#unintentional flirting

[cy-tick7]

“A Yellow Flower Like Your Eyes”

Despite being late, I say Happy Birthday to you Law. 🎂

[ainyan]

SCAR (for ask meme)

[ SCAR ]: noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

"Please don't tell anyone about this."

Kal'istae's smile was wry as she helped Thancred pick up the clothing that had fallen from his arms and scattered when they'd collided just outside of the bathing room. "What, don't tell anyone that the rogue with preternatural agility nearly tripped over the ninja with... preternatural agility? I can't imagine why I might want to keep quiet about that."

He snorted as he snagged his shirt from the corner and shook it out, grimacing at a dust ball that went flying. "I had things on my mind, okay?"

Her gaze softened as she rose, his long-tailed waistwrap in hand. The single eye she could see glinted with aggrieved embarrassment. "As did I, and since the accident was mutual, I don't see as you have any cause for concern. I promise, I won't go running off to tell anyone."

He paused while tugging his shirt over his head and focused on her. "I'm sorry, Kali. I'm not mad at you. I'm not even," he added as his head disappeared while he hunted for the hole, "mad at myself. I've just got a lot on my plate right now, worrying about what these Warriors of Darkness are going to get up to next."

She barely heard him, distracted by the sight of his chest, all lean muscle and golden skin and pale, puckered scars criss-crossing his flesh from shoulders to waist. As his head popped through the neck hole, he caught sight of her engrossed expression and grinned to himself. When he began to roll his shirt down, however, she reached out with a tentative hand, halting him. "Wha-?"

Slim fingers grazed over a puckered scar near the edge of his ribs, still pink and raw. "This one's new," she murmured, disconcerted. "When did you get that?"

Preoccupied by the entirely unexpected feel of her soft fingers against his skin, he barely stopped himself from sucking in a breath. Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes and firmly took his libido in hand. "Uh, I - ah... the cyclops," he finally managed to spit out. "At the melee."

Mesmerized, Kali leaned in, brushing her lips comfortingly over the scar. He couldn't stop himself from inhaling; he barely stopped himself from grabbing her and intercepting that kiss with his own. She looked up with a smile, then froze, her eyes widening in horror. "Oh my gods, Thancred," she stammered.

"Thank you." Somehow he managed to speak in a normal tone of voice; it was something of a miracle with his breath swirling in his lungs and his heart hammering at his breast.

She swallowed and stepped back. Then took another step back for good measure, her hands tucked firmly behind her back. "I just don't like seeing you with scars taken protecting me," she said, her voice just a bit too prim.

He was appalled at how tempted he was to show her all of the other scars he'd taken during their adventures together just to see if he could elicit a similar reaction. She's a Scion! came the horrified thought.

A sexy Scion, his libido reminded him. "We'll just forget this ever happened," he said instead, shoving his shirt down and reaching out to take the waistcoat she extended to him with a trembling hand. "Have a good day, Kali."

She stepped back one more time. "Have a good day, Thancred," she choked out, then turned and fled, her previous destination forgotten in her embarrassment.

He waited a few moments longer until he could walk steadily on down the hall to his bedroom, lost in thought.

Want to catch my OCs in a vulnerable moment? Send a prompt!

Thank you for the prompt!

[obligur]

time to sit on my desk and unintentionally flirt with people who then get confused as to why i’m flirting with them but i don’t know it or mean it so it’s super awkward

[hijinks-n-lowjinks]

final teaser for chapter nine of my itafushi fic and i’ve been tryin’ not to feel it

[duusheen]

finally, a proper introducction. Mysterious Woman introduced herself as Daphne and despite her huge hat, Leif had a good first impression of her ✨

[gaygryffindorgal]

A Christmas Prince; The Royal Wedding

Chapter 3: The Princess and the Ogre

Summary: Royal protocol threatens to dictate everything about Dawn and Quincey's wedding. Olympia's charity play faces obstacles.

Words: 3k

Characters:

Dawn Harvelle and Evander Alderly @potionboy3

Quincey and Olympia Alderly, Tess Brandon

Gaia Alden by @cursed-herbalist

Also featuring:

Pandora Lovelace & Nymeria Lee by @gcldensnitch, Jimmy Crouch, Maxim Raeburn, Rosa Yaxley & Evan Harvelle by @potionboy3, Rocky Weasley by @magicallymalted

Beginning | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Want to read the first fic in the series, A Christmas Prince? Click here!

Chapter 3: The Princess and the Ogre

“Your Majesties, Your Highness,” said Evander. He had a distinct look of dishevelment about him that Dawn had not expected to see.

Quincey’s personal security guard had already stepped in, ready to escort Evander out of the premises.

“It’s alright, Mr. Flitwick,” said Quincey. “He appears to be in no shape to do us any further harm.”

“Queen Isabella,” said Evander. “Merry Christmas.”

“What is it you want, Evander?” asked the queen.

“I know I deserve to be met with such hostility,” Evander continued. Dawn’s dad and Tess had made their way next to Dawn, as if to serve as his personal guard. Dawn thought it was kind of cute. Tess whispered: “Is this the bloke who…”

“Who tried to steal Quincey’s crown? Yes,” Dawn whispered back.

“Frankly, I’m amazed to see your face here, cousin,” said Quincey.

“After the… unfortunate incident last Christmas, I lost almost everything I had,” Evander explained.

“Just desserts!” Olympia chimed in.

“I don't expect you to forgive me,” said Evander. “But I wanted to say I'm sorry, and Merry Christmas…”

The entire family was looking at Evander in something of a shock. This was the last thing Dawn had expected and he was willing to bet it had not crossed the minds of anyone else in the room, either.

“And congratulations,” finished Evander, looking at Dawn and Quincey now with an expression that could almost be described as genuine. “To you both.”

He turned to leave, and Quincey stepped forward. “Wait.”

Evander stopped in his tracks, turning back to face the king. Quincey sighed and said: “I don't know how you'll ever regain our trust. But we're still family. And it's Christmas.”

Olympia looked like she was about to punch some sense into her brother. Dawn exchanged looks with his dad and aunt.

“He may stay,” Quincey told the head of security and Evander looked seemingly relieved.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Olympia might actually murder you.”

Evander looked at Olympia who scowled. It seemed forgiveness didn’t come to her as easily as her brother, though Dawn wasn’t sure where all this goodwill on Quincey’s part was coming from.

~

Queen Isabella exchanged a few words with his wayward nephew, who then hovered awkwardly near the tree but didn’t touch any of the decorations. A passing waiter gave him a mug of steaming hot glühwein. Dawn decided to go over and see what he was really up to.

“Count Evander,” he said as he approached.

“Mr. Harvelle,” he replied. “Or Your Highness, soon enough.”

“What brought you to us on this… fine December evening?” Dawn asked.

“I knew you would all be together, and I thought: what better time to make my apologies?”

“I guess,” said Dawn, squinting his eyes.

“I know you don’t like me or trust me, but I’m not here to cause any trouble,” said Evander. “I’m just trying to make things right between me and my family.”

“It’s my family too, now, so if you try any shit–,” started Dawn but Evander stopped him on his tracks: “I won’t. I don’t want to go against you and my dear cousins ever again. The first round was quite humiliating enough.”

Dawn was a little pleased to hear it but hoped it wasn’t too obvious. “Quincey’s right, Olympia might actually kill you.”

“Yes, I imagine obtaining her forgiveness might be a little too optimistic.”

~

As the evening went on and the tree began to look sufficiently decorated, Evander had gained enough ground to sit on one of the couches and talk about his past year. He and his mother Amelia had a falling out and that had resulted in her cutting off all the money. It must have been a blow, but Dawn found it hard to sympathize with a count when it came to these things.

“So, what did you do?” asked Tess.

“Well, I moved to a more… modest housing arrangement,” Evander explained. “Oh, and I sold my car, that one was… difficult.”

Dawn rolled his eyes, but Tess chuckled and said: “It must have been.”

Evan sat next to Dawn and said under his breath: “Should we be worried about that one?”

“I’m always worried about Evander,” Dawn replied.

“Maybe I should kick his ass?”

Dawn laughed quietly. “Oh my god, dad.”

“I would probably lose.”

“No, you’d totally win.”

“Win what?” asked Quincey, walking up to them.

“Fist fight against Evie,” Dawn explained.

Quincey seemed to think about it for a while and then said: “You would definitely win.”

Evan grinned and Dawn smiled but then his expression turned more serious, and he asked: “Why did you let him stay?”

Quincey shrugged. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

~

Everything went mostly without an incident although Olympia did throw a glass bauble at Evander when he dared to laugh at Tess's joke too merrily in her presence. Dawn thought it was funny, but the queen informed them all that the bauble had been a gift from the American ambassador and now he would wonder why it doesn’t feature in any of the royal photographs.

Back in his bridal suite™️, Dawn exchanged a few messages with his friends back home. Well, back in Bristol since this was home now. It was late, too late, with Dawn’s early morning looming threateningly in the horizon.

the bristol squad; panda: wait cunt evander is back?? panda: NO panda: COUNT panda: autofill1!!! maxim: oh my god rocky: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂 dawn: where’s the lie panda: it was a typo nym: no it wasn’t jimmy: it was a freudian slip

Just when Dawn was putting his phone away, he heard a knock on his door. He crept out of bed, wondering whether it was Evander, come to assassinate him. Suddenly it made perfect sense why he had come back, acting all humble and apologetic. He certainly had some devious plan to kill Dawn and get the throne. Just in case, Dawn picked up a decorative candelabra on his way to the door. When he opened and was instead faced with Quincey, dressed in his pajamas and a fancy dressing gown, he hid the makeshift weapon behind his back and smiled.

“Quince!”

“What were you going to do with that?” the king asked, half puzzled half amused.

“Defend myself, of course, your palace security is lax, I know that from experience.”

“Dear lord…” said Quincey and grabbed Dawn’s face, kissing him. Dawn pulled him into the room and maneuvered the door shut. Quincey took the candelabra from him and deposited it on a nearby side table.

“Jesus, you could have killed someone with that,” he said.

“That was the idea, although I was expecting it to be Evander.”

“Why would Evander come to your rooms at this hour?” Quincey inquired. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“To kill me, of course.”

Quincey laughed. “Of course.”

“Are you allowed to be here?” asked Dawn.

“Well, no, technically not.”

“Ooh, naughty,” Dawn teased.

“But I wanted to see you,” said Quincey with a soft smile.

Dawn, not immune to Quincey’s smile, kissed him and pulled him to bed.

~

The next morning, Dawn was dressed to the nines in the custom made Alderlian wedding outfit insisted upon by the queen. He felt like a complete fraud.

“It’s magnificent,” said Pince.

Rosa was frowning but remained silent.

“I can’t wear this,” said Dawn. He couldn’t even name all the different items of clothing involved.

“You must,” said Rosa. “It’s a symbol of Alderlian continuity.”

“No, it isn’t,” argued Dawn. “I want to talk to Quincey.”

“The king is busy, at the moment,” said Pince. “But I’ll make sure to note down that you want a word with him.”

“He’s going to be my husband and I need to schedule a meeting with him?” Dawn asked. He tried his best to remain calm, but this was all getting ridiculous. He wondered what Quincey was going to wear for the ceremony.

“Help me get this thing off, I need a break,” said Dawn and Rosa rushed to help him remove the outfit. None of it felt right.

~

The kitchens were empty, since it was some time until lunch, but breakfast had long since been served. Tess set a big, steaming cup of tea in front of Dawn and sat opposite to him.

“You’re my hero,” Dawn said.

Tess gave him a smile. “This is all a bit…”

“Much,” finished Dawn and Tess nodded, sagely.

“Have you settled in?” Dawn asked.

“It’s definitely been interesting to spend so much time with Evan, of all people.”

“Are you getting along?”

“Sure, I always liked him,” said Tess.

“That’s a relief,” said Dawn. “I didn’t realize they wouldn’t let me drag you two everywhere with me.”

“We’ll be fine,” Tess reassured him. “I’m just a little worried about you, though.”

Dawn sipped his tea carefully, as to not burn his tongue. “I feel like it's not my wedding. All this pomp and circumstance. It's like, at this point, I'm almost dreading the big day.”

“Marrying into royalty, of course there’s always going be parts of your life that won’t be just your own, but I think there’s a reason why the king fell in love with you, and it wasn’t your complete adherence to rules and protocol,” said Tess.

“Honestly, Tess, I didn’t think I would ever get married, much less married like… well all this,” Dawn said, motioning around vaguely to everything around him. “But shouldn’t it be about… royalty or not, about being with the person I love, with... with all the people that I love there with me?”

“When did you get so wise?” asked Tess.

“I was always wise, you just refused to see it because you were bitter that I put glue in your hair,” said Dawn.

“That’s very true.”

Dawn took a deep breath. “Christmas without mum is always going to be hard. But getting married without her being there…”

“I know,” said Tess. “I always think about her when something big happens in my life. Like when I graduated or when I launched a new tea line.”

“I guess we're both feeling that, huh?”

“I miss her every day,” Tess said.

“Me too.”

“Which reminds me,” said Tess and dug something out of her pocket. “I was supposed to give this to you as part of your wedding gift, but I figured you might need something to watch your back before the big day.”

Tess took Dawn’s hand and put a necklace on his palm. It was clear quartz with a fine leather cord. Dawn remembered seeing it on Tess many times. Dawn’s mum had given it to Tess as a present when she started high school, to bring her luck, and Tess had worn it throughout the years, up until university and beyond.

“I can’t take this,” he said, immediately.

“Yes, you can,” said Tess, and closed Dawn’s fist around the necklace.

“It’s yours.”

“You need it more than me,” said Tess. “I don’t have any big, life altering events in my horizon.”

“Tess…”

“Your mum would want you to have it. I know she would.”

Dawn sighed.

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Then…” Dawn started. “Thank you.”

He pulled the necklace over his head and maybe it was in his head, but it did bring him comfort. It made him feel like everything was going to be alright.

“She’d be proud of you, you know,” said Tess.

“Would she?”

“Yes. So proud.”’

~

On the car ride to Olympia’s dress rehearsal, Dawn got a rundown of The Tale of Princess Froon.

“It’s a folktale,” Olympia explained to Dawn, Evan, and Tess, but mostly Evan. “The original is much more brutal than the version told to children. Kind of like Grimm’s fairytales. A fair maiden who granted Santa Claus his magical powers, sounds wholesome, no?”

“Very,” said Evan.

“Princess Froon was coveted for her ability to grant magical powers. One day she was captured by a big, hairy ogre named Grundel…”

“Like Shrek!” said Dawn.

“No, nothing like Shrek. Grundel traps Princess Froon inside a castle made of ice…”

“Like Frozen?” Dawn tried again.

“Not at all like Frozen, Dawn, shut up. Grundel was going to eat her for breakfast, when his pet turtle…”

“Turtle?” asked Dawn. He couldn’t resist.

“Yes. His turtle found a little baby in the woods. And when he brings the baby to the castle, she cares for it and nurses it back to health. Her kindness melts the ogre's heart, and he falls in love with her.”

“The end?” asked Dawn and Olympia threw a piece of confectionery at him.

“No,” she continued. “The ogre sets the princess free, so then she turns the baby into Santa Claus. And she kisses the ogre to say goodbye and thank you, and he turns into a dashing knight in shining armor. The end.”

“And it's all true?” asked Evan.

“Obviously.”

“Fair enough,” Dawn said.

“Honestly, it’s not any less mad than strange women lying in ponds distributing swords as a basis for a system of government…,” mused Evan.

“Who's playing the ogre slash knight in shining armor?” asked Dawn.

“Just the reason for my mother’s ire,” said Olympia. “Her name’s Gaia Alden, the daughter of baron Alden.”

“Oh,” said Dawn. Suddenly it made much more sense why Isabella was so against her daughter taking part in this play.

~

The thing about Olympia’s play was that it was completely put together by amateurs on as low a budget as possible. The entire idea was to collect money for the orphanages of Alderly so the children could have a nice Christmas, complete with a heap of presents. The participation of so many members of the nobility itself had garnered quite a high society crowd. It was all in good fun, for a good cause. Olympia had told Dawn that they’d pretty much done everything themselves from sets to costumes.

“Why must you trap me here, Grundle?” Olympia spoke her line. Dawn was no actor, but he found the princess’s portrayal to be believable enough.

“Your fair beauty hurts my eyes,” said Gaia Alden, donned in the mask of the fearsome ogre. “But that is not why I trap you here. I trap you here because I want your magic!”

“You cannot force me to use it. I must believe in my heart!”

“Then I shall eat you. And your magic shall seep into my flesh and stones!”

There was a brief pause in the action and Dawn, from his front row seat, could see everyone racking their brains for how to handle this.

“I think it's ‘bones’,” Olympia whispered.

“That's what I said, isn't it?” asked Gaia. As an audience member, Dawn would have bought stones hook, line, and sinker. Maybe Grundel was a stone troll.

“Never mind. Let's move on to scene 12.”

“Right, yes,” Gaia said, clearing her throat. She motioned to her prompter and had a brief discussion with him. Just as the director was about to call action, everything went dark. For a minute, Dawn suspected a blackout but then his phone buzzed. It was Quincey calling.

“Hey,” he replied.

“Dawn,” Quincey said. “The unions are calling for a general strike. Are you still at the theater?”

“Yeah, we’re here,” said Dawn, keeping an eye on Olympia, who was frantically discussing with Gaia and some others of her theatrical troupe.

“The theater workers are also going on strike, in solidarity,” said Quincey. “I’m afraid the performance is cancelled.”

“What? Does O know?”

“I have to go,” said Quincey. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Quincey hung up and Dawn was left staring at his phone, flabbergasted.

“O!” he called out, climbing up on the stage. “What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew,” said Olympia.

“It looks like the play is cancelled, Your Highness,” said Gaia, going through her phone, probably looking at news.

“Maybe they’ll get everything figured out before–,” Dawn started.

“The premiere’s tomorrow,” said Olympia. Dawn decided not to question why he hadn’t been made aware of this, same as many other things going on in Alderly.

“I’m sorry, Olympia,” said Gaia. “You made a brilliant Princess Froon.”

“Fuck,” said Olympia.

“C’mon, O,” said Dawn. “It’s going to be alright.”

“People are going to want their tickets refunded,” Olympia said. “But we used most of the money already. On the kids.”

Dawn put a hand on Olympia’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. Come on, we have to go before your security detail thinks Miss Alden and I kidnapped you.”

“That would be bad,” said Gaia.

“Alright,” Olympia sighed, and they headed out of the theater hall.

~

“Merry Christmas, your highnesses,” said Gaia once they were outside. “For what it’s worth, I'm sorry we won’t be able to do the play. It was fun.”

Olympia smiled. “You made a brilliant ogre, Gaia,” she said.

“Thanks…?”

“And an even better knight in shining armor,” the princess added, taking both of Gaia’s hands in hers and leaning in to kiss her cheek. Something about the gesture made Dawn avert his eyes. Gaia left in her own car and Dawn and Olympia entered theirs.

“Fucking hell,” Olympia said.

“Can the crown pay the refunds?” asked Dawn.

“Not easily.”

“Well… shit.”

“Mother did tell me not to do this,” Olympia said, leaning her head back against the leather seat.

Dawn thought about all the hard work Olympia had put into making this play happen and an idea began to formulate in his mind. “Most of your crew is just your friends and peers, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“What if we did the play at the palace?” Dawn suggested.

“What?”

“What if we just cleared room and put up a stage for the play so then you wouldn’t have to refund?”

Olympia seemed to think about it for a moment. Eventually, she said: “It could work.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it might. Oh my god, I’m texting the idea to the guys right now,” she said and took out her phone, starting to type. Dawn grinned. Maybe the Christmas play could still be saved, but then there was still the country.

tag list: @lifeofkaze, @gcldensnitch, @endlessly-cursed, @cursed-herbalist, @magicallymalted

(ask if you want to be included or removed)

[adastra121]

I just think Leander should get some magic (sort of) flowers, too.

[how2forgive]

3 days later workplace holiday party still haunting me

[verxsyon]

kanto manji timeline (aftermath) tokrev. chifuyu x bookstore owner!gn!reader

¡ contains minor spoilers for the manga !

reader works at a bookstore across the street which owns the manga that chifuyu reads but he’s too much of a wimp to approach you, much to kazutora’s and baji’s disdain.

how did he manage to talk to his crush? his cat peke j gets lost when he’s on his way to the pet store and ends up at their route on the way to the bookstore. they bump into him and return peke j to him after they find out he’s his pet. they’re like “you’re that pet store owner across the street. cute cat.” chifuyu.exe not found.

[labyrinth-archive]

Thinking about the end of Journey to the Centre of the Tardis where the Doctor tells Clara, “Running away with [me], anything could happen to you,” and she just steps closer, raises her eyebrows, says, “That’s what I’m counting on,” and how she knows that she’s flirting, she just doesn’t yet realize that she’s flirting with death.

[ghosts-of-love]

god I just know the Captain has that 'tism rizz

[lulu24784]

Your art is literally so gorgeous!! I'm in love with the soft colors! If your oc and Secret Time's aren't gay, I still want what they got

- 🫧

Aaa thank you!! 😭🥰

I mean, you can’t really be besties if you’re not both a lil gay for each other 🤭

[drones-of-innocence]

What would a "Super Princess Peach" scenario look like with your version of Mareach? That is- Mario (and maybe Luigi) gets captured and Peach has to go rescue him.

Hello there!! Thank you for the ask!

I actually have Super Princess Peach but I've never finished it, maybe I should go to that next chance I get 😆 But I adore the concept, I don't have any projects like it atm but I'd love to work out some thoughts on it!!

I can't get enough of mutual pining/confession scenarios, so it would probably be something like that. And probably a whump story 😳 Bowser must be really motivated to get under Peach's skin and hurt her, and as much as it pains him, it seems like she really cares about the stupid little plumber man so it makes sense to create a plan to capture him.

And, though he would never lay a claw on Peach while under his jurisdiction, he doesn't have the same inclinations toward Mario so why not play around and torment the guy? After all, he's foiled his plans how many times by now? He doesn't have enough claws to count. So he gets a bit of a kick out of giving Mario a taste of what he's been put through. Also, Mario is furious about this, but he's not gonna let Bowser see a hint of pain. So he tries not to react, just so he wouldn't get any satisfaction. Unfortunately, this only makes Bowser angry and has him double down on his efforts to hurt him.

But Mario is powerless in this scenario, as Bowser has found some kind of weakness of his. There wouldn't be any point in threatening Peach as Mario knows Bowser wouldn't hurt her already, but maybe he threatens to do worse to Luigi. Maybe he finds some sort of neutralizer to Mario's Firebrand, and finds creative(painful) ways to keep him awake and hungry so that he begins to lose his strength.

And the whole time, Mario is fretting because he knows Peach. He knows that she's so kind and wonderful and she'll probably arrange to rescue him. But despite knowing her strength, he hates this because he doesn't want her to have to go through everything he does to get to the Dark Kingdom. All those enemies, all those tough conditions. He can't protect her while he's chained down in the dungeon. And this is really what's killing him, despite Bowser trying to break his will. All he wants is for the Princess to be safe, and kidnapping him makes him unable to serve her that way. This man would happily lay down his life for her, but instead he's useless and trapped in a deep dark cell without sunlight or consistent sustenance or rest. All his effort and pain is meaningless here.

He starts to think a lot about his feelings. About how sweet and perfect and beautiful the Princess is. He loves her, he's suspected that he has for a long time. But he would never dare to speak up and say as much to her. He thinks he is not worth her time, that he is beneath her in every way. He is content living out a life of service to her because that alone is a privilege enough. But now even that outcome is up in the air. Doubts of his ability to escape cloud his mind.

Meanwhile, Peach is losing her mind. She did not hesitate to mobilize, storming her way to Bowser's castle. Initially, she was nervous for the journey. But she was so furious that Bowser would do this, so enraged and terrified for Mario's wellbeing, that she did not even think for a second of turning back.

Mario had rescued her so many times. It was about time she returned the favor, no matter how much he insisted she would never need to. That sweet man, always so willing to stand by her side, to defend her, to fight for her. He literally traveled across the world and to the center of the universe for her.

Oh. She recognized sensations in herself that she had only read about. The way her heart pounded, the way his pain was her pain, the way his smile sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. The warmth of his touch, that cute little bashful face he made whenever she kissed him on the cheek. He always stood at a respectful distance, but she wanted nothing more than to be close to him.

And now he was hurt. Now he was in trouble, and she was going to rescue him if it killed her.

The last thing Mario wants is for her to have to fight Bowser. Actually, that's the last thing Bowser wants, too. He doesn't actually want to battle her, considering he'd like to marry her in one piece and also he knows she is more than capable of hurting him. But the Princess that storms his castle is ready for war and nothing is going to stop her.

She fights, and being at the sidelines is more painful than Mario can say. All of his instincts compelled him to go to her side, to fight for her, but he was powerless. There was nothing he could do but watch and worry and cry out if she got hit. The terror that seized him, watching her battle for his freedom, was cold and unforgiving.

She comes out victorious in the end, because Bowser just cannot triumph over her sheer will and power. And here I think my version of this story would focus a lot on the aftermath 😫

What if Mario collapses as soon as the battle is over, because he was just able to hold on until it was over? Bowser never got the satisfaction of seeing him beat, but he's beaten anyway. Peach rushes to his side, in near tears. She'd gotten so far, done all this by herself, and she can't lose him now. She doesn't know the extent of what Bowser had done to him. But she is safe, the danger is over, and Mario's body finally shuts down after everything.

She flies to him and wrenches open the cell. He is free, but at what cost? She drops to her knees and eases him up to rest upon her, hands shaking.

Their reunion is electric. She can't even think about escaping the castle with him in this state. She can't think about anything.

"I'm okay," he promises her, his voice barely there. He is bruised and bloodied, but his eyes shine with a faint hint of relief. He was so scared for her, but she did it. She made it to him and he's so proud.

Peach just holds him, her voice shaking as she wraps her arm around him. "You're not," she says. Her eyes darken, her voice clouds with more anger. She is stronger now, bolder after her journey. "What did he do to you?"

Mario doesn't have the capacity to describe it to her, and he begins to go limp. His eyes slide closed. "You did...You did so good. I am so...I am pr-proud..." he fades off. He's not dying, he's just extremely weak.

She seizes him all the same and presses her lips to his in a last ditch effort to rescue and restore his strength.

They kiss. Even as her healing magic takes effect, she continues to kiss him, desperate and relieved all at once for his safety. His wounds begin to heal, and he starts to shift beneath her. His hand raises up to cup her cheek and he kisses her back. It was nothing like their chaste touches before, or like any kiss she'd ever given to him or anyone else. Mario sighs with his newfound strength and murmurs that he loves her.

Peach gives a delighted, teary laugh and throws her arms around him as she confesses that she loves him, too.

...

Or maybe something like that 😅

[mycurrentobsessionis]

Something really heartwarming to me -- a little headcanon of mine -- about Cyrus Albright is that he is able to easily scrutinize everyone in Atlasdam w/o losing reputation. Like, I choose to believe the in-story reason for this is because he's well-known and beloved around town (he's just so friendly and chatty that I believe he has to be at least sort of well-known). Everyone just thinks he's a nice guy -- maybe a little awkward or nosy at times, but he's so sincere and well-meaning that it ends up just being part of his charm.

[theamalgaverse]

Lewis, what's the secret to being so fabulous?

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 45: February 2017

Martin opened the door to Jon’s office cautiously and found him pushing the tape recorder to one side, staring at something on his desk. He looked…worried wasn’t exactly the word. Martin couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

“Hey,” he said carefully.

“Oh—Martin.” Jon looked up, startled. “Is, ah, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just ten minutes past closing time is all.”

“Oh. I…I hadn’t realized it was so late.” Jon glanced at his laptop and rubbed his face. “You go ahead. I’ll meet you at the bookshop.”

Martin felt a little prick of worry nag at him. It was Tuesday—they didn’t normally meet on Tuesdays—although he guessed Jon probably realized Martin and Gerry would be worried about Melanie and might need the distraction. More than that, Jon seemed off. Something was upsetting him. “Jon, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all.��� Jon gestured to the mess spread across his desk, which was becoming more and more typical for him these days as he stopped caring if the team saw him as “professional” and eased towards comfortable; he always put things away neatly when he was finished, but he saw no point in wasting time on organizing things he was just going to pull apart and shuffle through anyway. Martin couldn’t imagine how he was able to work like that, but then, the Mark Jon had from the Spiral was vastly different from Martin’s in every conceivable way. “I’ve only got one or two little things to finish up.”

“Do you want me to wait for you, then?”

“No—no, I’ll be all right. This won’t take long, and then I’ll be there. Safer this way.” Jon managed a smile that almost reached his eyes and made something in Martin’s chest dance a little. “I’ll call you when I leave.”

“All right,” Martin said guardedly. Jon was hiding something. He’d probably been digging into one of the tapes on his own and was trying, in his own way, to keep it from Martin, which almost certainly meant it was something to do with the Buried; of all the Marks Martin had, that one was the deepest besides the Eye, and Jon was even more militant than Melanie and Gerry about protecting Martin from it. It was oddly sweet. “Just…be careful, all right? We’ll see you soon.”

“I will. No more than an hour,” Jon promised. “And I will call if it’s going to be longer. Not text.”

At that, Martin couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. See you later then.”

He withdrew from the office and returned to the cluster of desks where the assistants sat. “Dinner? I’ve just got to stop and pick up a book I have on reserve first. Neens said it came in this morning.”

“As long as it’s not takeaway. I am not setting foot in a restaurant today,” Sasha said with a mock-frown. In response to Martin’s raised eyebrow, she added, “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Ugh.” Martin wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Lost track of the date.”

Tim looked back and forth between the two of them, something slightly guilty in his eyes. “You’re not fans of the holiday?”

“An entire day where every store, restaurant, and advertisement for weeks on end proclaims that you’re only worthwhile if you’re in a romantic relationship and there’s clearly something wrong with you if you’re not whilst also creating obligations on the people who are to make big, elaborate, public showings that they’re better at it than everyone else, at the same time setting up the potential for situations where at least one party ends up embarrassed at best and actively endangered at worst? Of course I’m a fan, what’s not to like?” Sasha deadpanned. She stuffed her laptop into its case. “Amatonormativity is a hell of a drug. Do you have plans for the evening, or are you coming with us?”

Martin couldn’t resist adding, “Or do your plans for the evening involve a certain bookseller?”

It probably should not have been as satisfying as it was that Martin was able to make Tim blush quite that hard, but he chalked up the win in his mental tally book anyway. “I—we didn’t—no. I don’t have…plans.”

“Intentions maybe?” Sasha teased. “Does Martin need to give you the Shovel Talk?”

“I am not the person you need to be afraid of if you hurt him.” Martin considered. “Or at least not the main one. Anyway, are you coming over, or do I have to critique his soppy lovesick poetry that owes more to Tennyson than Ginsberg, however much he wants to insist otherwise?”

Tim’s face was burning so much it was a wonder he didn’t set off the fire suppressant system. “Tell you what. I drove in today, so why don’t we all go together so I’m not tempted to drive to Malaysia?”

“Can you even drive to Malaysia?” Sasha wondered. “Like, are there enough connecting roads between here and there that you could make the journey by car?”

The debate that followed was pointless and silly and reminiscent of the ones Martin frequently had with his brother and sister, which somehow made Martin both miss Melanie a little less and miss her a little more. There was an unusual amount of traffic on the road for a Tuesday, or so it seemed, so it took them a little longer than normal to make the drive to Cinnamon Rose Books, but they finally made it. Martin largely tuned out the debate on whether they’d have got there faster if they’d taken the Underground and started for the door. Before he even reached it, Gerry opened it with a smile and his arms out for a hug.

“Had a feeling you’d be coming by today,” he said. “Neenie told you she was going out of town, right?”

“Yeah, but not where exactly. Just that she had some research to chase down.” Martin chewed his lip briefly as he eased out of the hug. “I probably should have gone with her,    but…”

“Without knowing where, that’d be difficult,” Gerry completed. “And probably pricey. She’ll be okay, Mart, if it was dangerous she’d have brought someone along, even if it was Jon.” He paused briefly as he glanced at Tim and Sasha. “Come to think of it, did he go with her? I notice he didn’t come with you. Hey,” he added, taking Tim’s hand and bowing low over it to bestow a kiss on the back of it.

“Hey,” Tim said, sounding flustered but pleased. “Uh, you didn’t—is Jon going out of town?”

“No, he’ll be along, he just had some things to finish up,” Martin said. “He was the one who suggested we come over in the first place.”

“Probably wants to tell us what Melanie’s up to,” Sasha said, edging into the shop. “She was in his office talking to him before she left. Bet she made a statement about whatever it was.”

Martin recontextualized Jon’s behavior in light of that information and suppressed a sigh. Melanie was definitely doing something she shouldn’t be doing on her own.

Sasha offered to cook, and Martin volunteered to help her, knowing that if he sat still he’d fret himself to the moon. Following her directions helped soothe some, not all, of his anxiety. He couldn’t even really explain why he was anxious, except that he was on tenterhooks waiting for Jon to get there so he could find out what Melanie was up to.

“It’ll have to cook for half an hour, so that’ll give Jon time to get here,” Sasha said at last, taking the dish from him and sliding it into the ocean.

Martin glanced at his phone and did a double-take. All his worries came back in a rush. “We’ve been here almost an hour already.”

“Yeah?” Sasha frowned at him.

“Shit…Jon said he’d call when he was on his way, or if he was going to get held up.” Martin chewed his lip for a moment in indecision, then pulled up his contacts and dialed Jon. The call went straight to voice mail.

“His phone probably died,” Tim said, evidently reading Martin’s worry on his face. “You know how he gets, he forgets to plug it in half the time and he’s always surprised by how little battery he has left. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Martin said softly. He glanced at Gerry. “I just…hope you’re wrong.”

“If he told you he was coming, he’s coming,” Gerry assured him with a squeeze of his shoulder. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, brother mine. He wouldn’t go out of town without telling you he was going.”

Martin felt a blush rising in his cheeks. Sasha bumped him with her hip and a teasing grin. “He’s right. If there’s one of us Jon would never lie to, it would be you. And not just because you can read his mind.”

“I can’t—Christ, Sasha!” Martin buried his face in his hands, or started to. As he did, he caught sight of an unexpected object on the kitchen counter—a tape recorder. Distracted momentarily, he reached for it. “Ger, is this yours?”

“Is what mine?” Gerry frowned at the recorder. “No, I’ve got a boom box for my tapes. I don’t record. Did one of you bring that?”

“I thought we only had the two,” Tim said. “The official one Jon uses for statements and the one you’ve been using.”

“Yeah, and this isn’t one of them. Huh, weird. Maybe Umberto found it somewhere.” Martin looked inside. There was a tape, set all the way back at the beginning, which probably meant it was blank. Just to be certain, he pressed PLAY.

To his surprise, Jon’s voice came out of the device, sounding incredibly shaken. “I…er…we…we didn’t—“ He broke off for a moment, then came back slightly stronger. “Statement of Lawrence Moore. Regarding something that was not his cousin. Original statement given twelfth June, 2001.”

Ice water flooded Martin’s veins. It wasn’t just the weirdness of the tape being there, since none of them had brought it. It was also the statement itself. It was clearly a Stranger statement, and dimly, he was aware of Gerry stepping silently over to wrap his arms around Tim from behind, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the recorder. The thing described in the statement was so clearly the same thing described in Amy Patel’s statement, the thing that was not her friend Graham…something proved at the end when the old man showed up with a table exactly matching the description of the one in Artifact Storage, and coalesced into horrid certainty when two men who were almost certainly Breekon and Hope carted it away.

“Statement ends,” Jon’s voice said, and it was only when he heard the way it shook that it occurred to Martin he had read the entire statement calmly and without undue emotion. “I found this in the folder marked 9910602, where Gertrude’s tape had indicated I would find the statement of Dekker himself. There is nothing else in there, but I think it tells me what I need to know. This thing, it’s tied to the table, it—“ There was what sounded like a sniff. “I found a tape. It, I was actually looking for a blank one to record this, and…and I…”

He broke off, and there was the sound of another tape recorder starting up before a wholly unfamiliar voice spoke. “—don’t see how you can stand it down there.”

The voice that responded made Martin gasp—it was his own. “Oh, come on, it’s not so bad.”

“Maybe under the old Archivist, but that…stuck-up prig…”

“C’mon, Rosie, be fair.”

Rosie? Martin’s eyes widened. He remembered that conversation now—in his own memory, they’d both been laughing, it had been a joke, but that woman sounded so…so vicious…

“What,” Sasha said slowly, “the fuck is this?”

“That can’t be Rosie,” Tim said, shaking his head. “That didn’t sound anything like Rosie…”

Gerry suddenly inhaled sharply. Martin met his eyes—and suddenly understood. “The table. The fucking table. She went and looked at it, o-or something, and that, that thing, it got her…”

“It was after you,” Gerry said, looking at Sasha, who went ashen. “The night of the attack—you said the table was in Artifact Storage? That’s what it was, it had to have been. If you’d gone in that room, it would have been you it killed and took the place of, but—”

“Wait,” Tim interrupted, suddenly pulling away from Gerry’s arms. “What was that statement number he found this one in?”

“9910602,” Martin said, and then felt the blood drain from his face. “That’s the one he went looking for today. He just recorded this tape today?”

“How is it on your kitchen counter?” Sasha asked Gerry.

Gerry shrugged helplessly. “Beats the hell out of me. More to the point, why is it on my kitchen counter?”

“So we’d listen to it?” Tim suggested.

Martin gripped the back of the chair in front of him. “Oh, God. Oh, God, that’s what Jon was staying for. He’s going to—we have to stop him.”

“Come on, I’ll drive.” Tim grabbed his keys, but Martin was already halfway out the door. He could hear Sasha and Tim arguing behind him.

“As long as it took us to get here—”

“It’s past rush hour, we’ll be fine.”

“We don’t have time, we have to get there as fast as possible.”

“But to take the Tube, we’d have to change trains…”

“If you two don’t hurry up, Martin is going to run the whole way there and beat you both,” Gerry said, a bit dryly.

Martin was barely listening. God only knew what Jon was planning, if Jon had an actual plan, but they couldn’t leave him to do it alone. He’d get hurt, or worse…

He was just turning for the nearby Tube stop, Tim and Sasha be damned, when Jon suddenly burst through the entrance at a run. He didn’t slow down, just flew straight down the sidewalk and into Martin’s arms.

Martin gave a startled oomph and pulled Jon close on instinct. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and he was shaking and gasping for air. There was a prickle of static behind Martin’s eyes, and when he realized what it was, he squeezed his eyes shut and hoped. If Jon had confronted the…what had he called it? The Not-Rosie…if he’d confronted it, what if it had killed him and taken his place?

No, he told himself. He’d recognized Jon’s voice on the recording—he wouldn’t have recognized it if Jon had been…had been changed. It would have been an unfamiliar voice like the one that purported to be Rosie’s…

“Jon, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he said instead.

“It’s not,” Jon choked out, and Martin could breathe easier. It was Jon, the voices still matched. Whatever had happened, Jon was still himself…terrified out of his mind, but himself.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Tim demanded. He sounded angry, but Martin knew him well enough by now to know that he was scared, and when he got scared he got angry. “And how did that fucking tape get to the bookstore?”

The words fell from Jon’s lips in a panicked, incoherent rush. Martin caught “Michael” and “tunnels” and “blood” and “sorry”—rather a lot of “sorry”, actually—but they didn’t add up to a coherent picture. Understanding was not improved by the fact that Jon was still trying to catch his breath, or the fact that his face was half-buried in Martin’s chest.

“J-Jon. Jon.” Martin finally broke into the rambling. He took Jon’s face in his hands as gently as he could, cradling his chin and guiding him to look up at him. “We’re here, we’ve got you. Take a breath and tell me what happened.”

Jon placed his hands over Martin’s, but he didn’t pull them away—just held them, tentatively, like he was afraid of being pushed away or worse. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and when he spoke, he still sounded scared and upset, but at least he was articulate. “It was something Melanie said—before she left, she asked me who the woman at the front desk was that had called to say she was coming that first time, and she seemed so sure of what she remembered, but it was Rosie who called. One of the tapes Basira brought said changeling on the front, so I listened, and…and I followed leads, and I eventually realized that, that the thing, the Not-Them, had taken Rosie’s place, and that it was…I thought it was tied to the table. I took an axe up to Artifact Storage and I destroyed it—I was so sure it would at least hurt it—but Michael, the Distortion, i-it showed up and told me…” He flinched and broke off, closing his eyes. “It got me away, i-it threw me a door, but I was in the tunnels, I was trying to get away, and the Not-Rosie was after me…God, the things it was saying, I don’t—”

“You don’t have to tell us,” Martin said quickly. It was only partly because of how visibly distressed Jon was; it was also because he could feel the prickle of desire under his skin and he refused, refused, to feed the Eye with Jon’s trauma, not when he was still raw and vulnerable. “We can…you can tell us later, if you want. But you got away? Is it still down there?”

“M-maybe. I don’t know. It’s trapped. There was—the voice we heard, i-it was…an old man, he said we needed to talk. He was…going to explain a few things. He’d started, and I just—I needed a moment, I needed a break, i-it was too much.” Tears welled up in Jon’s eyes again, and Martin couldn’t stop himself from swiping one away with his thumb. “I went out for a cigarette, and when I came back…he was dead. There was, there was so much blood—a-and a pipe, someone…someone came in while I was out and beat him to death.”

Martin’s blood ran cold again. Unable to stop himself, he wrapped Jon in a tight hug; Jon clung to him like a drowning man. Tim and Sasha joined the hug, hesitantly; Gerry managed to put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, making him flinch, but his head flicked back and forth along the street. “You think whoever did it is following you?”

“No—oh, God, I never thought of that.” Jon tensed. “I should—whoever it was had gone by the time I got back, but—”

“If they were going to kill you too, they’d have waited,” Tim muttered. “Great. Another dead body in the tunnels.”

“I-it wasn’t—we’d come up into the Archives,” Jon said. “It was…my office, I…”

“Your office?” Sasha repeated. “Wasn’t Gertrude’s blood all over the desk in her office too? God, we’ve got to get back there and clean this up before someone else finds it or the police are going to get involved and you’re going to be on the hook for it.”

“Sasha!” Tim and Martin exclaimed in unison.

Jon inhaled sharply and pushed away from Martin. As much as Martin didn’t want to, he eased back, and the others did the same. “No, she’s right, I—I can’t, what am I going to tell them? They’re going to know I was in the building after hours, and what if there’s CCTV footage in Artifact Storage? I’m, they’re going to—”

“There’s got to be footage of whoever did it going down there,” Tim said, sounding uncertain. “Unless they came in through the outer door.”

“Either way, seems you’ve got two choices,” Gerry said. “Either make it really obvious where you are, wait for the police to catch up to you, and hope they buy the truth despite the fact that you’ve got the old man’s blood on your shoes”—Jon flinched as he looked down at his feet—“or lay low for a few days until they figure out who actually did it. You’re going to be a suspect either way, and I’ve got a feeling the cops aren’t going to be particularly interested in the truth. They want the fastest solution they can make stick.”

“There shouldn’t be anyone else at the Institute this late,” Tim said. “If the three of us can’t get in early enough tomorrow to take care of things before anyone notices…maybe we can at least spin a good enough story that the cops don’t look at you. Or think it was self-defense or something. I mean, we had an intruder in the Archives once before, right?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Martin promised. “It’s going to be okay, Jon.”

“You can stay at the shop for a few days,” Gerry offered. “I’ve got it warded, and I’ll be there, so—”

“No,” Martin, Tim, and Sasha said in unison. It was hard to say who looked more startled, Gerry or Jon.

Martin tried to keep his voice calm as he elaborated. “It’s too dangerous. Remember, that was where Basira and Detective Tonner came to interview us after…they knew we were staying there.”

Tim nodded. “That’s like the third place they’d go to look for you. You could, I don’t know, hide in my closet or something, but…”

“No,” Sasha said. “You can’t hide with any of us. It’s…honestly, it’s best none of us know where you’re holing up. We can figure out a way to get in touch with you when it’s safe, but in the meantime, what we don’t know, we can’t accidentally reveal or have dragged out of us or whatever.”

Martin did not want to agree with her. He did not want to let Jon go on the run on his own. He’d like to think he was strong enough to resist anything. But at the same time…he knew he wasn’t. Mundane interrogations, certainly. But if someone with the power of one of the Fourteen tried?

“She’s right,” he said reluctantly. “It’s…it’s safer.”

“I know,” Jon practically whispered. “I don’t…I won’t put any of you in danger. I—I need to find somewhere else. I’ll be in touch if I can, but…” He choked slightly and looked away.

Gerry nodded slowly. He looped an arm through Tim’s and nudged Sasha’s shoulder, pointing her back in the direction of the bookshop. To Martin, he said quietly, “Ten minutes.”

Before Martin could come up with an appropriate response to that—or even manage a what?—Gerry, Tim, and Sasha were gone, leaving him and Jon alone on the sidewalk, staring at one another.

Ten minutes wasn’t a lot of time, but Martin understood why Gerry had set that as the limit. Much more and they would be running the risk of being caught. It was enough of a risk that everyone knew Jon and Martin were getting close—even if Tim and Sasha kept silent about that, someone upstairs would mention it sooner or later and he’d be in for a heavy round of interrogation, or worse. If they stood here too long, he’d have the police on him before Jon even had a chance to get somewhere safe. It wasn’t forever—it couldn’t be forever—but they still weren’t going to see each other for who knew how long, and they only had ten minutes to say whatever they were going to say at this point. It would have to be enough.

Jon spoke first, his voice low and shaking. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Jon.” Martin held out his hands, not knowing what else to do and hoping Jon would take them. “We were on our way back to the Institute to find you. The tape you recorded…ended up here somehow. I don’t understand, but…i-if you hadn’t come, we’d have come to you. Or found the mess and no you, and I’d have torn London apart trying to find you. You came because you needed to.”

Jon reached out hesitantly, then bypassed Martin’s hands and hugged him tightly. Martin could feel him shaking and wrapped him up in as tight a hug as he could without hurting him.

“I wish you could come,” Jon whispered, the words once again muffled by Martin’s jumper. “It’s so much easier to feel brave when you’re there.”

Martin closed his eyes for a moment. He wished he could go, too. He didn’t want to let Jon out of his sight, not when he was so vulnerable, not when he was in all kinds of danger. The temptation to say screw it and run off to Ireland or Scotland or France was almost overwhelming. The only thing that held him back was the knowledge that he was just as tempting a target for agents of the Fourteen as Jon was, if not more; the two of them together would lead anyone coming after Jon straight to them. But goddamn, he just wanted Jon to be okay.

The feeling that had been building up slowly, like a rolling wave on a stormy ocean, since the moment over a year ago when Jon had brought him a mug of tea and quietly said I’m sorry about your brother, reached a crest and crashed down on Martin with a force that nearly drove him to his knees. He’d known his friendship with Jon didn’t feel quite the same as the one he had with Tim and Sasha, or the one he had with Gerry and Melanie, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on exactly why.

Now he knew. It wasn’t only a friendship. Yes, he considered Jon a friend—one of his best friends—but he was also in love with him.

He would have to take the time to sort that out later. He certainly couldn’t tell Jon now—this wasn’t the time to shoot his shot. Anyway, he really needed to understand what he meant by that, what it meant for them if he did say something. Maybe he would talk it over with Gerry later, get some outside perspective.

For now…

“Be careful, Jon,” he said quietly. “Please. I need you to be okay.”

“And you.” Jon’s voice was choked. “I-it’s not just—don’t ever forget how many people care about you. How many people need you.”

He clung to Martin a moment longer, then eased back—reluctantly, it seemed to Martin. Martin was equally reluctant, if not more so, to let go of Jon, but he knew he had no choice. “Stay safe.”

“You, too.” Jon looked up at Martin for a long second, then turned and fled back into the station.

Martin stood where he was for several minutes, staring at the spot where Jon had vanished and reminding himself of all the reasons, very good reasons, not to chase Jon down and go with him to wherever he was going, or just…know where he was.

Then, slowly, feeling about a million years old, he turned and made his way back to the bookshop.