miller-mayfair

[miller-mayfair]

paranormal investigator? no, im a paranormal INSTIGATOR

[miller-mayfair]

(I don’t know what this weird new blue is and I have lots of updates to make to get Tumblr functional but hi.  <3)

[miller-mayfair]

The cards never lie ~TGC~

[miller-mayfair]

[miller-mayfair]

[miller-mayfair]

Janesville Daily Gazette, Wisconsin, January 26, 1950

[miller-mayfair]

[miller-mayfair]

When you care about someone, you just do, and nothing changes that.

Amanda Hocking, Lullaby (via books-n-quotes)

[miller-mayfair]

“I look like how I always look.  So what you’re telling me, more or less, is that I look like shit.”  Miller commented with a sardonic smirk.  He leaned down in his chair then, pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk in order to unearth the pack of cigarettes that he kept tucked away like prison contraband to avoid Ada or Seamus confiscating his forbidden vice.  The witch straightened, lighting up, and as a cloud of smoke pushed between his lips he assessed Cresil with a direct, merciless stare.

Hearing the demon bring up the subject of dropping everything to run off to Hell, a dark eyebrow upturned above his glasses.  “Nah.  I’m not doing that.  Sure, it’s a bitch having you on my mind all the time and it’s definitely not the easiest task in the world keeping other psychics from sensing that there’s something way off about my aura but I’ve got shit that I need to stay here for.  Like this job.  Or Ma.”

Ashes were tapped out into the open mouth of a day old soda can while he smirked darkly at Cresil.  “She’s been asking me about my love life lately.  I’m pretty sure that she’s got some psychic sense of her own.  Maybe I should put you on the spot by getting her on a video call sometime soon.  Then you can answer all the questions that she’s been asking me.”

He wasn’t impressed by the demon’s effort to play it off.  Miller knew precisely what they were both feeling in regards to their emotions.  To the draw.  “If you weren’t so lazy, then you could visit me more.”

Little Devil On A Shoulder

[miller-mayfair]

Are you being a good Talamascan? Or do we have to have one of our little "talks" again?

Um.  Woah.

Having any kind of talk with you requires a level of adult supervision that I don’t think the entirety of the whole Coven of the Articulate could provide.

Besides -- I don’t even know what the right answer to that question would be.

[miller-mayfair]

prince-cresil‌:

A human. That’s what he had fallen in love with, though it was so much more than that. They were Mated. There were cosmic forces well beyond his control at work here; bored gods and goddesses that saw fit to mingle in the lives of one nerdy human and one royal demon, irrevocably bonding them together for all of eternity. 

Because of this, he had tried to stay away. Cresil was, after all, the crown prince of Level One, Hell, and would remain that way as long as his brother, the king, continued having trouble knocking up his husband. That meant that Cresil had an image to uphold. Despite One being a relatively advanced civilization in the grand scheme of things, it’s denizens did not take very well to humans. They were worth only the value of entertainment and free labor, either in the form of a cheap pet or an even cheaper soul. Putting a special bracelet on Miller and attempting to smuggle him in as his brand new pet would have gone over better than allowing it to be known to the world that the scrawny human was a Mate. 

The problem was that the demon was actually madly in love with the Talamascan that didn’t seem to own a comb and somehow always made his office smell like the inside of a convenience store. Time passed too quickly in his world; a few hours on Earth would be days back home. The longer that he forced himself to keep away, the more physical and emotional turmoil it caused Cresil. He may not have what looked like fresh ink stamped on his skin, but his soul was still utterly entwined with Miller’s and too long apart would cause a searing ache that eventually would leave him all but incapacitated in bed. He felt like a drug addict going through withdraw and he needed his fix. 

A dopey, lovesick smile was quickly erased the millisecond the other man glanced in his direction. His own relief at seeing his Mate was palpable and he was sure that, unless Miller had been up for days on end, which was entirely possible, he would be able to feel Cresil’s emotions through the mark. This thought didn’t sit well with him, but he forced it out of his mind. 

“Yes, a real visitor knocking on your door would be a rare enough occurrence to spook you, wouldn’t it? I’ll save that for when you’re least expecting it.” His hands clasped in front of him, icy blue eyes surveyed the room, lingering on the food on the desk with a hint of disdain before circling back to Miller. “It seems late. Shouldn’t you be asleep? You need to take care of yourself,” he sighed.

Miller slowly spun his chair in order to get a full look of Cresil.  The demon was well-dressed, looking effortlessly immaculate and worth a million bucks.  There were also words coming out of the creature that he was probably supposed to be listening to.  However, once he had gotten himself focused on the presence of Cresil, his ears had tuned out the specifics of words while his heart beat in his brain and all that he grasped was a buzz of sound similar to Charlie Brown ‘wahwahwahs’.

He blinked himself out of it.  “Take care of myself?  I mean, I am.  You say that like this hasn’t always been my lifestyle.  I can live like a king if I’ve got enough soda to keep me awake and junk food to fuel me.  It’s not like it’s ever managed to put any weight on me.”  His hands patted at his stomach as he said this, indicating his scrawny torso.

Then his palms rested on the top of his desk.  Peering at Cresil over the tops of his glasses.  Confirming for himself once again that the demon was actually here.  He gave up attempting to ignore the butterflies swarming in his guts.  This was a symptom he’d been warned about.

“Where the fuck have you been?  You wanna show up here and gripe on me about my lifestyle choices -- while you’ve been hiding where?  Do you know how hard it’s been to focus on my work?  You’re the one that stamped this sweet ass tattoo on me before you bailed off.”

Little Devil On A Shoulder

[miller-mayfair]

conjoinedsoul‌:

It’s a startling shift from almost pleasantly awkward small talk to full blown get-the-fuck-out-of-dodge awkward personal questions…not that Miguel probably has any clue. 

I thought it was don’t ask don’t tell? 

This seems an awful lot like fishing…

I take a deep breath. “Uuhm…” and gulp and blink and look to my strange new friend and clear my throat, abso-fucking-lutely willing to translate for the little guy rather than have to tell Miguel and Julius and Edward that I really probably shouldn’t eat anything that couldn’t first ask me to please not. 

…Not to mention the fact that I really shouldn’t be looking at or thinking too much about that smear of blood on Julius’ mouth…or wondering what his shift looks like, or wondering how he–or just…

“I-I I’m good…” I clear my throat, and look away. “You guys go ahead, and uh…Riffle…?” 

“I eat it.”  Riffle confirms without any further prompting.  He is viewing Julius with traces of admiration as the man handles the carcass with little issue.  One hunter to another.  As long as those skills aren’t turned upon him.

Miguel lets it drop with a nod and settles into silence.  The medic doesn’t pay any attention to the proceedings behind him as Edward and Julius discuss the best ways to prepare their dinner.  Or toss around strategies if the scent of the dead deer and its blood lures the hostile shifter to their location.  One is eager for it; Julius still clearly amped up from the hunt, itching for a fight.  Edward is the cautious one, his eyes still scanning around their area.

A knife flashes in the light of the fire and the scent of copper chokes the air beyond the circle of those gathered close to the heat.  Julius is intensely focused as he gets meat carved out.  He licks his lips often.  As if the exposed sinew is tempting him to sink his teeth in directly.  Yet the civilized side wins out and over the course of time there is eventually a pan hot over the fire, filled with meat, cooking up their prize.

Julius joins the circle at the fire to wait.  His nostrils flaring at the scent of the meat as the smoke swarms it.  Flopping himself down near Jeffrey without much grace, his boot heels digging ruts into the grass as he examines bits of blood clinging to the sides of his hands and fingers.

“After we eat, Edward wants everyone trying to get some sleep.”

His piercing gaze locks on the dead man.  “So no daytime for you at all?  Totally nocturnal?”

Rookie On The Road -- [Cryptodorks/Jeffrey Todd]

[miller-mayfair]

yourstrulyalexanderdietrich‌:

The gawky mortal speaks up. Yes, throws a fit. And keeps talking. 

The gawky thing gets a click of my tongue after all this maybe three seconds after he stopped throwing this verse of his tantrum. I let him know that I see how the shoulders of his suit don’t fit him and neither does the width of his trousers. 

What the fuck is he doing here anyway? 

“Fine,” I sigh, and meet the help’s eye. 

I take a deep drag and then with barely a signal Max pinches the cigarette and disposes the filter into a little odour-proof bag he keeps in his jacket pocket for just that purpose. He fishes my lighter out just in time for me to bring my freshly outfitted bone cigarette holder to my purple-painted lips and suck on flame.

We have the motions down to a fucking science by now.

Max. What would I do without you?

I even had time to snatch a couple notes from the silk lining of my bag during this little play and set them on Monsieur Bouncer’s clip board, flash a phony smile with no teeth, and motion for Gawky to follow me inside all before my first exhalation. 

“We’re not going to stand outside like animals,” I say looking at nobody in particular, scanning this boring crowd and smoking to ease my tension. Now actually inside the party, Max knows it looks best if he steps aside to get himself a nice drink. Yes, I’m good to my people and I don’t need him until this cigarette burns out. 

“Now,” I turn and grace Gawky with my attention. “How do you know about this party and what do you want?” I take a drag, eyes dart to a distant glint of glitter before snapping back. “It wasn’t a secret but nobody invited you, that’s obvious enough. Regardless if you’re renting that suit or if it does happen to be yours–sorry darling–it looks like a costume on you and quite frankly I don’t think anybody here would have an associate who doesn’t at least have the taste–never mind the cash–to meet the dress code. And if they do, well…” I take a drag, spot Max, and then fix my eyes on Gawky’s hair. “…it seems I seriously need to reevaluate how I waste my time.”  

I cross my arms to avoid the awkward confusion if he thinks I’m going to shake his hand. A fist under my elbow helps support my smoking hand anyway. 

“Since you don’t belong here let’s not pretend that you know who I am: my name is Alexander Dietrich.” 

Miller watches, still tense but no longer beyond hope, as the flashy man passes money over to the bouncer.  The magic of money.  One of those arts he never managed to grasp but could certainly appreciate.  The judgements of dead ancestors seem to creep into his head, approving of the bribery, as if to indicate to their clueless descendant: ‘See?  That’s how it’s done.’.

He follows inside, eyes moving around the interior, their dark surface sharp.  An apparent wariness yet excitement in the way that he seems to scan everything as if registering the details with a computer’s expansive memory storage.  Trying to take note of anything significant.  Of course, there is nothing here.  It’s too clean at the forefront.  No one is foolish enough for casual deadly debauchery this close to the front door.

Those eyes settle upon Alexander when he speaks.  He bears the brunt of the man’s insults with trim shoulders that straighten with pride.  Accepting the slings without taking too much offense.  Miller knows he has already shown too much of his hand in front of this fellow.  So he tries the most direct approach -- honesty.

“I want information.  I overheard about this party after intercepting a psychic conversation that was projecting way too loudly by someone too young and unskilled to realize they were transmitting out on all fronts.  Or maybe it was just the telepathic form of mass texting?  Anyway, it got me curious.  So here I am.”

A hand gestures around, spidery fingers indicating the crowd around them already in the midst of revelry.  “I’m here to see what type of individuals would fill this place that can also transmit psychic messages.  Attribute it to my piqued curiosity.”

There’s a definite blank touch to his face when Alexander introduces himself.  No, he clearly doesn’t know the name.  Perhaps this is also revealing.  The little witch has absolutely no idea what he has been allowed into or how far in over his head he might actually be.  “Uh.  Nice to meet you.  I’m Miller Brown.  Are you a celebrity?”

Fancy meeting you

[miller-mayfair]

whitehowler‌:

“Oh yeah. Totally death metal Viking drummer right here. I live off of nothing but pigs blood and snow. I bet you could tell by looking at me.”

The jumping made Rian reconsider touching the other man, but when he made no attempts to pull away nor acted like he was too full of testosterone to hold hands the wolf decided he’d hold on. He’d always been a physical dude, but he didn’t make habit of grabbing onto hands like that. Yet, the direct contact to Miller calmed him down even for that second when it felt like he brushed by death right before entering the building.

It felt like somewhere between a church and a castle from the middle ages to Rian, the air seeming too serious to be a real home, yet the energy held at least a little bit of what some called a threshold. The scents were many, though unsurprising it smelled mostly like a library “yeah, not really surprised there. This organization is old too, yeah? Tends not to update willingly. I come from a…people…. that is much the same, though they would be insulted to hear me say that.”

He smiled gently at Miller, still holding onto him “to me, that is far more relatable. They probably do well with the old creatures, you’d probably be a better match for…people like me.” He breathed out when they headed for Miller’s office. He’d already approached Miller, he didn’t feel like being in anyone else’s space right then. He was balancing on an edge and Miller was that one thing that kept him balanced with all the impressions around him and the inner turmoil. Which should probably worry him “You’re staying with me, right?”

To Rian the layout they walked through seemed simple to remember, scents and various details storing to let him find his way later though he wasn’t actually actively trying to remember shit. He took on an expression vacant enough that he wouldn’t seem a threat to anyone, his smile a bit dopey but not so overdone that it would do more than automatically register as dumb pretty boy to people “itj nå problem, stakan.”

He managed not to giggle, the anxiety changing to light headed and bubbly, tilting over onto the side where he was most unpredictable, his eyes glittering. Adrenaline was flooding him so badly there was no room for fear, the bone-deep weary feeling melting away.

The psychic ushered him into his office without anyone stopping them.  It was a late enough hour that Miller estimated most of the usual crowd to be sequestered away in their offices or already off, sinking into sleep to begin another dutiful morning.  His free hand reached back to shut the door behind them so that there was some privacy.  “Make yourself at, uh, home.  Ish.”

Miller’s office here suited him.  It was just a small, square room, stuffed full of random pop culture references on the walls, odds and ends that lent his personal touch to the space.  There was a seemingly organized chaos to everything; reports stacked haphazardly, papers and maps and thumb drives scattered all over.  The rolling chair behind the small desk was very clearly his.  He indicated for Rian to take the small office chair on the opposite side.

Of course, this meant that he had to let go of the man’s hand in order to remove the stacks of books, envelopes, official looking documents, trash, random clothing items and everything else that had been tossed upon it.  He cleared his throat with a bit of awkwardness.  “I.. don’t get a lot of people in here that I have to host.  So forgive the mess?  Most of the official business with newcomers or visitors gets done in Ada’s office.  She’s way more tidy.”

Once he had made a half assed effort to get everything put aside in some form of order, Miller turned his head to look back at Rian.  “You want anything to drink?  Coffee or tea or soda?”

Despite his asking, the witch made himself at home in the opposite chair on the other side of the desk.  Settling in with a few little bounces upon the springs until he was comfortable.  His hands patted down upon the thighs of his jeans before he nodded firmly.  “Okay.  So.. talk to me.  What’s your story?  What’s your deal?  Once I know what’s going on then I’ll be way better suited to figuring out what we can do for you.  Lay it all on me, dude.”

Soul encounters||Miller-mayfair

[miller-mayfair]

[miller-mayfair]

Little Devil On A Shoulder

It was another late night of Hot Pockets, the breakfast kind, for his middle of the night craving.  Five reports overdue and one in progress, Miller had settled himself in for the long haul.  Seated behind his desk with just a lamp on for light he tried to will himself to find the zen needed to really pull off typing up a recap on a recent case that had never stirred much enthusiasm in him and had -- for that very reason -- not left him motivated to accomplish his follow up paperwork.

The witch reached over absently as he adjusted the position of his laptop in order to itch at his shoulder.  Beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt, the Sigil that had left a stamp upon him and his soul had long since stopped fading.  Now it just itched like a sonofabitch.  He tried to ignore it, along with whatever longing came attached to the connection of his soul to the demon that had left it printed on his flesh.  Because he had way better things to do than pine like an idiot over some asshole that came or went as he pleased.

Miller pinpointed all of the concentration that he had upon his task.  Fingers moving with agile grace of the keys of his laptop, forcing the words to manifest.  He worked for some time, absently pulling over a Hot Pocket to wedge in his mouth, mostly gumming at it rather than giving it a good chew.  And little by little he managed to write enough bullshit out that it would be passable without being too obviously half-assed.

He paused in reaching for his second helping when he heard faint movement in the office behind him.  Turning his head, there was a flash of his glasses over his shoulder as he tried to see behind him.  Snorting quietly.  “You don’t even fucking spook me anymore when you just pop in like this.  Maybe you should actually try knocking on the door?”

@prince-cresil

[miller-mayfair]