“Ice Prince Charming.” A girl snickered on her way out to her friend. Damian glared at them both. Then without another word he walked with Mari out of the building.

“Why do they call you that?” Mari asked as she walked with Damian through the halls to the exit.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Damian stated harshly before seeing her deflated expression and softening, “But it’s because I’m a black sheep here I suppose. I don’t play by their rules— that is, date, socialize, be on the football team, etcetera.”

“Huh, you seem normal to me.” Mari said, of course, unbeknownst to Damian she was leaving out the part where she hadn’t been with another human that wasn’t her parents, a villain, or Chat Noir for six years.

Damian side-eyed her, not sure how to respond. He realized quickly that she expected no response. It seemed her conversations were organic and raw, rather than ones in which the other person already knew what the next was going to say and planned for it. She wasn’t bothered by the silence that they walked in, which was odd, considering that she was a teenager most of which talked just to hear themselves talk.

Reaching the school’s exit, Damian pushed open the door for her.

“Thanks!” She chirped.

“Damian!” Jon called from across the courtyard, slowly registering Mari’s presence, “Oh, hi Mari!”

“Hi Jon!” Mari waved while Jon dashed over.

“So...what are you two doing now?” Jon asked, a glint in his eye as he smirked at Damian.

“If you must know, we’re heading to the local coffee shop to finish a project.”

“Ooooh!” Jon exclaimed. Damian knew what he was going to ask next before the boy even asked it.

“And no, you cannot come with us.”

“Bummer. Oh well, I have to go back to my parents’ house anyway, but I’ll still see you later for...ya know?”

Damian sighed, great cover Kent, “Yes.” He gritted his teeth and led Mari away.

“Here.” He said, pulling out a spare helmet from his bag. “I’m assuming you’re not afraid of riding a motorcycle.”

Mari brightened, “Yeah! My Nonna and I rode all the time before I di- before she died.” Marinette sighed internally for her quick recovery, even if she kind of had to lie about her grandmother being dead.

“My condolences.” Damian said as he cleared his throat. Marinette could tell it was sincere which made her feel a lot worse…

Damian got onto the motorcycle and made sure to get close enough to the handlebars so that Mari would have enough space. He was really hoping she wasn’t stupid enough to hang her arms around his shoulders.

As she got on, he realized she was very proficient at being a passenger. She got on quickly and placed her hands on the tank to stabilize herself. Mari’s helmet was already on, so Damian started off.

He started driving slightly slower than normal, just because he wasn’t sure how comfortable she was riding a quick pace. That could mess both of them up if she wasn’t ready.

It wasn’t a big deal anyway, as it turned out, the coffee shop was less than a mile away from campus and they arrived quickly.

Damian hopped off the motorcycle and extended his hand. Mari took it daintily as he pulled her off the vehicle. She dismounted easily as well. She handed his helmet back to him and they walked inside.

“Alfred, I found something interesting.” Bruce said as he pulled up a document on his computer.

Alfred looked over the document once and sighed, nothing really new, “You can deal with that later Master Bruce. There’s another matter that requires your attention.”

“Oh?” Bruce asked, raising and eyebrow, but not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Remember when Master Damian said earlier that he was going to work on a project? Well, it seems it was a partner project and pictures of him and his school partner are all over social media.” Alfred typed into the Batcave’s computer and pulled up Twitter, the most trending post was a picture of Damian helping a girl his age off his motorcycle in front of the coffee shop and the caption read, “Does the youngest Wayne have a date?!?!?!”

Bruce sighed, “Just tabloid gossip, nothing new.” He eyed the picture again, “Though maybe I should look into this girl…”

He scanned the picture in quickly and had the results he was looking for within minutes, “Mari Dupain. Moved from Paris, France to Gotham not too long ago.”

Alfred rubbed his temples, “Dupain...as in-“

“Yes.”

“How will you tell the young master?”

“He’ll...understand.” Bruce sighed, “Maybe not right away, but he will eventually.”

Alfred looked at him disapprovingly.

“Okay, you’re right.” Bruce muttered, “I'll talk to him about it when he gets home...I hope he’s not too attached to that girl...he’s not going to be happy.”

~~~~~~~

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[alienog]

Discord SS Gift!

So I’ve taken part in a secret santa event on Discord and heres the gift for my recipient! I’ve never written a self insert/in second person before so this was also a challenging and exciting exercise! 

Doppio/Diavolo/Reader, Hanahaki..AU I suppose.

It’s a hard thing to remember now, what his face looked like. How his eyes shine or even how his voice sounds, bent over you as you struggle to breathe. The way you cling to life makes his expression fall from that of a deeply sickening smile to a slow disappointed boredom. You’re taking too long, and he makes sure you know it with a soft click of his tongue counting down the seconds. He’s not the same Doppio you remember, sweet as lemon pie and to your knowledge up until now, wouldn't hurt a fly. His brother however, he was the one you had been wary about. Your wrongness sat like rancid betrayal in the pit of your stomach. 

At first you didn't believe it when you started coughing up flower petals. The idea of such a thing was ludicrous and only something you'd ever heard of in passing online. It wasn't real and so you didn't pay any mind to its concept beyond your macabre imagination. 

There were Tulips that summer. Much to your delight, the garden park had cultivated yet another section in their greenhouse as they seemed to do every year and you were excited to be able to sit amongst the young flowers and sketch out a budding idea. It struck you as a little off the way that they suddenly grew new flowers seemingly overnight, but the wary unease of uncertainty was overshadowed by the whelm of joy that followed at having an excuse to go back there.

You were excited because the owner of the garden, the groundskeeper, the cultivator, was a very fine looking man who looked a lot younger than he actually was. When you first lay eyes on him, with his pink hair tied back in an intricate braid, a mass of bangs pushed to the side of his face, and an apron tied tightly around his waist, you allowed a passive thought on his looks but nothing more. 

Not until you started to frequent the place to take in each new flower that started to appear. He approached you first, his smile warm and inviting. He asked, with his hands wringing a rag between them, what you were working on. 

“Just an idea I saw online,” You answered politely, though you preferred to be alone and you tried to make that clear by saying nothing else. 

“Could I see it?” 

Despite your inclination to decline, you instead smiled and nodded. It’s only the nice thing to do, being in his space anyways. So you let the sketchbook in your hands lower enough so he can see what's been etched into your mind and scratched to the page with careful practice. The picture itself is a simple bust surrounded by elegant flowers, all of which inspired from the garden, their stems hooked through one another and bloomed into petals flushed a deep red. 

He seemed to take well to it with a hint of a smile curving the edges of his mouth. 

“It's beautiful,” He says, “In a dark kind of way.”

You offer a slight smile in return and he can feel the shift in mood. He gets shy just then and awkwardly nods again.

“Sorry..I didn't mean to disturb you.” 

You reassured him, falsely, that it's no trouble because in truth his slight interruption wasn't that big of a grievance. He was polite enough to back off when you didn't seem interested in being disturbed. Maybe some other time when you’re not engulfed in your work, but for now he left you be and kept his distance in the days to come. 

The second time he approaches you was on the first day you no longer have your sketchbook. Having finished with the piece you were working on you decided it would be nice to just enjoy the flowers instead of having your nose to the grindstone. He greeted you politely upon your arrival and when he noticed you were wandering by yourself that's when he struck up a conversation. Light, nothing that said you had to stay committed to it if you desired to leave or even be by yourself and you're thankful for that but you don't mind this time. In fact, he seemed quite nice. 

He introduced himself as Doppio and you gave him your name in return. He smiled, wide this time, enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes and told you that name wasn’t what he expected, which caused an eyebrow of yours to raise. 

“Yea?” You say.

“Oh, I just..well..” 

Then the smile fell, and he got a bit nervous again, his hands wringing a towel in a faint attempt at “cleaning” them of imaginary dirt. 

“I promise I’m not trying to be creepy, you just come in here a lot and I just wondered what your name was because I didn't know what to call you so..I just started making some up.”

You laughed at that, just enough to make a sound, and his whole demeanor visibly relaxed. He went on to explain that it was just passive curiosity. Tending to flowers all day every day got a little monotonous sometimes and he didn't have much to think about on the average day. Your silent company had kept his spirits up the past couple of weeks. 

This first encounter, you don't talk about much. He’s very clearly nervous about something and on one hand you hope he doesn't see you as too intimidating but on the other you can already sense the feeling he’s exuding and you’re ready to just tell him you're not interested, simply because he looks rather young for you. 

When you find out he’s actually thirty three you have a hard time processing that. Of course, you didn't think he’s lying. It was an oddly specific age for him to just be making it up, and what would he stand to gain by lying? Your affections you suppose. It’s no secret to you he’s trying to get closer to you. He’s not exactly subtle in his body language and you’ve done this song and dance long enough to tell when a guy is trying maybe a bit too hard. Before, you brushed it off to a young boy's crush, but now that you know how old he really is, you don't mind so much. You even allow yourself to be flattered and maybe entertain a passing interest.

In the weeks following you go to the garden just as much as you would if you had a project you were working on. Only now it was just to see the plants and as time passes you admitted you do like seeing the gardener around more often than not. 

The first time you actually instigated the conversation he looked taken by surprise, his light freckled face lit up with a familiar smile and you fall into conversation more like old friends than awkward acquaintances. It’s not until later he admitted he was waiting for you to reciprocate. He doesn't say it, but you knew he couldn't quite loosen up without knowing for certain he wasn't bothering you.

You’re the one to ask for a first “date”. It was more just going out to drinks to talk more, but no matter what way you phrased it in your head it sounded like you were asking him on a date, and in the back of your mind you knew you didn't actually mind if he thinks of it like that. To see his eyes light up just from you asking is enough to make you smile. 

The night went by quicker than you expected, better too. You talked for hours and you found he’s actually quite fascinated with horror movies and he complimented you on your art. At least, what you’ve shown him of it which up until now has been three things. Still, he says he loves the darker tones and the themes you explore. He knew his stuff much to your surprise. 

After that night you had two more like it, though in varying locations. A walk by the pier and a night at an actual restaurant which ended with him walking you home because you may have ordered one too many drinks. You weren't paying attention, just having a good time with him and he left you at your door with a peck on the cheek, but you knew you wanted more than that. If he was ready, you were and in your more inebriated state you lean in for a quick kiss. You don't linger too much, don't make it strange, and he accepts it as pink dusts his cheeks. You thought things were going well.

He said a goodbye to you before heading off and you felt a flutter in your chest. With a warmth in your cheeks you unlocked the door and head inside for the night. It's not until later, when you’ve almost settled in that you don't remember taking your keys out of the door. You huffed at yourself and got up. Sure enough there they are dangling from the doorknob and out of the corner of your eye you noticed there was something on the ground by your door. A square of thick tanned brown leather. A wallet. You bent down to pick it up and flipped it open to confirm your suspicions. With slight apprehension of trying to find Doppio so late you reassured yourself that it's better you give it back than wait and not have enough time tomorrow. He was probably worried sick wondering where he must have left it. 

The lights, installed amongst the flowers, were on inside the greenhouse when you made it to Doppio's doorstep. You were about to knock on the door when you noticed everything was off except for one glaring porch light under which you stand. For a moment you stood there, stuck between wondering whether he was asleep or out in the garden even this late at night. The lights were probably on at all times right? That made the most sense. He must have been sleeping. 

But, even when you turned your back on the house and started to head down the steps you think how it wouldn't hurt just to check. You’d rather not force him to have to go through a whole day without his ids and credit cards. 

The overgrown grass bent beneath your feet as you moved towards the greenhouse. You were wary about making too much noise despite the fact you had barely anything on you besides the clothes on your back, which made barely any noise at all. You can't help this creeping sensation that you weren't  supposed to be there. It’ll just be a peek inside, just in case, you told yourself. 

Through the glass, smudged from use, you didn't immediately see anything, just the flowers, their heads bowed towards the paths that ran through the building. With a sigh, you released the tension you held in your back and realized you had nothing to be worried about. There was nothing but the expected plants. 

You were about to go again, you even turned away to walk back to the street, when you suddenly heard a crash, much like pottery shattering, and a string of heavy deep curses. It didn't sound like Doppio at all. Not that he wouldn't swear, you’re sure he probably did, like most people, even if you couldn't imagine it. Now you’re on alert. Was there someone trying to break into the greenhouse? You crouched down out of instinct and crept back to the glass. There was nothing going through your head that was rational. You know there's really nothing you can do on your own. You should really just call the police, but you didn't want to cause a scene. What if it’s not what you think?

You weren't really in the right mind to be making these kinds of decisions, but that didn't stop you from going up to the door of the greenhouse and testing to see if it's locked and you were somewhat surprised when it is. The door, as it’s pulled, squeaked from the rust setting into the hinges. You hear someone shuffle and freeze in place. You had no idea what you were doing but you were determined nonetheless and even though it's your fear that grounded you you’d like to think you would stand your ground no matter what. 

“Hello?” The voice, definitely not Doppios, it’s much too deep, sounded  unconcerned by your presence. For a moment you were unsure whether to answer or to back away and pretend you’re not there at all but before you can make a decision you’re already speaking. 

“Hello?” You said back, “Hi, can I help you?” 

You asked as if you own this place, but you’re running under the assumption this person is not meant to be here. From around the corner stepped, backwards, a man with long pink hair draped over his shoulders and piercing green eyes. In his hands he held a few pieces of the broken pot. 

“Shouldn't I be asking you that?’

“I don't know, should you?”

It sounded like he laughed when he exhaled through his nose and he smiled, though the way he does has you unnerved. 

“Okay, let's start over then. My name is Diavolo, I tend the grounds here, you?’ 

You hesitate but do give him your name in the end. Having said he tends the grounds, and you having no evidence to disbelieve him, you feel an embarrassed warmth spread across your cheeks. You swallow that feeling though and focus on why you really came here. 

“You know Doppio then?”

“Very well.” He says.

"You live with him?"

"You could say that." 

“Then can you give this to him?” 

You pulled the wallet out of your pocket and took a step closer, letting the door close behind you with its shrill squeals but you didn't get any closer. You don't know what it is but you couldn't help but feel scrutinized under this man's gaze. He was looking at you with a familiarity, as though you should know who he is, but you know for a fact you’ve never met him before in your life. His grin made you unsure about getting any closer, though whether that's because of the vibes he's giving off or because you were both alone out in a garden this late at night, and so you held out the wallet to at least keep him at arm's length. 

“I’ll make sure he gets it, don't worry.” He said and you knew, in the back of your mind, that he must have meant it sincerely, but you couldn't help but feel put off by his dangerously low tone. 

It’s later, when you asked Doppio about it, you learn that they’re brothers, but you rarely, if ever to your knowledge, saw them together. 

Three full weeks after the run-in with Diavolo you started to get more serious about how you feel for Doppio. He was sweet and he respected your boundaries when you set them. Nothing was official at the moment, but you wondered if maybe it could be? It was no more than a passing thought one morning while you’re out walking and the next day you start to feel under the weather. You had a slight shortness of breath and there was an ache in your chest, dull enough to continue life as normal but always just on the back of your mind. At first, you thought it was just congestion. Perhaps you had a cold coming on soon. If that was the case then you hoped it hurried itself up and got itself over with sooner rather than later. To your displeasure, it didn't. In fact, the ache worsened along with the shortness of breath to the point you really started to wonder what's going on. You tried to google it, to no avail.

On the day you thought to go to the doctor to get looked at, you woke up with a much duller pain, but it was still just as hard to breathe. You moved into your bathroom, the tile cold against your bare feet, and looked in the mirror. Nothing seemed outwardly wrong with you, but that doesn't mean anything. 

You opened the cupboard to take the tiny plastic cup off the Nyquil and got some water from the sink. Anything to help ease the sudden swell in your throat. You downed that little cup and though it wasn't not easy, you swallow. The effect wasn't instant, but you were surprised when the swelling eased up. Now it was no more than a tickle in the back of your throat and you coughed to try and see if you could dislodge the rest of this bizarre blockage. Through bouts of coughing, hacking, you felt something shift in the back of your throat and you spat into the sink. It felt odd to say the least. Almost solid as it came out of your mouth and you looked down into the sink. 

Drops of blood caught your attention first, then as you looked closer you noticed these small purple petals, crumpled up and scattered in the sink. You picked one up between your thumb and forefinger. It’s supple texture is slicked with blood but it is undeniably a flower petal. 

Your heart was in your throat suddenly. You werent sure what to make of this. The hanahaki disease, that's what it was called right? That was supposed to be fake. Just an interesting idea to think about. Not something real? The petals in the sink beg to differ. You’re frozen, one hand still clenched on the side of the sink, screaming internally to do something about this. But what? What do you do to treat a fictional ailment? Who do you call? When you looked online again, in a little less of a frantic panic, you come up with nothing. All accounts of the disease had been disproven and the general speculation is that it was entirely the figment of one's imagination. 

Well, if it is, you begged your imagination to stop, because it was making it hard to breathe and you were worried what might happen if it’s allowed to continue. If it was affecting your real life it had to be real. The only “cure” they say is for the person you were pining after to love you back and you internally scoffed at that. That didn't apply here. There wasn't anyone you’re pining after, no. So you’ve been on a few dates with Doppio, and you liked him a lot, but it's not unrequited love..is it? 

Your heart sunk from your throat all the way to your stomach and your eyes narrowed. You were unsure now. Was he just lying all this time? Or is it something else? You couldn't even believe you’re entertaining the idea that this could be real. 

The first thing you thought to do is call Doppio. Come clean. Maybe you guys could talk about this and it would all just blow over like a bad dream. You sure hoped so but you don't hold out too much. He was not picking up and you felt the tickle in the back of your throat again of the encroaching illness. 

Everything's hazy but you remember the panic starts to set in backed by a rational anger and frustration at your current predicament. You remember getting into your car after one too many missed calls and just driving over there. You know where he is of course. You’re not sure he ever leaves the garden unless he’s with you. 

You remember your harsh and hurried footsteps up to the door to the greenhouse. The place wasn't open yet, it was far too early, but you know that the door isn’t locked. There's nothing to steal. With a harsher force than necessary you fling open the doors, your panic well contained on your face. You don't let anything show. Only your more labored breathing gives away the facade. 

“Doppio?” You call out over the sound of the sprinklers, but there's no answer and you scour the place to no avail. Your only other option is his house. 

All it takes is one knock for him to answer, his smile still bright as though he knows nothing and for a moment you want to believe it. You want to buy into his sweetness again. But the nagging growth in your throat serves as a constant reminder why you’re here. 

“Can I come in?” You ask, though your voice is chewed up and raspy. You’re clearly struggling and his face falters while he steps aside. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, “Do you need water?” 

You start to say yes but you cough and have to spit another petal onto the floor. Doppio, who almost turned towards the kitchen, looks at you.

“Oh.” He simply states, “Faster than I expected. A bit easier too... It’s rare, very rare, unless you know what you're doing. Did you know that each person has their own type of flower?” 

As he’s speaking you feel something in your chest tighten and it grips your throat. You feel the need to cough the blockage away again, but no matter how much you try nothing changes. Leaning against the wall with one arm you’re gasping and Doppio raises your chin for you to look into his eyes. He’s certainly not the Doppio you remember. His eyes have changed color, they hold much more malice than they ever did or you ever imagined they could. They remind you of his brother. 

“I wonder what's yours." He says and bends down to pick up the petals you've coughed onto the floor. He holds them up as if inspecting them in the light. "

You'll make a wonderful addition. We haven't had irises yet.” He says with a glance back to you. 

It's then your worst fear becomes realized and everything runs through your head at once. Fear, regret, anger, so much anger at letting yourself get into this mess as your body fails itself. You’re going to suffocate, there's no doubt in your mind. You fall to your knees, practically retching up petals. At the same time you appear among the list of the missing, a beautiful new section of irises has opened up in the garden much to another person's delight. 

[freebooter4ever]

Eugene’s First Date

AU where Sledge and Snafu meet before the war - if Snafu was 18 when he joined the Marines after his parents died, that would make it about 1940 when Sledge was still 17 and living in Mobile, which was one of the first cities in the south to mobilize for the war effort, starting in 1940 and drawing in thousands of migrant workers from all over the country. As part of the CCC, Snafu probably would have been used to and maybe still looking for temporary work during that time, so I'm pretending that he ended up in Mobile for a while.

The boy laughed at him, and said Eugene's drawings were too talented to not be dangerous. "With the amount of detail you got in there...," Shelton reached around Eugene's shoulder to tap at the sketch, "Get that drawing in the hands of the enemy, and they'd be able to remake the entire ship from scratch. Don't need no schematics if they've got you."

The boy's voice was teasing enough, friendly enough, that Eugene managed to keep his cool when he turned around, only to be met by the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen - eyes the color of Mobile Bay. And on top of that a head of curly hair and a secretive smile suggesting the boy knew something Eugene didn't.

They got to talking and Eugene found out his name, where he's from, and why he's here on temp work in the lumberyard. Eugene also noticed how skinny Shelton looked, like he hadn't ate in a while. Eugene offered - then and there - to buy him food. Something more nutritious than the cigarette he was puffing on.

-----------------

Eugene stands in front of a strange half-built house, on the edge of a field containing rows of similar half-built houses, and tries not to fidget. He is suddenly conscious of the brand new, sparkling clean 1940 Chevrolet his father let him borrow to drive into town, and which is now parked behind his shoulder. Eugene is beginning to guess why the charming Cajun boy looked so sardonic when Eugene asked what address he could pick him up at.

Eugene met Shelton at the docks earlier that day. Shelton had been working, Eugene had been sketching the giant freshly built tanker set to leave port - bound for Europe. Shelton took his smoke break, came up behind Eugene to watch him draw, and said in his infuriatingly casual voice, "Shouldn't be recording shit important to the war effort. Could leak valuable intel." Feeling angry and defensive, Eugene had snapped that he wasn't about to meet any Germans being stuck in Mobile, unable to do his part, so his sketches would be of little consequence. And then did his best to ignore the man's stare Eugene could feel trained on the back of his neck.

The boy laughed at him, and said Eugene's drawings were too talented to not be dangerous. "With the amount of detail you got in there...," Shelton reached around Eugene's shoulder to tap at the sketch, "Get that drawing in the hands of the enemy, and they'd be able to remake the entire ship from scratch. Don't need no schematics if they've got you."

The boy's voice was teasing enough, friendly enough, that Eugene managed to keep his cool when he turned around, only to be met by the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen - eyes the color of Mobile Bay. And on top of that a head of curly hair and a secretive smile suggesting the boy knew something Eugene didn't.

They got to talking and Eugene found out his name, where he's from, and why he's here on temp work in the lumberyard. Eugene also noticed how skinny Shelton looked, like he hadn't ate in a while. Eugene offered - then and there - to buy him food. Something more nutritious than the cigarette he was puffing on.

Shelton at first turned him down. He argued he had to be back at work in a few, but Eugene stayed strong and insisted he could pick Shelton up after work instead. Shelton rolled his eyes and gave him an address, which Eugene recognized as a local park. Eugene had assumed Shelton meant his residence was one of the tree lined brick boarding houses across the street from the park.

But now, standing in front of the makeshift house he had been directed to when he knocked on the wrong door at first, Eugene realizes he was wrong. Shelton is not living in a boarding house, Shelton is one of the migrant workers recently arrived in town without even a pillow to call his own.

Not to be outdone by embarrassment, Eugene squares his shoulders, steps up to the door (the only part of the shack that actually resembles something off a normal house) and knocks.

The door immediately swings inward to reveal Shelton standing in the one room dwelling. For a minute, Eugene forgets why he's even there. 

Sid always says Mary Houston takes his breath away every time he sees her, and Eugene never really understands what he means...until now.

"Gonna stand there gawping like a fish, or are we going to dinner?" Shelton asks with a devilish smirk on his face.

"Uh…" Eugene says.

"Can't say I haven't heard great things about Mobile's seafood, but if I'm honest, with that fish face, you're already enough of a meal for me, boo," Shelton says, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. He looks at Eugene in a way no one has ever, ever looked at Eugene before.

Eugene chokes. He unzips the collar of his jacket and pulls at his shirt. "I, uh…" Eugene says, "I was thinking I'd take you to my friend's barbeque. Up the river aways." He gestures awkwardly in the general direction. "Best pork chops in the state."

Shelton's grin widens. "Sounds good," he says, "Just one tiny little thing." and he throws the door all the way open.

And standing there, on the tips of her toes, is a tiny little thing of maybe eight or nine. She's got a wrinkled dress with a full skirt and a gigantic satin bow tied on the top of her head, but lopsided like she did it herself without a mirror.

"Sledge, this is my sister," Shelton introduces them proudly, "Mairzy, this is…" He trails off as he realizes he doesn't know Sledge's name.

"Eugene," he says and crouches down so he can be level with Mairzy's eyes when he extends his hand, "Pleased to meet you."

She grins shyly but shakes his hand with great aplomb.

"We're a package deal," Shelton says smugly, still leaning against the door frame and looking at Eugene as if he's just won the lottery.

"Lucky I brought the car with the extra seat belts then," Eugene says.

"What are seat belts?" Shelton asks dryly, breezing past Eugene on his way to the car. The little girl follows and when she runs ahead of Eugene, he can see she has a mud stain all up the back of her dress from hem to collar. He almost laughs, but works to keep it in check. He tries to close the house door, since neither Shelton nor Mairzy seem to be inclined, but the door has no lock.

He closes it as tight as he can and trips over to the car.

Shelton is sprawled in the front seat and Mairzy is sitting in the middle of the bench playing with the radio.

"Uh, hold on a sec," Eugene says, and guides Mairzy to step out of the car. He presses a lever and flips the front seat forward so she can crawl through to the back. Once she's safely in the backseat with her nose already pressed to a window, Eugene slides into the front seat next to Shelton. Shelton grins at him.

Eugene has a funny feeling his face is going to feel perpetually flushed around this boy.

"Mairzy, seat belt please," Eugene says gently. He turns around and fishes between the backseat cushions to find the belt and hands it to her. She stares at it like he's produced a snake.

"Never used seat belts before," Shelton shrugs.

"Well, you might be excused, but she isn't," Eugene says. He manages to convince the little girl to put the seat belt on after she sees that Eugene is wearing one himself, and then away they go.

It's only a half hour drive to the barbecue, but Mairzy talks a mile a minute. Meanwhile Shelton silently lounges calmly in the seat next to Eugene staring at him, and does nothing but grin and grin. Eugene does his best to answer all of Mairzy's questions, but some of them stump even him. After twenty endless minutes of Eugene trying to keep up with her conversation, Shelton eventually takes pity on him and fiddles with the radio.

The static it produces only serves to drown Mairzy out. As far as Eugene can tell she continues talking. He is torn between telling Shelton to turn it off so he can be polite and listen to the girl's chatter, and feeling relief at the mental break.

Eugene watches Shelton's deft fingers twist the knob this way and that, too quick to land on any actual station.

"Here, I know which stations come in clear still," Eugene offers. He leans over to take Shelton's place at the knob and their hands brush against each other. Before turning control over to Eugene, Shelton's fingers run lightly down the back of Eugene's wrist. And then Shelton scoots farther away, as close as he can get to the window without falling out, and sits on his hands.

As flustered as Eugene feels by the exchange, he nevertheless perseveres and finds a delta blues station without static.

"Good choice," Shelton nods.

By the second song Mairzy starts singing, and by the third Shelton joins in. But instead of singing along, Shelton twists around in his seat and smiles at Mairzy. It's a genuine smile, without the artifice of the ones he saves for Eugene. And once Eugene looks past the beautiful smile, and starts listening to Shelton's singing, he realizes Shelton is changing the lyrics as he goes. Mairzy loves it. She yells encouragement, and tries to join in though her invented lyrics are not as clever or well rhymed as Shelton's.

Eugene laughs at Shelton's bizarre lyrics, but he taps one hand on the steering wheel in applause when they finish. And Shelton turns his winning smile at Eugene and Eugene finds himself smiling back.

The barbecue on the riverbank where they pull the car in to park at is nothing more than a large hut on stilts leaning over the water. Two rusted portholes take the place of normal windows on either side of the entrance, and an old plank boardwalk raised above the ground, winding through trees, leads them safely to the door.

Shelton looks impressed when Eugene holds the door open for them to go in.

"Not what I expected, fancy boy," Shelton says. He nudges Eugene with his shoulder as he walks past.

They're seated at a table on the two level balcony overlooking the river. The table contains the bare basics: a jug for water, stained towels for napkins, ketchup, house seasoning, cutlery, and nothing else. But the place has the best recipes in the state. People come here for the food.

And Shelton certainly appreciates food. He devours two pork chops, and Mairzy only proclaims herself full after her third. And the three of them polish off an entire bowl of coleslaw together. The only thing the two Shelton siblings look askance at is the side salad Eugene orders for himself and offers to share.

"Looks healthy," Shelton accuses.

"That's kinda the point," Eugene says as he nudges broccoli onto Shelton's plate.

Shelton stares Eugene down and eats every bite.

Afterwards the two of them sit on the edge of the lower level balcony, lean against the rail, and dangle their legs over the water. The kid runs up and down the length of the dock, chasing some kind of invisible bug as far as they can tell. She ignores them utterly, caught up in her own world. 

Shelton munches on an after dinner apple in the most obscene manner Eugene has ever seen.

Shelton takes it the wrong way when Eugene grabs his wrist to put an end to the slurping. In addition to stopping, Shelton extends the apple out to Eugene for a bite. Eugene seizes the chance for revenge, and, holding Shelton's wrist steady, he leans in and bites a chunk out of the apple. Some of the juice dribbles down Shelton's thumb and Eugene considerately sucks his skin clean for him.

"Gonna get us in trouble," Shelton grins as he pulls his hand away and resumes eating his treat.

"Just helping you out," Eugene retorts.

"Ooh la la," Shelton drawls, "I'd be happy to watch you help me out anytime."

Eugene laughs and shoves at Shelton's shoulder. Shelton elbows him back. A playful scuffle breaks out and somehow in the mix they scoot closer together. Until their sides are pressed against each other - shoulders, arms, knees, hips, and thighs. They're sheltered enough out here from the public eye, and Eugene is close enough friends with the owner, that Eugene dares to take a deep breath and rest his head on Shelton's shoulder. He feels Shelton stiffen underneath his touch, and he sees Shelton glance around cautiously. But once satisfied that they're safe, Shelton casually drapes an arm behind Eugene's waist.

They sit like that uninterrupted for a good long while and Eugene starts to rethink his stance on romance being trivial and unproductive.

Mairzy is the one who breaks them out of their reverie. She holds up a piece of junk machinery she found trapped at the edge of the river and demands their attention.

Shelton sighs, "Put that down before you get tetanus."

But Eugene, realizing the faster way to convince the kid to stop touching the rusted metal, carefully extends his hand and offers to examine the thing. He places it on the balcony beside him and picks up a stick to poke at it with, pointing out any interesting parts he recognizes. Mairzy props her chin on the railing and watches with fascination.

Shelton looks on in amusement. Until something else catches his eye and he eagerly leans over the rail.

"Those boats down there..are they available for rent?" Shelton asks.

"Huh?" Eugene turns, "Oh, I don't know. I've never asked."

"I'm gonna ask," Shelton announces, leaving Eugene and Mairzy to their junk.

Turns out the boats are available to rent, if you're Shelton and can charm your way into anything.

Mairzy loses interest in the junk machinery pretty quickly at the prospect of a boat ride, and Eugene watches a little money exchange hands between Shelton and the dishwasher boy. Shelton herds them onto the boat and starts getting it ready to shove off. He pats a seat for Eugene on the side. Shelton proudly announces "No seat belts here," and starts the engine.

The ride begins smooth as they cut through the water cleanly like glass but then Shelton changes something on the engine, informs Eugene: "This one's got that new flathead supercharger. Same one they use on those hydroplanes," and suddenly they take off like a rocket.

Eugene clutches the side of the boat in fear. He clings for dear life, watching the trees whip past them in the distance. The river is fairly smooth, thank goodness, and there isn't much traffic at this time of the evening, but the change in speed is enough to send Eugene's heart thumping out of his chest.

The boat slows a little and Eugene looks back to find Shelton watching him, eyes wide with concern. Shelton reaches out his hand and places it on top of Eugene's.

"Faster!" Mairzy begs.

Shelton looks to Eugene.

"I'm fine," Eugene nods, turning his hand over and threading their fingers together.

Shelton smiles and turns up the speed.

They're flying. The wind is sharp and yet sticky like soup. For a while Eugene forgets his nerves and just enjoys. He leans into the bow of the boat next to Mairzy and laughs. It's the most freeing sensation, like they've already outrun all their own problems and are now leaving even the rest of the world behind.

Shelton starts singing, and it's something in French with a heavy accent. Eugene leans back to face him once more and sees the broadest grin on Shelton's boyish face as he expertly handles the boat. Eugene settles happily against the sidewall, more content to watch Shelton in his element than to watch the scenery.

They don't make it back to the dock by nightfall. When the sun finally sets, Shelton slows the engine down to a crawl and sticks to one side of the river as they float along. They have no lights, and even with the bright moonlight, neither of them want to risk getting stuck somewhere.

Mairzy stretches out on one of the seats and falls asleep. Eugene carefully wobbles his way to the back of the boat and sits down heavily beside Shelton. He would take Shelton's hand again, if he could. But the other boy is too busy keeping tight control of the boat and keeping a sharp eye out for any obstructions looming out of the darkness.

They sit in silence. Eugene wants to say something, but he can't think of anything to say with his brain too crowded full of the ache to touch.

"Mer," Shelton says quietly.

"Hmm?" Eugene asks.

"My name," Shelton says, "Didn't seem like you were ever gonna ask so I figured I'd tell you."

Eugene's face floods with warmth again. "I didn't want to be rude. But I thought...Mair...zy…" He points to the little girl, "You're both named…?"

"Merriell is my full name," he replies, "Merriell Shelton."

"Merriell," Eugene repeats, stumbling over the pronunciation.

Shelton grins, "I think my mom ran out of ideas after picking the name 'Mare' and then just decided on variations of the theme. Wanted her kids to have unique names but couldn't be bothered to get creative about it."

"Eugene Bondurant Sledge," Eugene says in return.

"Bondur-what?' Shelton laughs.

"Bondurant," Eugene confesses, "Think my parents thought they'd be raising a bootlegger instead of a sickly homebody."

"Sickly?" Merriell asks with a confused expression.

"Yeah, I have a heart murmur," Eugene says bitterly, "Means I can't do much of anything sometimes."

"And you let me speed this boat down the river without a care??" Merriell exclaims, sounding worried.

"Don't start," Eugene insists, "Please don't, I get enough mollycoddling at home."

"All right," Merriel says suspiciously, "But if your heart starts murmuring again, you let me know."

"Will do," Eugene says with great passion and looks Merriell straight in the eye. "Though...I'm pretty sure it's been murmuring since this afternoon," he adds quietly.

A glowing smile stretches across Shelton's face. He leans his shoulder into Eugene's and knocks their knees together affectionately. By this time, the barbecue is finally in sight.

Merriell cuts the engine and snatches up Eugene's hand as he drifts the boat back into the dock. Eugene lifts their hands and presses a quick kiss to Merriell's knuckles.

"Yeah, you're gonna be trouble," Merriell says, but whatever worries him is still not enough to wipe the damn smile off his face.

Eugene ties up the boat while Merriell carries Mairzy to the car. The kid is still fast asleep and doesn't even wake up when Merriell buckles her into the seat belt. Thus the two boys believe they're home free, and Eugene openly clutches Merriell's hand during the first half of the drive, holding their clasped hands tight against his thigh. Then Mairzy wakes up. It's as if the long nap gave her extra energy. She leans forward over the seat and insists on musical accompaniment. When she starts singing again, even without the radio on, Shelton slouches in his seat to rest his head on the cushion, groans and looks at Eugene with tired but happy eyes.

It takes a lot of effort for Eugene to get out of the car when they arrive in front of Shelton's house. Mairzy, on the other hand, vaults out of the backseat the minute Eugene snaps the front seat down. She goes running into the house. Eugene snaps the front seat back and stands awkwardly beside the car, trying to figure out etiquette protocol in this situation. He waits for a few before realizing Shelton isn't getting out.

Eugene leans down and peers at Shelton still inside the car. "You coming?" he smiles teasingly.

Shelton smiles back, but a little hesitantly, like he's nervous. "Can't," he says, "I'm stuck. Seat belt's tangled."

"What??" Eugene asks in confusion. He doesn't even remember Shelton putting his seat belt on. Eugene bends down and crawls over the driver half of the bench seat to help. "I've never had a problem with the front belts, it's always the back seat…"

Shelton shuts him up by dragging a hand through his hair and pressing his lips to Eugene's. Eugene's breath entirely leaves his body and he tries, desperately, to kiss back but he's afraid he's not very adept at it. He wobbles on the car seat in the dark to get a better angle and ends up unwittingly placing a hand in Shelton's lap, which elicits a lusty gasp from Shelton and a surge of embarrassment from Eugene who immediately tries to back away. Shelton laughs into the kiss and catches Eugene's hand to position it in a less awkward place. Eugene allows himself to resume his enthusiasm.

And they kiss. For an altogether too short of time span, in Eugene's opinion. Before long Shelton is backing away and opening the car door and winking at Eugene and saying "thanks for the meal," and then disappearing into the night.

[thebluelemontree]

Do you know of WORG member “Tze” is a Jonsa? I read a couple of their essays and thought some were sound and some weren’t but I never got a hint that they were suggesting a Jonsa romance but I see a lot of Jonsas say that Tze is a Jonsa. Tho I see that she sometimes advocates for Jon/Arianne. Sorry for my bad English!

Your English is perfect and beautiful!

TBH, I haven’t followed the worg boards in a really long time and I can only remember a handful of people there well. I’m guessing you mean from their essay in the PtP?  I’m just going off that, because I don’t know any of their other essays. I suppose if you already had the mindset, you could interpret some of what they said in a pro-romantic, shippy way. There were some points emphasized that could be considered J*nsa-friendly; however, I don’t think they explicitly stated anywhere their interpretation was a romantic one over a sibling one. 

For one example, I agree that some or a decent-sized part of the Alayne Stone persona is modeled off her ideas about Jon’s bastardy. I think this point is overstressed to the degree it excludes some other possibilities for other bastard influences and that there is only one possible conclusion here: that Sansa has been subconsciously channeling Jon all through AFFC. One, I think they are a little quick to dismiss Mya Stone and the impact of her story on Sansa (though to be fair that wasn’t totally in the scope of their essay). The bastard stigma isn’t the same universal experience for everyone. It can also intersect with gender and class. Female bastards seem to be slapped primarily with slut-shaming. Male bastards seem to be accused more of treachery and having a natural inclination toward criminal behavior. Two, although it was a brief encounter, Ellaria Sand also seemed to make quite an impression on Sansa. She knows that Ellaria is considered a whore by most of Westerosi society; however, she takes note of the way Ellaria carries herself with dignity and courage in an openly hostile space. She’s not afraid to look anyone in the eye, no matter what title they have. And her sexuality is not a source of shame for her. The female model of bastardy could arguably be considered way more relevant to Alayne Stone as she navigates the possibility of marrying a womanizer and a high lord-in-waiting. Hell, I even think her hair toss and wine sip while she negs on Harry to be a Cersei power move even if Cersei isn’t a bastard. Even Sansa deciding over whether or not Alayne Stone would like to dance, which they point out as very Jon-esque, but that doesn’t last but a brief moment. Alayne Stone dances and she enjoys herself on the dancefloor.  Personally, I see Jon in the initial rough sketch of who Alayne Stone is. The color and detailing comes from a specifically female model of bastardy and Sansa’s personal experience with other women.  

So I think overall their analysis brings up valid points of connection between her and Jon. It speaks well of Sansa growing out of those old prejudices that were hammered into her and being able to reforge a new and closer kind of relationship with Jon when they reconnect. I don’t think any of it intentionally screams pro-shipping, but it might seem so when just a couple of points zeroed in on Jon a little too exclusively IMO. But they were tasked with writing an essay on the Jon and Sansa relationship, so that is to be expected. If you want to know where they stand on the subject, you could always ask them directly though.     

[thedivinedemom]

This has literally been in my wallet for a few days waiting for me to transcribe it. It's not great but hopefully it'll kick off my writing habit again.

Working title: Blue Eyes

As strange as it may have seemed Steve had never been upstate. Not really. Albany, sure. There and every other State capital and major city of his day.

Shipped cross country, from city to city, to be paraded about like some circus chimp to sell warnings. Never allowed to explore the cities outside the theaters.  Not without an appointment and full escort at least. He was the "property of the United States government" after all. They could not risk losing such a valuable asset because he wanted to go sightseeing. Much less taking a look outside them.

Sealed away in a train car, rushing to show after show, he rarely had the chance to take in the countryside. To enjoy the greenery or the scenery. He could honestly say that he had seen more of France and Germany then he had his own country.

Easing his bike down the turnpike he found that the early afternoon made the roads deceptively quiet. There were only a handful of vehicles out at the hour, mostly big rigs, and it gave an almost serene feeling to the drive. The silence of it gobbled up and ate away at the muffled roar of his engine. Though not enough to avoid startling some poor deer as he rode past. A chuckle bubbled out of Steve at that. How long had it been since he had last seen a deer? Decades? It all  depended on how one counted the years.

Making his way down an exit he caught the first glimpse of his destination. The greenhouses of the Gardens were gleaming in the sunlight. A series of crystal heels arranged across a thick pasture. A small field surrounded the buildings, filled with apple orchards and raspberry bushes.

Beautiful, likely to be more so on the inside. The Gardens were home to a number of rare, exotic, and even mutated plants from across the globe. Tony claimed that the Fantastic Four had donated a few of their more benign experiments to the facility. Sparking the interests of more than just Steve.

Locking his helmet away in his bike's compartment he walked in, his either art bag strapped tight to his back. The lobby was as fancy and sophisticated as one would imagine; filled sleek plastic, flat screens, and linoleum tiles. Even the ticket booth was digital.

Everything seemed to be electric nowadays. It was helpful, amazingly so. There should be ballads written about the wonders of the internet. Yet it was all so different. He was in the same country but it had a different feel to it. Like a teen who was growing into a man. Still going through the growing pains but becoming all the finer from it.

But Steve could barely recognize the land he was born in. Everyone spoke differently, they dressed differently, and there was even a change in the way they walked. It was all so radically different and Steve couldn't be prouder, for the most part.

Easing himself passed the ticket booth he found himself in the middle of a controlled jungle. Thick bushes of deep and vivid color lined the paths. Leading people deeper into the greenhouse filled with tropical flowers and temperate trees. How both could be in the same room he hadn't a clue, another wonder of the future surely, but it was all wonderfully arranged.

Casting his eyes about he looked.forma place to set up. A task easier said than done as what few benches he could see were occupied, taken before he had even arrived. He had hoped by coming in the middle of the week he would have avoided the crowds. A vein wish as it turned out to be.

After a moment, once his eyes finished their second lap of the area, he decided to change his plans. With how crowded things were he would not be able to sketch out the Gardens section by section as he planned. Instead he would have to treat it as a puzzle, taking it one area at a time as.he worked for the full image.

Up along the path he finally found a place to sit, deeper than he would have liked but he had to start somewhere. He did not fancy drawing standing up, he could do it but it would be annoying. The first bench he found put him firmly in the 'Mutated' section. It was an area filled with genetic anomalies ranging from crossbreeds to lab experiments to ability generated. The plant in front of him, according to its placard, was of the last category. The ever shifting colors of the petal was a fairly large hint for that.

Steve would have preferred to have started with something a little more mundane. Something familiar and simple that he could have warmed up on. Something that did not sway on its own or tangle its vines along anything within reach. It would be a challenge, especially so early into his day, but as with most challenges he jumped in feet first.

Eyeing the plant he began. Carefully he started with an outline of the stem. He made it sway on the page, letting it curve in three separate places before moving onto the creeping vines. These he only gave the vaguest of outlines, a matter to fill in later. Once the focus of his drawing was done.

Being as engaged as he was with his work he barely noticed someone approaching his bench. She took a seat without so much as a word, sipping at her coffee as Steve gave her a quick glance.

Lacking for better words Steve could only describe the woman beautiful. To do more would have left his tongue tied and his face red. It was a sensation he was intimately familiar with from his youth, not something he wanted to experience again. Still, he took a second look.

Amused, she caught him staring. Her blue eyes dancing as they met his own. She gave him a small indulgent smile and an inclination of her chin worthy of a queen. And Steve would know, he had met more than a few members of royalty in his time. She even gestured like one, giving a grand arch of her arm as she waved towards the plant he was sketching.

"Cassandra, one of my students, made this." She said, her voice accented and her smile more genuine. "She is very proud."

Keeping his head on his shoulders Steve managed to smile back. "She's not the only one who sounds proud."

Letting out a laugh she nodded. "I suppose. She worked very hard to get the colors just so. All semester in fact. She would be happy to know someone drove all the way to the Gardens to sketch them." She said, her accent twisted through her words and niggled at his brain. It was familiar to him. The curve of her words struck a chord in his memory. The way her vowels weaved away from her words in incriminates and popped away was throwing him off. He knew he had heard it before, and he did have an ear for these things, but he just could not place it.

"If you want she can have this when it's done." He offered, tilting the half finished sketch towards her. "It would just be gathering dust in my portfolio anyway."

"Very well." She said after a moment and a long searching look. "I think she would enjoy that." She paused for a moment longer. "Would you mind if I waited here until it is done? If it wouldn't be a bother."

Eyeballing his drawing Steve gave it another ten to fifteen minutes until he was finished, more or less. It wouldn't be his best work, not when it was his first sketch of the day, but it would still be up to his usual quality. Which he would modestly admit was exceptional.

So, Steve nodded his head. "It shouldn't take too long, Miss -"

"Monroe." She introduced, offering him another smile. This one was bright and full of genuine warmth, unlike her first smile. "But please, call me Ororo. Hearing Miss Munroe makes me think I'm back at the Institute."

"Ah, " he said, finally realizing how.rude.he was being. Once he wiped it free of pencil smudges he offered her his hand to shake. "Steve, please. It's a pleasure to meet you. Though if you don't mind me asking, where are you from? I can't seem to place your accent."

Taking his hand she gave him a firm shake, little callouses scraping against his palm as she pulled away. "I'm not surprised. I had a… diverse childhood. Though I am fairly certain my accent is some combination of Manhattan, Cario, and rural Kenya." Her tone lost some of its warmth, her voice worn as she answered. Likely because she answered that question in some form a thousand times before.

Though Steve barely noticed this. Instead, he felt a pang of excitement as things clicked into place. "<Ah! I knew your accent sounded familiar! The Manhattan in your consonants must have been what threw me off but I can hear it now.>"

Eyes wide Ororo leaned in, her voice excited as she asked, "<You can speak Arabic?>"

"<Roughly>," he said, shifting in his seat. "<I spent a few months in Egypt on my tour and some of the locals taught me. I'm sure my grammar is horrible. My French and German is much better but my Cantonese is barely passable.>"

Though Steve was fairly sure his grammatical and structural errors were more due to the lingual shift of the better part of a century passing by. He had a few missteps in his first months after the thaw with English. Steve could not imagine his secondary languages faired any better.

Ororo, unaware of his thoughts, simply nodded his head. Completely agreeing with his assessment. "<A few words do seem off. Perhaps they taught you a different dialect? You are speaking very well." She paused here, considering him for a long moment. Longer than before, as if she was only then getting the full picture of him. "<If you would like we could practice your language skills while we are here. Walk around the Gardens, perhaps a bite to eat. It has been so long since I've spoken Arabic with someone."

"Ororo, " He said, enjoying the feel of her name, "<It would be my genuine pleasure.>"

An:

Again, not happy with it. I've been reading a lot of high/sword & sorcery fantasy lately and I think it has an effect on my prose. I'm likely to just redo the entire snip.

I honestly like the pairing of Ororo and Steve, largely because they have each have been called the 'perfect person' as well as being strong leaders in their own rights even if they have different styles. Plus I can see them bonding over nature and trying things neither are familiar with, as well as her constantly making him blush (see swimsuits of the 1940s and compare to Storm's preferred swimwear).

And yes, I like the idea of neither putting two and two together for a while. Adds spice/grounds the relationship. Part of my handmade is that while Steve has worked with the XMen before the was the Original 5 and he hasn't met the new team yet. For Ororo Steve wasn't part of her history books besides a brief mention before the earthquake happened, and Steve is a common white boy name.

Oh, and before I forget, the first letter of every paragraph. Donate to your preferred cause.

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 14

Happy Valentine's Day! I have been pushing myself to get this chapter out on the day of love! As always your playlist song:

Like A Prayer

❤TragedyBunny❤

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Thunk. The dagger hits the target, perfectly dead center. I’m hanging upside down from a ceiling rafter, throwing at targets scattered around the room, concentrating despite the dizziness starting to make my head spin. Behind me, I hear the whine of the opening door. None of the servants would dare interrupt me, not even Gwen. “Kitten, are you still not talking to me?”

I listen to his steps as he draws closer to me. I glance to my right and let a dagger fly in his direction. It buries itself in the wall next to him, he doesn’t flinch. “I’ll take that as yes.” We both know that I wasn’t actually aiming at him. He sighs, now the negotiating starts. “How about we go to the theatre tonight and then to that little cafe you like so much?” 

I throw a blade at another target and ignore him. I want to see what concessions he’s willing to make. “I’ll buy you something shiny.” Hmm, there are a few pieces at the jeweler’s that I’ve had my eye on.

I throw again, another perfect hit. “Fine, do whatever you want to do with the blasted garden.” He almost sounds pained saying it.  I feel a smile tug at the corner of my lips, I hadn’t expected to get exactly what I wanted. That’s what the whole argument had been about, he’d been staunchly against the expense. 

“All of the above.” I sit up onto the beam and drop down next to him. I almost let out a gasp when I get a good look at him, he looks so very tired and worn. He’d left before the sun was even up this morning. I’d barely fallen asleep after chasing a target most of the night when I’d felt him stir beside me. There’s been growing unrest in the south, sparking bands of rebels to spring up and need to be put down. I feel a bit guilty for all the theatrics just now. I lean up and brush my lips against his while wrapping my arms around his neck. “Darling, we don’t have to go out.” 

I watch his eyes stray to the now faded handprint on my wrist. The past couple of months since that terrible night he’s been overly indulgent, giving into nearly every request or whim of mine. It’s bittersweet, I no longer believe what we have means nothing to him, but he still will not tell me otherwise. Is it pride, fear, or am I imagining things? He leans his cheek on the top of my head. “No, it’s fine.” 

The way I’m pressed against his chest I can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, strong and reassuring. “I'll leave it up to you.” I feel his arms tighten around me. I’m tempted to say more, but it’d make him cross if I fussed over him. 

When we first started going to the theatre we were the subject of extreme interest. Those same whispers that followed us at the Solstice revels consumed the theatre crowd. Winter was fading away and we were falling back into a routine after what happened, he found me idly sketching and stated he was bored and we should go out. I told him he never wanted to go out, which earned an annoyed huff. I’d had to kiss away his irritation before he’d let me agree to his suggestion. It became a bit of a regular occurrence as spring arrived full force, the two of us, ensconced in his private box, bantering and debating in hushed whispers, trying to keep as quiet as possible. As if anyone would actually admonish the Grand General for not keeping quiet at the theatre. 

“You really are spoiling me.” I twirl and show off the latest of his gifts, black lace and tulle, voluminous skirt yet somehow very revealing. 

“I would say it’s worth it.” His gaze roves over me appreciatively before his hands close around my hips and he pulls me close. “You’re stunning.” The way his voice drops low and he whispers those words in my ear, I can almost feel my cheeks going crimson. I hate it when he does that. 

“We will be late if you continue this.”  I hesitate for a moment, we could just stay home. Eventually, I pull myself from his grasp and climb into the waiting carriage. “You may further compliment me when we return.” 

It’s opening night for some unheard of playwright who’s managed to get the backing of a noble family. These productions that buy their way into a theatre are usually vanity pieces for their patrons and almost always end in spectacular disaster. Tonight is no exception, an overwrought affair based on an old myth, with glaringly obvious current parallels. “Really? Comparing me to Mordekaiser. I’m not sure if I should be insulted or flattered.” 

“I would say flattered, but the dialogue is so insipid I’m going to go with insulted.” I make a mock gagging noise. 

“We could just leave. That would cause a bit of a stir, walk out right now.”

“Tempting but whoever bankrolled this would probably think that was a victory. Oh, I know, let’s ask to meet the author. I heard he’s here. That will terrify him.” 

“That is evil. How do I sleep next to you at night?” He puts his arm through my mine, bringing us closer. 

“I always assumed very lightly.” I lean my head on his shoulder, relishing the moment.

He laughs in that subdued manner that’s typical for him, control to him is everything, and then squeezes my hand ever so slightly. I’ve come to know that gesture for what it is, his way of asking for affection, even if it is more proof of that constant need for control. I tilt my head up and brush my lips against his cheek anyway, I’ll not deny him. “I’m glad we came out tonight.” I’m taken aback at the unexpected honesty. I return my head to his shoulder and feel him ever so lightly kiss the top of my head.

“Me too.” Some intuition grips me and I realize there’s something he’s not telling me. I can feel the tension in his body as I lean against him. Between that and the tiredness lingering in his eyes, I’m troubled. 

I don’t really pay attention to the remainder of the theatrical debacle playing out before us, instead, we whisper back and forth and exchange soft kisses when we run out of words. When the whole dreadful thing has finally concluded neither of us is invested in our malicious scheme from earlier. We attempt to slip out of the theatre quickly before any of the high society crowd can attempt to small talk to us. “Madame Katarina, Grand General!” Coming around a corner into an open foyer we almost run down the owner of the cultured, smooth voice. 

“Rowan!” We stop short and I lean in to give them a quick peck on the cheek. “What a wonderful surprise.” I hear Jericho very quietly huff behind me, he knows why I'm so elated at the coincidence.

“Am I missing something?” They clearly sense the opposing forces at work here.

I met Rowan at a gallery show for Alrich about a month ago, we ended up deep in conversation and kept in touch after. It was only after our first meeting that I realized they were, in fact, the newly elected Head of the Mage’s Council. Jericho referred to it as quite a fortuitous connection, always politics with him.  “Since you asked, there’s a small favor I need to beg of you.” Gardens don’t really grow in normal Noxian soil, you either import it or have it enchanted or better yet, both. “Could you recommend the best green mage of your acquaintance?” I give deep emphasis to best, the cost isn’t a concern. 

“Planning to play in your garden a bit?” They give me a wry smile, they’ve heard my ambitions on this subject before. “I’ll see to it as soon as possible my dear. I hope you'll forgive my haste but I'm late to an engagement." He inclines his head politely to Jericho. "Grand General,  always an honor, Sir. And do stop by sometime, the both of you, I owe you a tour.”

“We’ll look forward to it.” We kiss cheeks again, Jericho returns their nod, and they fade into the now pressing crowd. 

Pushing through to the exit we finally find ourselves out in the mild spring night. I take his arm as we walk the short distance from the theatre to the cafe. “What’s troubling you, and don’t tell me nothing, I know better.”

“You are spending too much time with me. I had planned on having a discussion with you shortly. But first, other pressing matters. You are aware there is an intelligence briefing tomorrow, correct?” 

“Yes.” This again, I keep my tone purposefully terse. 

“And you know what time it is set to begin at?” I nod silently. “Then don’t be late again. Veera already thinks your position should be rescinded, stop giving her excuses. And please actually try to be in uniform.”

“She’s never going to like my being there anyway.” This is really the last thing I want to talk about. 

“I’d imagine that has something to do with you breaking her nose up north.” His tone is flat. 

I pull away from him to gesture wildly. “You know what she said! How was I supposed to know she was Intelligence.” 

“You could’ve not let her bait you like that. However, she’s your Superior and you will have to deal with her for now.”

“Until I’m promoted. That’s what you’re planning on, isn’t it?” Thinking of fucking Veera and High Command has me silently seething. I didn’t even want this position in Intelligence, it was regretfully forced on me as soon as I became Guild Commander. “Remember when she had the nerve to ask if I could even read High Noxian like I’m some sort of uneducated child. The Grand Whore apparently can't understand our official language."

He surprisingly chuckles quietly. “You spent a whole meeting only speaking to her in Old Noxian. It was quite impressive actually, I didn’t even know you spoke it.” Now he finds it amusing, he was irritated at the time. 

“I suppose it’s typical. People usually think killing is all I’m good for.” With that thought, melancholy starts to bleed into my rage. I trudge on in silence but he catches up and takes my arm again. He doesn’t speak though, giving me a moment until we reach our destination on the edge of an open plaza. There are a few cafes scattered amongst the now darkened shops that remain open for the crowds coming from the theatres, opera house, and galleries, but there’s one in particular I favor. 

We’d started coming here shortly after we began having theatre nights. I’d frequented it before on my own, but one night we’d both needed sobering up and weren’t ready to go home. There had been a painfully boring diplomatic dinner that had impelled us both to decimate our host’s wine cellar. Well, impelled me anyway, I may have drug him along with it. It makes me smile a little to think of myself being a bad influence on the Grand General. We’d scared the owner Tavi, a Shuriman immigrant, half to death. He had no idea what to do with Jericho seated at one of his outdoor tables, sipping coffee with his mistress. He has since thankfully calmed down a bit when we show up. 

We find our usual table, tucked into a darker corner of the veranda, affording us at least some privacy, as Jericho prefers. Sahar, one of Tavi’s daughters brings out coffee with a polite greeting before we even ask. They always have the best Shuriman brew here. You can tell by the number of Tavi’s fellow immigrants clustered inside, looking for a taste of home. Moments later Sahar reappears with a smile and one of Tavi’s famous flaky crusted pastries. “I saved one just for you, Madame, I know you are fond of them.” She’s a flatterer, but that’s what I pay for. 

“Many thanks, Sahar. ” The scent of strawberries and roasted nuts wafts up to me and as soon as she’s out of sight I ravenously stuff a large forkful in my mouth. 

Jericho smirks at me from across the table. “If only I knew before that all it took to mollify you was a decent pastry.” 

I feign being indignant “It’s the strawberries, they’re my favorite, and someone wouldn’t let me have them all winter.” 

“No, he said stop spending a fortune on them when they have to be imported.” He pretends to be stern with me. 

I play the brat and pout. “You were mean about it and I didn’t get any.”

“My poor Kitten, that must have been torture. Although I know full well you had Cress buying them and hiding the cost. How many bottles of wine did it cost me for you to bribe him?” He sits back looking triumphant, he’s won our little back and forth.”

“No fair, you always know everything.” I blow him a kiss and finish enjoying my pastry. With the last bite dispatched I turn my attention back to what’s bothering him. The silence that’s stretched between us seems to be alive with whatever it is, it’s heavy and oppressive, erasing the pleasantness of a few moments ago.  “So.”

“I suppose I owe you that discussion about what’s been on my mind.” I nod, hoping to just get it over with. My every sense is telling me to dread his words. “You know there’s been unrest in the south. Thus far the forces sent have failed to stamp it out entirely.” He pauses and once again tension fills the space between us. “I intend to go settle it myself.”

My heart freezes, I forget to breathe. He’s going to war. Part of me cries out to beg him not to, but that’s not the Noxian way and he’d despise it. Instead, I steady myself and bury that impulse. “Do you want me to go with?” That would be acceptable, I could make myself of use, like in the North.

He shakes his head. Of course, he won’t want it construed that he needs to take his little pet everywhere with him. “No, but the situation has given me much to consider and there is something I need to ask of you.” Another moment of terrible silence. I stare down at the cup in my hands that I hadn’t realized I was clutching tightly. Will he just get this over with? “It occurs to me I could use someone to watch over my interests while I’m away. Not with official power, of course, but to keep my allegiances strong and prevent my enemies from growing too bold.”

“And?” I urge him on, gesturing impatiently. 

“I would want you to have the respect due to you while acting on my behalf. And I’d like to make it clear in that case that anyone acting against you is acting against me as well.” I take a sip of coffee, completely lost. “All this is to say, I think we should get married.” 

A raspy cough escapes me as I choke on my coffee. “What!?”

“You and I, we should get married.” He says a bit more slowly as if it somehow makes it any less absurd. 

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised you’re even bothering to ask and not just ordering.” The shock leaves me defensive and lashing out. Get married, be his wife, this is lunacy.

Now he’s the one who turns his eyes away and contemplates his cup. “Fair enough. Although I would argue things have changed over time.” He reaches out to take my hand, thumb running along my knuckles. His voice drops into that soft tone that always persuades me to his point. “You would agree, right?”

Damn him for being charming. “I suppose they have a bit.” I give his hand a soft squeeze. 

“You have to admit it is a solid notion. I know Darius can be depended upon and Argos is very capable but has not been in his position long.  And soon enough we’ll have a new Commander of the Capitol Guard.” 

“I didn’t realize she was finally retiring.” I interrupt. 

“Not quite.” The insinuation is unmistakable. “I’ll need you to see to it personally. Back to the point, I’ll get what I need while I’m gone and if I should not return, you’ll be a very wealthy widow.” 

I roll my eyes at that last bit. “Don’t be ridiculous, something’s far more likely to befall me than you.”

He looks up brows furrowed. “Don’t say that.”

“Can I think about this whole thing?” I’m at a loss. All my work to accept the way things are between us, and he wants to complicate it all over again. 

“If you insist, my Warbands have been summoned though, and I plan to leave within the week.” Why am I the last to know about this whole thing? “Keep in mind, we can always get divorced if you find it disagreeable. In fact, since you have no assets of your own, I’m technically the only one at risk.”

It’s such a clerical way of looking at it, just what I’d expect from him. I almost wish it hurt, but I’m too used to how he is. So instead I simply rise and stretch. “I’m ready to go home.” I start walking away before he’s even out of his seat. 

“Right.” He leaves some coin on the table and hurries to catch up with me. I feel the weight of his coat drop around my shoulders and inhale the scent of him that clings to it, leather and parchment and that cologne he pretends he doesn’t wear. “There’s a chill in the air.” There’s not but it’s an unusually soft gesture so I let his little lie slide.

“Still trying to persuade me?” I slow my pace a bit so that we fall into step with each other. 

“Perhaps.” He takes my hand. “Is it working?” I only roll my eyes at him again, this time with a smile though. 

Thankfully he lets the subject drop the rest of the way home. Once Gwen has helped me out of my dress, I slip on my robe and take a precious few moments to think while running a brush through my hair. How can I even begin to contemplate marrying him? It’s absolutely absurd, and he’s arranged it all with the same cool detachment of ordering his soldiers into formation. And yet he asked, admitting when he did that things are not as they once were between us. With that admission comes the stinging awareness that for whatever his reason, he’d rather it remain unacknowledged. As usual, I’m expected to obey his wishes and follow along with his silence. But isn’t that what I’ve accepted time and again?

Nothing is clarified by the time I slip next door to find him hunched over his desk, pen in hand. “Are you seriously working right now?”

He puts a hand up. “I’ll only be a moment.” 

I stalk over and drop myself into his lap, he doesn’t get to propose to me and then spend the rest of the night obsessing over the Empire. “No.” He tries to write around me. “I want your attention.” 

I lean in and kiss his jaw just where it meets his neck, he shudders. My lips travel upward, I nip and pull his earlobe between my teeth, sucking for a moment. He gasps, pen clattering down onto the desk. “You are insistent on making a nuisance of yourself, aren’t you?” He wraps his hands around my hips.

“If that’s what it takes to get what I want.” I can feel that tension in him again and I’m reminded of the reason for his proposal. There must be some concern about this rebellion within High Command if he’s going to take on the task himself. He still hasn’t rooted out the conspiracy he knows is working in the shadows, no doubt that weighs on him as well. I kiss his neck and let my teeth graze it, he digs his fingers into my hips and thrusts lightly against me. I feel the heat of desire build inside me. “You’re so tense though, let me take care of you.”

I push his hands away and slide down to the floor between his legs. I trace my fingers along the growing bulge in his pants, causing more small noises from him, before opening them. He sighs when I grasp him and work my hand up and down his length. I feel his fingers dig into my shoulders when I run my tongue over his head and take him into my mouth. His hand grips my hair, pushing me forward, urging me to take all of him. Tongue pressed against him, lips tight, I move up and down, listening to his soft moans. When he can no longer stand my deliberately slow pace, he holds me still and drives into me, relentlessly using me. 

I hear his rapid breathing and know he’s taken himself close to the edge. I break away, clambering back into his lap, straddling his hips. I let my robe fall to the floor and lean down for a rough kiss, my hand once again wrapped around his cock. “Don’t tease me.” He growls. 

“Never.” Wet and aching for him, I impale myself on him and moan as his hips buck up to meet me. Again I start slow, rocking my hips against him, taking him as deep as possible. His hands hold me loosely, a sign he's given over control to me.  “You feel so good inside me.” I quicken, moving with urgency, breath coming rapidly, feeling the bliss of being filled with him. I feel myself tighten around him,  pleasure exploding inside me, crying out as I’m spent. I’m pliant as a moment later he pulls me down roughly, taking back that control, and finishing with a few deep thrusts. 

I lean my head onto his shoulder, suddenly exhausted, and feel his arms wrap around me. He means so much to me, will I lose him if I don’t do what he asks? Will he find someone else to play the part? I’m out of choices again it would seem. “You’re right, it’s a good idea.”

I leave it at that and wait for him to respond. “Look me in the eyes and tell me yes, if that’s your answer, Kat.” 

I oblige and sit up, staring into those unyielding dark pools. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” I brush my lips lightly against his to seal my promise. 

[etirabys]

// do not reblog request. If replies, prefer to be emailed (etirabys at gmail) or discorded (etirabys#8458), with same lack of commitment to responding on my part as I exhibit on tumblr.

// high blogging. I tend to Scheme when I’m stoned, and I usually have a ‘no grand scheming on drugs’ rule because it’s a waste of time that comes to nothing (Scheming by outlining the structure of a novel, Scheming to have an unrealistic exercise routine, Scheming to change my personality, etc). Scheming to implement a complex proposed technology is still pretty... low expected value, let’s say... but this was sociologically interesting enough to me that I am releasing it. Expected typo rate high, sorry. Some lucidity thrown out.

Description of a concept sketch of a software tool/digital prosthetic

An app that is for “I am available to hang”, where you set the people you’d like to give ‘I’m free now’ information access to when you want to be hangouty. Like reciprocity dot io, except with lower-key pings (if at all – maybe just a quietly updating list of irl-available people that you manually check)

My use case for it would be to designate a group with all my housemates in it (if they have accounts), who are the people I want to give ‘I am social right now, in these ways’ informations – I might have subgroups like ‘the housemates I drink alcohol or smoke weed with’, or ‘housemates I like to do productivity with’, or ‘housemates I like to have serious personal conversations with’, whom I notify differently. And if they’re marked as free and I’m marked as free, and there is a non-null intersection set of ‘willingness to do [specific social activity type]”, we both have something in the corner of our streams (this could be a dialogue that takes up 1/10 of your phone screen as a horizonal row) that indicates a list of friends & distance & their availability settings.

Upon seeing that my housemate-I-have-occasional-nice-interactions-with is reading and would like silent company (a category of hangout I would have marked myself as interested in) in reading, I would like to ping them to request joining, and if they accept with a location, go to that location (or have them come to me).

If I think I am in the house alone but want company, I may scan the app to see if any housemates have set themselves as ‘in the house, and up for social’, and then ask them where they are, whether I can join them.

Zoom out. This can work on a neighborhood scale, with enough buy-in from a local social cluster. If you just had an upsetting interaction but aren’t sure of who’s irl available to talk through it with, you can see who’s up for ‘intense conversation’, scan for anyone you trust and think would help you process the interaction and be less hurt. Your options would be better than just picking a random housemate, passerby, or person who happens to be online in the same group chat you pick without much consideration to blarb thoughts into.

If used widely, designed optimally (to really connect people)

Since it’s an interaction starter (with physical interaction as the thing it’s trying to facilitate) and not a platform/tracker (users should own their chat logs, keeping its in local storage, that they can back up however they choose), it seems like it would do the ‘connect people and strengthen relationships’ thing on a real level without having other bad features of social media apps. Maybe?

Zoom out. With phone and videochat and AR and VR, you can do hangouts internationally. It’s not as good an experience as real life, but it’s pretty good. Suddenly, you can – just as you can with your irl local friends – set your ‘open to hang’ settings to be visible to everyone in the world who’s set one of their top five interests to fungi. Or someone who recorded that they’ve ‘gone to this {concert / book reading / tech talk} that you’ve also attended, and you can try to invite them to a quick chat (if in the same language, or an easily machine-translated one) to just chatter about the recent shared experience. What do you think about the economic feasibility of the product in this space demo? Wasn’t that joke by Frans de Waal amazing? Do you want to go to the next _ concert together in person? More friendship pings flying around the globe.

Zoom out, not spatially, but in ambition. Can people be matched in ways that increase total social goodness?

“Do you agree activate this optional feature, which will get access your communications and pass it to be machine-processed to generate a list of potential contacts who will be in your ‘people whose availability I’ve followed’ view, i.e. the main view? You do not need to talk to them, but they will not be marked as an advertisement either. They will just be in the list, they will look like reasonable selections that you actually want to check out, there is no cost or reward delta between interacting with them and the non-machine-recommended matches and friends.”

If X says yes, start matching them with people that are only chosen for their ‘likely will improve the life of X without decrease in own life happiness (by  more than a minor amount)’-ness. Have a data gathering period on X. Get a profile of how they react to various people of various qualities. Those people themselves have a profile, from the same process recursed.

Some good things we could do.

- Discourage violent tendencies.

- Try to decrease tendency of common, unhappy conditions like anxiety and depression by introducing people to each other who can improve each others’ lives.

- Match abuse victims with people the system is highly confident are low on the abusiveness scale.

- Match lonely bright awkward kids with high-likelihood-benevolent adults who used to be lonely bright awkward kids

- Introduce high-likelihood-open-minded people of different cultures and increase racial/cultural harmony – not in a creepy volition-manipulating way, but in a ‘bring people together who will like each other, that happens to increase the national amount of mutual seeing-each-other-as-human’ way. Yes! I want social tech to help us make more interracial and intercultural friends!

Bad things we could do:

- Obvious bad state stuff. But unless the bad state is forcing everyone to depend highly on the Human Finder digital social tech (which would really run against the grain/inclination of human boding patterns, which for most people are fundamentally irl-based), people can just stop using an app that’s clearly trying to manipulate their behavior to become more aggressive or sheeplike or submissive or depressed. Which is an asymmetric outcome from the good use case: if the app actually improves people’s lives, they’ll freely use it and continue to be affected by it.

[upstartpoodle]

Month of AUs Day 2 - Angels & Demons

So I know this is waaaayyy after the second day of the month but I’ve just kind of accepted I’m not a quick enough writer to post a fic a day. So basically, these are just going to get posted when they get posted, and hopefully I’ll be able to get them out a bit quicker once I get more into the swing of writing them. 

But moving on from that, here’s fic no. 2, which is my angels & demons AU. I’ve actually got a long fic in the works for this AU, though the plot and premise for it aren’t quite the same as this fic, but given my writing speed and the number of wips I have at the moment, when it’ll surface from the murky depths of my brain and onto paper is anyone’s guess. But anyway, I hope you enjoy, and maybe there’ll be more of this AU in the future. :D

Time froze the moment Elizabeth, angel of the Overrealm and appointed custodian of Cornwall by the Celestial Court, stepped with her usual delicate poise into the decidedly unholy premises of The Red Lion in Truro. Everyone, everything slowed to a stop at her behest, as if the whole inn were playing out an eerie tableau simply for her benefit. The ale that the bartender had been pouring out for his patrons hung in the air, not even a single drop succumbing to the forces of gravity as it rightly should. A group of raggedy men in the corner by the window were suspended in the midst of playing a game of cards, their weathered faces serious and inscrutable. By the stairs to the side of the bar, a pretty young woman was frozen in the midst of her ascent, her painted face turned back to a well-to-do man below her, whose hand she had clasped in a light grip. From both of their expressions, their intentions were quite plain. Elizabeth, however, barely paid any mind to any of these sights beyond a quick glance. She had been on the earthly plane too long to hold onto any of the squeamishness that some of her kin might have felt upon seeing such things. Humans loved to indulge in simple pleasures of all kinds, and as long as they were not hurting anybody with them, she saw no reason to intervene. And in any case, that was not why she had come here.

Though almost everything about her was completely still, there was one hint of movement in this bizarre scene, and it quickly caught her attention. It had come from a slim, elegant gentleman dressed in a striking red tailcoat, who was perched beside the fire in an old wooden chair. Said fire was flickering merrily in bold defiance of the hold she had on the passage of time, almost giving the man’s blond curls the appearance of being aflame with light as he perused two long scrolls with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, barely taking notice of the fact that everyone around him was completely motionless. It was over to him that Elizabeth headed, gathering up her skirts and lowering herself into the rickety chair opposite him.

“Hello, George” she said, calmly.

The demon’s eyes flickered up to her from the contract he was reading, eyebrows raised. He was wearing his human guise, as he usually did when he spent time on the Surface. She had only seen his true form a handful of times in the centuries of their acquaintance--there he was all horns and wings and claws, sharp-edged and dangerous--but in his human form, he might simply have been a fashionable gentleman from London or Bath or some other such place had it not been for those eyes. Icy blue though they were, she always fancied she could se something of his native realm’s fire in them, something of his Internal Flame which kept him burning and living in place of a soul.

“Elizabeth,” he replied, tone measured, unconcerned by her presence in a way that she knew would lead the members of the Celestial Court, had they been there to witness it, to suppose she must have been greatly remiss in her duties. “How might I assist you? I assume this,” he gestured around them with one pale hand, “is for my benefit?”

Elizabeth inclined her head.

“I do not wish to be overheard by the humans,” she returned, glancing towards his reading material. “Might I ask who has been unfortunate enough to sign those?”

“Foolish enough, you mean,” said George with a derisive snort. “Besides, I’m not entirely sure I should answer that.”

Elizabeth merely raised her eyebrows at him. George was naturally cautious about his dealings, but she knew well enough that he would tell her anyway--even if he had not desired to impress her with his successes, a look from her was often more than enough to melt his resistance.

“Very well,” he sighed after a short moment. “The first is for Agatha Poldark. She wishes to live for a hundred years. The second is for Lord Falmouth. He wishes to win the next election. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he added upon seeing her disapproving frown. “It is their desires that have led them to trade away their souls, not mine. They summoned me. And anyway, they will be damned no matter what I do. The crone is thoroughly unpleasant to all those around her, even to those who show her kindness, and the lord cares for nought but himself and his dwindling prestige. This way, I am simply assured of my payment. That is all.”

And wasn’t that ever so typical of George--cynical and a little cold-blooded, blunt in stating the failings of his debtors, not as a moral judgement, but as a simple statement of fact. But then, this was all just business to him. Souls, after all, were the most valuable currency in Hell.

“You aren’t permitted to involve yourself in human political affairs,” Elizabeth reminded him, allowing a hint of sternness to creep into her tone. “You shouldn’t be influencing the result of the election.”

Despite himself, George looked mildly chastened by her reprimand. Still, she knew that it as not for fear of the wrath of Heaven, but rather for fear of disappointing her. She repressed a sigh--she didn’t much like being disappointed in him either, but as much as they often found a degree of compromise between their contrary missions, her role here was to protect humanity, and she could not allow him to do too much harm in his pursuit of souls to tempt into damnation.

“Human politics is full of corruption,” he argued, though the attempt was half-hearted at best. “What is a little nudge from the Underrealm amid all that?”

“Which is precisely why I do not want Hell interfering. I was placed here to make these people’s lives better.”

“And I to make their lives worse,” replied George with a shrug. “We have been doing this dance far longer than any Lord Falmouth or his ilk has lived on this earth. But if it displeases you so much, then I suppose I could tear up the contract. He will go to Hell anyway in the end.”

Without warning, the contract in his right hand suddenly burst into flames. In a second, it was burnt to nought but cinders. Elizabeth didn’t start at the suddenness of it--she had seen far too many displays of George’s powers to be alarmed by them by now. Then, he rolled up the second contract and tucked it away into his coat, turning back to her with a quizzical look upon his handsome face.

“Is that our business concluded, then?,” he asked, only mildly disgruntled. “It seems to have proved rather more detrimental to me than it has to you.”

Elizabeth smiled at him. She knew he was not nearly as put out as he pretended to be. He wanted to please her--had done almost since the beginning of their acquaintance--and that would not change simply because of a lost deal with a corrupt lord.

“Thank you” she said, gently.

If he were human, he might have blushed in the face of her gratitude, but as it was, he simply ducked his head in that peculiar way of his, as he did whenever she said something which made him happy.

“Yes, well,” he replied, a little awkward despite himself. “Naturally, I expect compensation. Think what would happen to my reputation if it were to be discovered that I had torn up a contract for free.”

He was not being entirely serious, and so she responded in kind.

“Oh, naturally. Shall tea tomorrow at Cusgarne suffice as an apology?”

George tilted his head to one side, as if considering the offer.

“As long as there are crumpets, all shall be forgiven.”

Elizabeth laughed, reminded suddenly of just why she had started their...little arrangement all those centuries ago. Admittedly, she had never quite intended to grow as fond of him as she had, but she had heard it said that life was about change for humans. If so, why could it not be the same for them?

“Crumpets and tea it is, then,” she said. “Now, shall we let these people go about their day? I think I have interrupted it long enough.”

“Please, it isn’t as if they’ll know anything about it.”

“Yes, but I shall know, and I don’t care to be a nuisance to them.”

She rose to her feet at that, and George, though he seemed a little disappointed at her leaving so soon after their business had been wrapped up, stood with her, taking her hand in a gentle grasp and bringing it to his lips in that oddly formal manner of his. There was a familiar look in his eyes, intense yet soft at the same time, that reminded her once again of that thing that stood unspoken between them--the reason why she could so easily persuade him to tear up a contract on her behalf, and the reason why she, who was so alone on this plane, in her earth house shrouded away from humanity and kept away from her kin in the Overrealm by her duties, showed him lenience that she would never dare afford to any other demon. Then, after what, despite her long immortal years, seemed like an age, he let her hand go and stepped back away from her.

“I shall call upon you at Cusgarne on the morrow” he said, sketching her a neat little bow. Then, within a blink of an eye, he was gone, into the fire and away.

As soon as he was gone, Elizabeth let out a breath she barely realised she had been holding, and with it, time moved again. Well, she thought to herself wryly as the bartender finished pouring out a tankard of ale for his patron, one of the raggedy men placed a winning card down on the table, and the lady with the painted face tugged her soon-to-be lover up the stairs, the Celestial Court would no doubt be highly amused to hear that some of her greatest successes here in Cornwall hinged largely on the fact that she had--somehow--managed to persuade a demon to fall in love with her. They would be less amused, however, she thought as she let her fingers brush against where George’s--warm, so very warm--lips had pressed against her skin, to learn that she might well just be falling in love in return.