#I wonder who sends the little messenger to regularly check up on them~~

[maryymaruu]

For Three Signals: What do you think of The Listener?

[sachikokuroichi]

Herz an Herz (<-Link to AO3)

“Your handwriting is awful.”

Naruto had to look twice at the scroll he was holding in hand right now. He’d been looking forward to Gaara’s answer all week and this was everything he had to say?!

The blond was on the verge of crying. And here he thought that they could converse like this, get to know each other and become closer. Because let’s face it. Since the day he’d laid eyes on him, he knew that the red-haired jinjuuriki was going to be someone special in his life. Someone he wanted to call precious to him. The fact that Gaara came to help him with the Sasuke problem more than just once was not helping to keep his crush in check either.

Tossing the scroll into the depth of his chaos that had been his flat once, Naruto stormed outside. He really needed to clear his head and the best way to achieve that was training.

Meanwhile in Suna…

“Temari, have you seen the messenger scroll I had on my desk? I’ve been looking for it for a couple of days now.”

The blond kunoichi looked at her, a little (very) unnerved, brother. It was not like him to lose his things, not even misplace them. Also, it was definitely not in his normal behaviour to freak out like that over a simple messenger scroll. And for Gaara this was a big case of freaking out: He was currently wracking havoc in his office, using his sand to lift papers, tables, plants and every single one of the heavier pieces of furniture, even if there was no way that a messenger scroll could possibly fit underneath or behind it. Gaara was close to losing it. Okay, who was she trying to kid here? He was losing it and never had Temari been gladder that Shukaku wasn’t with Gaara anymore. He would’ve had a field day with the nervous energy her little brother was radiating right now.

She wondered what possibly could be in that messenger scroll that he freaked out like that. There had been no important paperwork of lately, just the one scroll from Konoha that she- oh.

“You mean the one from Konoha? The one ready to send back? I already sent it a few days ago.”

“WHAT?!”

Taken aback by the sudden outburst, Temari took a couple steps back. Gaara had never been the type to raise his voice. Lower it into icy depths that caused you to freeze or made you want to cease existing all together on the spot, yes, but he never got loud.

But there he was: his turquoise eyes, still marred from countless of sleepless nights, wide in surprise and with an unfamiliar look of pure horror within them, the earlier frantic whirling sand was now lying lifeless all around the office.

“I’m sorry, it looked finished, all closed up and sealed, so I thought-“

“He’s gonna hate me… my life is over…”

Temari watched Gaara let himself fall into his seat, burying his face in his hands, letting out a distressed sound.

“Gaara, what is this all about? Who was the scroll addressed to anyway?”

“Naruto… he sent me the scroll, wanted to write more regularly, keep in touch.”

Temari let out a sigh, relief cursing through her veins. Naruto was simple. There was no way that he wouldn’t forgive them for this mistake. He’d probably find it very funny.

“Naruto would never hate you. Maybe you weren’t finished writing it, who cares? It probably shows anyway. What did you write him?”

Gaara broke down there and then, letting everything spill out: How he was so happy to receive the letter, just for it to morph into something unpleasant, overwhelming him, because how could he be that happy over something that simple? Was it okay to feel that way? What did it mean?

After getting through this crisis (meaning he managed to shove the panic into the farthest corner of his mind) he struggled for some time to decipher the written words. Naruto’s writing was like him: lively, happy, easy to read, but wild and untamed and it showed. His penmanship was horrible.

But after some time he got used to it and it got easier to read the message, which left him with the most difficult task: It was now on him to write his response. There the real struggle began. What to write? What was okay? What too much? Was there some etiquette to follow? Would Naruto think of him as weird? He didn’t want to scare him away. He wanted the letters to continue. After even one single letter he could already claim being addicted to the feeling of receiving, opening and reading them.

“Then I remembered that it wasn’t too bad to let the heart do the talking.”

Temari felt a sense of dread rising. Her little, innocent brother knew close to nothing about feelings, especially gentle ones like friendship and love. Even if he worked hard to understand them better, he still lacked… experience.

“Back to my original question: What did you write him?”

“What came to mind first. I wanted to start off with a little tease, then complimenting him on his wonderful idea, how I felt when I got the letter, that I was looking forward to exchanging lots of them in the future.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad…?”

“I didn’t come very far before getting called away to a meeting. Then you sent it.”

“How far did you come?”

“Your handwriting is awful.”

“Kami-sama have mercy… that’s your definition of “starting off with a little tease”?! That was outright mean!”

“It’s not that bad… is it?”

Temari almost wanted to laugh at her clueless brother but seeing him anxious and vulnerable like that was enough to make her feel guilty about sending the scroll without checking with Gaara first. It was her fault they’re in this situation after all. She planned on doing whatever she could to fix her mistake. Maybe she should deliver the next message herself, explain the circumstances of the first to Naruto herself. And apologize to both of them. No matter how she hated to do that and how much it would hurt her pride. This was her little brother and his happiness was the most important thing to her. He deserved all the luck and love in this godforsaken world. And she would make it happen! But first things first:

“It’s gonna be fine. We’ll fix this. But Gaara… I need to know one thing before we do that. And I want you to be completely honest with me here.”

Gaara sent her a confused look, but nodded anyway.

“Is there a certain possibility that your feelings for Naruto maybe go further than friendship?”

The confusion in Gaara’s eyes grew with every second his brain had to compute the meaning behind her question. But there was no verbal answer and Temari was sure that was to the fact that her little brother had no idea himself. She had dumped a completely foreign concept on him there, that she was pretty sure of.

“Look, I don’t want to say that-“

“I’m in love with him, aren’t I?”

The way he muttered those words, completely dumbfounded by the revelation, but also with a certain uncertainty lying underneath, took her by surprise. He was not hesitant to say it out loud, it seemed more that it was almost an epiphany to him. That she’d given him a name for all those weird, foreign sensations within him. Those new feelings. But his past had taught him that love was a dangerous concept and it was just natural to be at least slightly scared of it now.

“Well, I can’t look into your head or your heart… but to me it looks like you’re at least crushing hard on him.”

“What should I do now?”

“Up to you. But I suggest that you write the letter you actually intended to send him so I can deliver it.”

Gaara did exactly that.

~*~

Naruto had been inconsolable for the past few days, training without too many breaks, not even once visiting Ichiraku’s for ramen and it was starting to worry his teammates as well as the Hokage. What possibly could’ve happened? He hadn’t left the village and within it there wasn’t too much that could’ve caused this. Time to bring out the big guns: They decided to consult Iruka.

Said Chuunin found his former student at one of Konoha’s countless training grounds. It really spoke for Naruto’s progress that he was spotted immediately.

“Iruka-sensei! What brings you here?”

“Can I not pay a dear former student of mine a visit from time to time?”

“You’re way too busy for that and we both know that.”

Ouch. Iruka never thought that Naruto could be that brutally honest. Seems like his little troublemaker had indeed grown up. And his teammates had been right: He was in a very bad mood.

“But I’m here, aren’t I? So let’s get some ramen and catch up.”

Naruto’s face immediately lit up, causing Iruka to almost sigh in relief. If Ichiraku’s ramen would also have failed here, then he would’ve been in serious trouble. If they couldn’t console him, then almost nothing else could.

With two big bowls of their favourite type of ramen in front of them, Iruka decided to tackle the issue upfront.

“Okay, spill. What’s wrong?”

Naruto’s good mood was gone immediately. Iruka felt a chill going down his spine. He dreaded the words he was going to hear next. What horrible things could’ve happened to this sunshine? A lot of things, that Iruka knew. But whoever it was, there would be hell to pay. Iruka would make sure of it.

“I think I’m in love and I’m pretty sure he hates me. Or thinks that I’m stupid. Same thing. It’s pointless.”

Iruka had expected to hear a wide variety of things… but this? This he hadn’t seen coming.

“What makes you think that?”

“I wrote him, wanted to build a deeper connection, get to know him, become friends…”

“Sounds like a solid plan, what happened?”

“His only response was “Your handwriting is awful.”, that’s what happened.”

Iruka didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t deny that Naruto’s handwriting was awful, he had the “pleasure” of correcting various tests and homework sheets of him before but to get that told by your crush was just cruel. That guy was the worst.

“Forget about him. You deserve better than that.”

“Iruka-sensei… if it would be just as simple to forget someone you love as you make it sound… why are you still in love with Kakashi-sensei?”

This time Iruka had been eating his ramen and promptly started to choke on them. He really hated that observant and blunt version of Naruto. Before he could think of an answer, another blond entered the restaurant, drawing all attention onto them and successfully redirecting it from Iruka.

“There you are! Seriously, was it always that hard to find you in this stupidly huge village?!”

Iruka and Naruto exchanged confused looks before looking at Temari again.

“Why’re you looking for me, Temari-nee-san? I didn’t know a visit was scheduled anytime soon.”

“Yeah, well… it’s a long story… actually no - it’s not. Here.”

She pulled a scroll out of her bag and shoved it into Naruto’s hands.

“I accidentally sent Gaara’s response before he even really started to write it. He was really upset because of it, so I came to deliver the actual response personally. To minimise the risk of further mishaps. I sincerely apologize and hope you can forgive me.”

Temari finished her little speech with a deep bow which caused Naruto to look quickly assure her that it wasn’t necessary.

“Yes, it is. And you better tell Gaara that I did it too. He bullied me into doing it, quote “You better bow to him and apologize properly! No half-assing like you did with me.”, just so you know!”

Naruto was stunned. Gaara had gone through all this trouble? Just for him? But the sentence…

“You’re not gonna read what the Kazekage wrote you?”

Iruka’s gentle voice was cutting through the already downspiralling thoughts. He hastily ripped the seal and opened the scroll, almost damaging the thing in the process. He’d never been a fast reader, but right now he wished he could absorb the whole message at once. He was just too anxious to find out the truth to be patient.

[~Your handwriting is awful.

It took me quite some time to get fluent enough in your way of encrypting your letters so they can stay just between you and me and I apologize in advance that I can’t offer you the same in return.

Joke aside, I really loved to receive your letter and have to compliment you on this brilliant idea. The thought of getting letters from you on a regular basis, getting to know you and get insight into your daily life is filling me with profound joy to the intensity I cannot begin to describe. While my days are filled with almost the same tasks every day, I’m looking forward to hear about your missions and daily adventures.

I actually planned to just send you the letter I originally had intended to write (if it hadn’t been for Temari sending it way too early), but I can’t end it without apologizing. I’m sorry that you had to get such an unpleasant first response from me. I really hope you can forgive me and will send me lots of letters in the future. Otherwise I have to think of ways of making it up to you, because I can’t imagine not hearing from you ever again. You’re way too important to me already. You reaching out to me got my hopes up that the feeling’s mutual.

If you have some freetime in the future, we also can write about scheduling a meet up. You could come visit me in Suna. If you would want that, that is.

Please send your response with Temari, she will stay a few days in Konoha (probably with Shikamaru Nara, but don’t tell her I wrote that).

I’m looking forward to reading from you soon,

Gaara~]

~*~

This was the start of a wonderful friendship even if they just managed to converse via pretty frequent letters. Finding a way to meet up was pretty much impossible, with the world going to shit and all. Gaara was busier than ever and Naruto wasn’t fairing any better. Missions here, training there. New leads on Sasuke, leading to nowhere.

~*~

The 5-Kage-Summit was disheartening, but at least he managed to get a glimpse of his crush friend there. There wasn’t time to talk in private, exchange words that both felt deep in their hearts, but a shared look was enough to know that it could wait. The next letter would come. After everything was said and done there would be a time and place for them.

~*~

To say the war had been the most terrifying thing he’d seen in his life would be the understatement since the founding of the Hidden Villages. Maybe even longer than that. To fight with Naruto side by side was empowering, thrilling, made him want to rip every force that could hurt his beloved one to shreds, with the impression that he could do just that, but at the same time it was the worst. It made his stomach to funny flips, an anxious feeling spreading through his whole existence, to the very point he had to actively not let his sand show how he felt. It was scary. To see Naruto fight, run headfirst into enemies, hordes of them, without the slightest strategy or even the slightest hint of a plan. But so far it always had been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

~*~

Sleep was evading him as usual, but now they few hours he got were full of nightmares. The vision of Sakura, with her hand deeply buried in Naruto’s ribcage, trying to keep him alive, was one that had scarred him for life.

Currently Naruto was in Konoha Hospital, trying to recover from his injuries, from losing his arm. It took everything from Gaara to not immediately run there and be with him. He sighed. There was too much work. And now with Naruto unable to write even the letters came to a halt. It was like he’d vanished completely from his life, and it was the most terrifying feeling he’d ever encountered. Now, that they had grown that close, the thought of losing him was unbearable. It caused his blood to freeze inside his veins, his sand to slash around anxiously, resembling an angered cat’s tail. Apparently, his sand’s protection also applied to Naruto nowadays.

Gaara sighed. Being in love was complicated.

“What’s with that sigh, hm? Not like you to be glum like that.”

His sand reacted before his brain was capable of even trying to understand. It shot out and grabbed the intruder, but instead of hurting him, it brought him closer, right into Gaara’s embrace. His body had moved on its own, lifting his arms, catching and pressing him against his torso, never intending of letting him go.

Naruto let out his signature laugh, and it was the sweetest thing in Gaara’s opinion.

“Missed me, huh?”

“What- you… your arm… how?!”

Naruto firstly returned the hug, burying his head into the Kazekage’s neck, before explaining:

“Sakura did a wonderful job at healing all my wounds. They even managed to grow me a prosthetic arm. I can even do signs and cast jutsus with it!”

“How…?”

“I dunno… Sakura tried to explain, but-“

“No! I mean - how are you here? I’m sure you should rest! Not run 3 or more days all the way here! Did you even get permission to come here? I didn’t get any papers! Naruto, you cannot just-“

“Gaara, stop!”

Naruto’s laugh echoed through his office again, causing his heart to flutter happily. He liked hearing it. Never before had his office felt more like he belonged here than now. With Naruto in it. Right here, in his arms, by his side, in his life.

“I’m fine! I got permission. Temari-nee-san helped with surprising you. I also didn’t run all the way here.”

“But how…?”

“You remember the Yondaime being my father?”

Gaara nodded, dumbfounded. What had the Fourth Hokage to do with the fact that Naruto was here?

“You also may or may not know that he was known as the “Yellow Flash”. He was able to just appear out of nowhere. Because he was using a teleportation jutsu. And with me being his son… well…”

“You mastered the jutsu… to be able to visit me?”

“Of course! I mean… it probably has other uses, in battle or so… but it makes seeing you way eas-hmmh!”

His explanation got interrupted by a wonderful soft pair of lips that gently pressed themselves against his own. Too stunned to react, Naruto felt Gaara pull away before he could reciprocate the kiss. A horrified look was showing on the Kazekage’s face, fear visible within his turquoise eyes, mixed with regret and sadness. The sand immediately let go of him, as well as did Gaara, taking a step back too.

“I’m sorry, I misinterpreted, I-“

This time it was on Naruto to interrupt Gaara with a kiss.

“You didn’t misinterpret a single thing. I’m in love with you and learned a whole damn jutsu just to be able to see you.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone ever did for me.”

“I aim to please.”

“That you really do. I do too by the way. Love you, I mean.”

A huge, way too bright smile erupted on Naruto’s face, but Gaara couldn’t care less. That was his boyfriend’s (?) face that tried to burn his retinas away after all.

“You wanna try to be in a relationship with me?”

“Whatever my beloved Kazekage wishes.”

“Let’s get married then.”

“Gaara!”

His favourite sound echoed through his office again. He needed to write the Hokage. He couldn’t go for too long without it after he got a taste.

Talking of taste…

Naruto’s laugh got swallowed by their kiss, which caused Gaara to smile into it as well. They held each other close and tried to melt into each other. To never get separated again.

“Expect my handwriting to be even worse now, with my new arm and everything.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me again.”

[capricornrisingsstuff]

So I’ve taken a prompt from @lovebugism ‘s summer sleepover as it looks like fun! I hope they don’t mind me being totally self indulgent with this one.

Prompt: “what can I get you? Do you need water? A hug? Space?”

Contains: Eddie being a total softie, reader is female and is a burnt out workaholic. Fluff, pet names. Lmk if I’ve missed anything!

Your phone buzzes for what feels like the millionth time in your back pocket, as you push the door to the kitchen open with your denim jean clad ass. “Why can people not leave me alone, they know I’m working”, you mutter to yourself as you scrape your own plates into the trash, along with the dishes just haphazardly left by your coworkers.

Standing in the kitchen to the coffee shop amongst the chaos you look at your phone and wince. You can barely see your lock screen background (a picture of the castle in Disney World- a reminder that your hard work pays for you to do the things you love); the screen was littered with notifications from the top to the bottom. Scanning through them all, you sighed. A Teams meeting you need to respond to, your Outlook inbox showing 13 unread emails, WhatsApp, Snapchat, Instagram, Facebook messenger. All direct messages about the three jobs you’re juggling to try and get your PhD. Just as you were about to put your phone away, it buzzed again, a double vibration announcing a iMessage. “It’ll be saved for later” you thought as your boss called you to serve at the to go hatch.

Turning from the abrupt customer who didn’t even say hello to you “three grande lattes, sugar free vanilla, decaf” was your greeting; you stared aimlessly into the drops of espresso as you mentally highlighted and crossed off your diary. Breaking you out of your daze was your Apple Watch, lighting up with a name that gave you butterflies. “Eddie “Edward” Munson” the screen flashed. You manoeuvred your fingers to open the message on your watch, trying to suppress the grin the name on the screen gave you. “Hey Mrs workaholic, I was wondering if you wanted to hang soon? If you can fit me in your diary?” Eddie was a sweetheart. He was someone from your life from years ago who regularly kept up with your Instagram stories. Always replying to them and checking to see how you are. You’d just never had the time to indulge yourself with the boy.

A crash of plates and string of expletives broke you out of your lavender haze; the sound of the crash sending you into a little spiral of anxiety. You hastily gave out the drinks order you were working on and ran to the back, intending on clearing up the mess through the tears that were starting to line your eyes. You went to the walk in and pulled out your phone, hastily jabbing at you the contact. “Hey sweetheart, what do I owe this pleasure?” Eddie playfully greeted on the other side of the phone. “Eddie” you choked. “What’s wrong babe? Are you okay?” Eddie’s tone turned serious in a flash as you breathed back some sobs threatening to fall “I just need a break Eddie. I’m so burnt out, I don’t know what to do”, you admitted. You never admitted it but he seemed like your safe space. “What do you need princess? A hug? Water? Space? Say it and I’ll deliver it”. You let out a watery laugh as he ran through the list. “I think I need all of those Eddie, but…from you? Please? Sorry I know we haven’t met up much but I just feel like I can talk to you.” Eddie was glad you couldn’t see his Cheshire Cat grin on the other side of the phone. “My lady, I shall be your unofficial Uber delivery driver in his shining rust bucket of a van. Hugs and water are on their way. I don’t know if I can offer the space though once I hold you…” you swooned at his words, playing with the strings of your apron. “Don’t worry Eddie, space is off the menu from you” “glad to hear it princess. Your Uber driver is 8 minutes away”. No amount of decaf grade sugar free vanilla lattes would get in the way of the hold this sweet boy had on you.

[photiniainsummer]

A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (1/?): The Lede

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor

Rating: Teen and Up

Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor.

They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back.

And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality.

Small goals.

(Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader)

Chapter Summary: The one where your cheeky coworker convinces you to check out the old Markiplier Manor with him.

Word Count: 5372

Author's Note: Decided to cross-post from my Ao3! The next three chapters are already up, and I try to post every Tuesday. :3

Interested?

Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/75244647

The Lede

You watch amusedly from your desk as Jonah, your coworker-slash-mentor and partner in crime, comes bustling through the door to the reporters’ bullpen. He’s late, as usual, his half-open messenger bag slung across his rumpled self. Scribbled-on papers and even his laptop haphazardly jut out from the bag as he struggles to balance a breakfast sandwich on his thermos. Sometimes, all he had to do was exist to make you nervous. He starts to make his way across to you and your neighboring desks but is intercepted by the resident office mom for what she calls a “good old fashioned talking-to.” She’s always trying to tenderly bully him into being a better example for the junior reporters like yourself, although you have to wonder why she keeps it up despite its clearly limited efficacy. It’s not even that Jonah’s particularly stubborn - he’s just one of those people who, no matter how early he leaves home or how hard he tries, something just so happens to make him late. You can see how it would seem intentional, but you know Jonah’s too honest and, frankly, not creative enough to come up with the plethora of scenarios that conspire against him. You’ve just learned to tell Jonah to show up at least half an hour before you actually want him to.

Eleanor, however, is committed to whipping Jonah into shape. In the midst of her chiding, Jonah catches your gaze and pulls an awful face, startling a laugh out of you. Eleanor, of course, seizes on this and switches to berating him about listening when spoken to as you try to pull your attention back to scanning the morning news. He really knows how to dig himself in deeper, you think, chewing your lip to keep from laughing at the memory of his terrible expression.

“Don’t even start,” Jonah grumbles when he finally extracts himself from Eleanor’s chastising, sliding into his desk across from you. “You heard it, she already ran the full gamut this morning.” You give him your best shocked look.

“Who, me? No idea what you’re talking about,” you reply coolly, punctuating your tease by exaggeratedly returning to your work and clattering at your keyboard. “I was just going to ask how your morning went.” Jonah groans, but his lips tug upward in his typical crooked smile. At least he’d managed to shave without cutting himself this morning, you note.

“Ugh. Just because you were born able to wake up five minutes before your alarm doesn’t mean the rest of us were. Besides, I was up listening to the scanner.” Now it’s your turn to groan.

“That thing again? It’s barely legal for you to have one here, even Walker said as much.” Your boss and head editor had given Jonah his patented disapproving brow-furrow and pressed-lip combo when it had come up in conversation, but he hadn’t explicitly told the crime reporter to get rid of it, either. Jonah argued it kept him ahead of the curve on his beat, but with as many connections as he had, you suspected he used it more for the thrill of it than bettering his job performance. “What was so interesting last night, anyway? Any high-speed chases?”

“Not in our limits, unfortunately.” Jonah chuckles at your unamused expression, popping the lid on his thermos. “Kidding, come on. No, it was quiet last night, except… well.” He pauses, something changing in his expression. It’s enough to pull your attention away from your inbox. Jonah’s a goofball, but he’s a damn good reporter with a mind like a whip. He has to be, to be head of the crime division. So you take it seriously when he casts his eyes around the office before leaning in conspiratorially. His voice is hushed as he murmurs to you. “Someone called in that they saw a suspicious person skulking around the old Markiplier Manor.”

You immediately lose interest. That was news to him? The Manor had been abandoned as long as you had been alive, long since off the market after being passed from renovator to developer for most of its nearing-hundred year existence. Even with calls for it to be turned into some kind of museum, it had never been able to shake its grisly past or tendency for the strange. You’d heard the stories of the few historic maintenance crews dealing with randomly exploding lightbulbs and eerie spectres, disembodied voices and footsteps - but that’s all they were, stories. Stories from a creepy, old, run-down house on the edge of town. It was a hotspot for teenagers wanting to prove their guts - hell, you had even gone with a couple of friends back in high school, although you had been busted by a roving patrol car. You sigh at the memory of just how badly your mom had berated you about breaking curfew and fix Jonah with a disappointed look. He was immature at the worst of times, but you thought he’d at least be able to tell a lead from normal shenanigans. “That was exciting enough to make you late for the third time this week? You’re supposed to be a senior reporter around here, you know.” Jonah huffs, leaning forward on his desk and closer to you. He seems intent, despite your skepticism.

“Well, if you’d let me finish explaining, then you might know why such an on-time and dedicated individual such as yours truly would have let the time slip away from him,” he replies, sarcasm curling his tone. A quip rises on your tongue that he was the one drawing it out so much, but Jonah has a certain glint in his eyes. Something had his attention. You finally turn from your computer monitor and to face him, only slightly exasperated.

“Okay, okay. Listening.”

The man grins slightly and shifts his weight further forward on his elbows, keeping his voice down as he continues. “All right, so, PD gets this call from a neighbor that they saw someone wandering around on the property, yeah? They send an officer to check it out - of course, nobody’s around by the time he shows up. But the weird thing is… they found all the lights on inside.”

You blink, sure you missed something. “Like. Shop lights, right? There’s some construction crew working on it, or… they called in an appraiser and they forgot to turn them off.” Jonah shakes his head.

“Nope. Light fixtures. Every single one with a bulb in was blazing. And no crews or anything, I called the agency that owns the place. The last pro they had in there was over four years ago. There’s a security guard that checks it out regularly, but the power’s been off for years.”

You furrow your brow and sit in thoughtful silence for a moment, hunched and staring at your desk as you puzzle over the details. Jonah watches you intently while you think, taking the chance to work on his massive thermos of coffee, so strong you could smell it across your desks. He’d done this since you’d joined the paper, assuming the role of your mentor, at least informally. He would offer you the details of a story or curious anecdote that he’d started with and watch your mind run. You had always appreciated the exercise - it kept you sharp in dealing with local politics and its various mealy-mouthed players - and he appreciated getting a second pair of eyes on the issue at hand. Sometimes you picked up on things he hadn’t, ran rabbits he might not have. Working the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you roll the details over in your mind, hunting for another explanation as Jonah hunted for the bottom of his thermos. Something didn’t sit right with you about the details, but what?

Suddenly, you land on it, sitting up suddenly and turning to Jonah, who lifts his eyebrows at you. “The neighbor that made the call, did they mention the lights, or just someone wandering around outside?” His face breaks into a pleased smile, eyes dancing with the curiosity of the problem before the two of you.

“Nice catch. They didn’t mention the lights at all, just the trespasser.”

“So the lights got turned on between the neighbor making the call and the officer showing up.” Jonah’s smile turns into a real grin, cheeks split with it.

“Exactly. But why?” The other reporter leans back in his chair with a sigh. “That’s what kept me up, and made me late. Again.” He sips his coffee idly. “And it’s why I’m going to check it out for myself tonight.”

“What?” Jonah jumps in his chair with the volume of your exclaimation, quickly shushing you as he looks around in a panic. He can’t be serious, you think, but lower your voice. What is he being so low-key about? “No, Jonah, you absolutely can not go poking around some abandoned house.” He settles somewhat, content that nobody cast a glance your way after your outburst. Most of your colleagues are already out on assignments, anyway, given the later hour. But he’s determined, unfazed by your forbiddance.

“And why not? I’m just following a lead.” You open your mouth to protest further, but he interrupts. “Oh, come on, you aren’t a little curious to see what’s going on? What’s the harm, the cops just checked it out, it’s totally safe.” That gleeful glint is back in his eyes. How it thrills and infuriates you in equal measure.

“Seriously? Someone could be squatting there, and the cops just didn’t find them. Someone tapping a neighbor’s powerline and clearly not in their right mind, if they’re turning every light on in the place. Besides, even if it is empty, they could have a patrol posted on it now.” Jonah’s excitement begins to fade in the face of your barrage of facts. “If that agency still owns it, then it’s private, posted property, and you’d be actively breaking the law.” He sucks his teeth and slumps back in his chair, somewhat defeated.

“You’re no fun. Where’s your reporter’s spirit, your drive!” You turn back to your computer, shaking your head as you try to refocus on catching up with your inbox.

“Getting arrested for trespassing and/or breaking and entering isn’t ‘reporter’s spirit,’ Jo. You’re not Nancy Drew, you can’t just start poking your nose around abandoned buildings. It’s not safe.”

Jonah pauses for a moment, then gets an annoyingly knowing grin on his face. He leans forward again, good humor returning. “Ohhhh, so you’re scared is what I’m hearing.”

You huff in exasperation. “Literally how is that the conclusion you’re drawing from what I just said? I told you--”

“You’re the one who said ‘safe’! That means you think it might be dangerous and you’re scared.”

“Yeah, for your job and general well-being. Seriously, Jonah, I’m not scared of some abandoned house. Just because a couple of people happened to get murdered there--”

“Ah ah ah, they only found one body. The Mayor and the District Attorney were missing, assumed dead. Same for the killer.”

“Okay, Mr. Nitpicky. You you that’s even less scary, right? But, regardless, none of that makes the place inherently dangerous or scary. Hospitals aren’t scary, at least not like that, and people die there all the time.”

Jonah doesn’t immediately reply, giving you the opportunity to hammer out a reply to a scheduling issue and push your lunch meeting with the Senator back an hour. How did her assistant manage to double book her? you wonder as your reply zooms off. When you get the chance to look back to your coworker, he has a wry, sneaky little smile on his face. “What?”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” You shake your head. He really isn’t giving this up. “Fine, if you’re soooo not scared, then I dare you to come check it out with me tonight.”

“Absolutely not, did you forget about the illegal part? We aren’t kids, this isn’t just messing around after school. It could look bad for the paper, and you know Walker as well as I do - there’s no second chances.”

Jonah pauses. Mulling over your words, the threat of being fired. Then, “I’ll buy you dinner from that new Japanese place uptown.”

Visions of high-end sushi dance enticingly in your mind. Your stomach threatens to growl, with it being the end of the month and your bank account looking dismally light. Jonah always knows how to hook you, damn him. It doesn’t help that you knew from that look on his face that he knew you were already burning up inside with curiosity. The two of you were peas in a pod, and he had seen that since your first day at the paper. It was exactly why he’d gotten you set up as his desk neighbor, why he’d taken it upon himself to play mentor for you, probably why he was telling you any of this in the first place, despite how low-profile he clearly wanted to stay. You were going to be at that Manor tonight as soon as Jonah had heard the cop call in over the scanner. You sigh quietly through your nose, letting the decision sink in before you make it official.

“Fine. What time?” you ask, not looking away from your screen. Despite trying to ignore him, you could still see Jonah’s joyous fist-pump out of the corner of your eye.

What’s the harm in a little urban exploring, anyway? At least I’ll be there to keep Jonah from going too far with it, you muse to yourself, already planning your celebratory dinner.

What’s the worst that could happen?

---

Even after three years of working closely with Jonah Scott, you still managed to underestimate just how late he could be. You had agreed to meet at the foot of the Manor’s drive at Jonah-time 5:30, 6 sharp for normal people. However, it’s already pushing half-past with no apology text or update to speak of from the crime reporter. Wasn’t this his stupid plan? you mentally grumble, fruitlessly checking your phone again. At this point, your text conversation was fully one-sided, your messages over the last thirty-ish minutes taking up the entirety of your screen. With a defeated sigh, you flick the app shut and slide over to your ridesharing app. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to stick around, and with the sun setting quickly, like hell you’re going to willingly hang around the abandoned Manor longer than you have to.

As you scan available drivers, you consider just how to make Jonah pay for standing you up. You mentally upgrade your promised sushi meal straight into a sushi boat, and although you know you don’t have the heart to commit to such an egregious attack on his wallet, the thought brings a smile to your face. At the very least, you decide to charge him the cost of your rides to and from the massive property - the place is barely in the city limits, not to mention situated up a long road that only led into an almost equally long driveway. Your already light bank account was begging for mercy as you select a nearby driver. Of course it was surge pricing, to boot. The estimated ride cost is enough to make you pause and hope beyond hope that Jonah and his old jalopy were right around the corner. Maybe his phone had just died. Or maybe he was being a particularly safe driver and ignoring his texts. You decide to give it another couple of minutes, if just to make sure you had no other option but to pay through the nose for a ride home. With a sigh, you turn back towards the Manor itself, its exposed-rock exterior catching the burning sunset.

It doesn’t even look that creepy. Really, with the warmth of the setting sun, it almost looks inhabited, just in limbo between relying on daylight and its residents needing to turn the lights on for the evening. The grounds are well-maintained, too, likely thanks to a strict HOA. You figure that if neighbors are paying enough attention to report people wandering around the property despite how spaced out the houses are here, there’s likely a resident weed-measurer who complains as soon as the yard breaches an acceptable length.

That being said, the building itself barely looks like a home. Although you had brushed up on its appearance and floorplan online, images couldn’t prepare you for just how much it really looks like a castle. You knew its creator, Mark Iplier, had been a fabulously wealthy actor back in the day, building his first house to match, but good lord. There’s still such a thing as too much. It has turrets, for crying out loud. Not to mention Google Earth showed that the massive patio that wrapped around practically the entirety of the backside of the building was home to some kind of natural waterfall-looking pool and a life-sized chessboard. It had been impressive online, but in real life, the place is enormous to the point of ridiculousness.

I guess it matches its creator, then, you muse, considering what you had gleaned from a scan of a few biographical entries earlier in the day. He was a local legend, to be sure, but you had never learned more about him than surface stuff and the details of the murder case that had basically ended his career. Before all that, though, Mark had been the embodiment of every stereotype you could muster about early 20th century new-money creatives -- massive personalities with a penchant for equally massive parties. As beloved as he had been on stage and film, he’d been even more so in social circles, known for all-night ragers with massive multisection big bands, ample liquor even in the height of Prohibition, and occasionally the exotic animal or two. Famously, Mark had once arrived at a costume party on the back of an elephant, led by four retainers and dressed like a prince, swathed in silks.

In that context, the house seemed to make a bit more sense, although it had clearly seen better days. The paint on wrought-iron fence surrounding the grounds needs a fresh coat, peeled off in places; you can see a few shutters hanging lopsidedly from their hinges. It’s almost sad, the longer you look at it, especially knowing the revelry it had once hosted. Mark’s own life mirrored the place, as cliche as it was. After the incident, Mark never seemed able to recover. Even the few pictures you had found of him afterwards looked different - he seemed thinner, his eyes haunted, his smile forced. He’d appeared in a handful of films after the fact, but something had changed in him, and he ended up becoming somewhat of a recluse until his death. It was horribly tragic, really. Just trying to put yourself in his shoes had your throat tightening up a bit. Your childhood friend goes off the deep end and goes on a rampage out of nowhere with the rest of your closest friends as casualties - a freak incident right as you’re hitting your stride--

Suddenly, your phone breaks out into its ringtone, startling you out of your empathetic wallowing. You fumble the device in your hand just to keep a grip on it, cursing as you manage to maintain your hold. You check the screen - a local number, but you don’t recognize it. You answer anyway, crossing your fingers it’s not just a spoof call. “Hello?”

Jonah’s voice crackles through on the other end. “Kid! Hey, I’m so sorry-”

“You better have a damn good explanation lined up, Scott,” you snap, interrupting. “Where the hell are you?”

“God, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to get home for the last hour to call you. My car practically blew up in my face on my way home from work, and it must have been something electrical because my phone was connected and charging and got totally fried. It was kind of working for a second, but I just had to give up and come home in a taxi. I’m having to use an emergency landline, I can’t believe the damn thing even works.” The annoyance drains from your body, his tone so disappointed and clearly stressed that you can’t keep a hold on your frustration.

“Oh, Jo. I’m sorry. Are you okay, though? It didn’t shock you or anything, right?”

“No, thank god, no hospital bills on top of everything else. Look, I’m really sorry. Are you still out there?”

“Yeah, I was just about to get a ride home when you called.”

“Oh, awesome, so have you gone in?!” You scoff out of reflex, stunned at his emotional 180. If he was here, you’d give him a good pop on the head.

“What? No, Jonah, of course I didn’t go in! This was your plan, I was waiting on you to roll your goofy ass up this stupid hill. You’re lucky this place is out of the way, I bet the neighborhood association would have called the cops on me by now if the houses were any closer,” you grump down the line. Jonah’s laugh crackles on the other end.

“Lucky’s my middle name, especially today, right? Look, I know I already owe you big, but can’t you just slip in and take a look around? Like hell I’m gonna be able to afford getting a ride out there any time soon, and you’re already there… Just see if the door’s unlocked or something, look in some windows?” He’s really begging, now, and his tone melts your resolve. How does he do that every time? You sigh heavily, crossing your arms and peering up at the manor. Its large, dark windows stand out against the lighter stone as the sunlight truly begins to fade. They feel like eyes, looking down at you from the top of the hill. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“Jonah, you know I value you as a dear friend and colleague, but... Fine, look, this place is creepy, I admit it, I’m a chicken, I’m scared of the creepy murder house, can’t we just come back some other time when we’re a we and not just a me?” Although your rushed confession is half joking, it’s obvious Jonah isn’t fully engaged. He only gives a short laugh in response before you hear him shift the phone a bit, pausing. Thinking. It feels like an age before he speaks again, the crickets beginning their evening song in the interim.

Then, “Look, Vivian, I. I haven’t been straight-up with you. Yeah, the scanner was going off last night, but the truth is I’ve... been thinking about that place for months. Remember that puff piece about Mark, the retrospective Devontae put up a couple months ago?”

You shift your weight, turning away from the manor and its looming walls to focus on your friend’s voice. His tone had seriously shifted. This is Real Talk time. “Yeah, sure. The board killed it. It was weird, especially since it was his death-iversary, right? But… I dunno, Jo, that’s not enough to--”

“I talked with my friends at the Star, their board nixed a retrospective, too. So did the Inquirer, the Daily, and the Herald. Not to mention anything having to do with Mark for at least the last couple of years. I checked Walker’s record cabinet, too. Anything mentioning Mark, that night, his life after… hell, even the Manor, everything is heavily edited. Anything even adjacently referencing his existence is lucky if his name doesn’t get cut.”

You draw up short. A bit of concrete is loose underneath your feet, rocking slightly with you as you shift your weight from foot to foot. What is he getting at? “I mean. Yeah, okay, that’s pretty weird, but maybe… I dunno, maybe the board doesn’t want to bring up a dark moment like that, or more likely, they don’t wanna openly admit the town hasn’t been able to get their shit together about the Manor and make it into something other than an eyesore all this time later. You know at least half of them take board work as their victory lap after a glorious public service career,” you offer, laying it on thick. Jonah hums, considering it.

“Could be. But still, kind of a personal bent for an editorial board to take, no? Even for them. And it’s not just our board, it’s consistent across the papers.”

“But nothing that awful happened to warrant this. I mean, sure, his buddy killed a detective and presumably a couple of friends in his house, that’s sad, but… Mark wasn’t involved. He didn’t do anything, at least, nothing bad enough to make everyone decide it’d be better if he just didn’t exist.”

“Nothing that we know about,” he offers, quieter. Your blood chills.

“...you think something else happened? Something worse?” Jonah is silent for a moment. His next words are careful.

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I think what happened at the Manor has more to do with Mark than he wanted people to think, more than reports let on. And that, whatever really happened, it’s something bad enough that even now, this long after everything and even him passing over two decades ago, someone’s keen to keep it covered up.”

You’re quiet, mind reeling. You were a local, you knew as well as anyone that all of this stuff is treated more like an urban legend than true local history. It’s almost larger than life, at this point; you had heard the story told and retold a thousand times over until the telling itself was smooth and simple. Mark, fresh off a successful play’s run, had invited over his old university buddies for a night of good old fashioned revelry and reconciliation after years of petty disagreements had crescendoed with his wife cheating on him with his oldest friend, the Colonel WIlliam J. Barnum. However, little was resolved, and adding alcohol to the mix turned out to be deadly. Tensions between the group came to a head the next day, and the Colonel snapped. His rampage ended in the death of the city’s leading detective and, presumably, two of the original group’s members, although their bodies were never found, seemingly dumped in the woods behind the Manor. The Colonel’s attempt to cover up his crime left the others a chance to escape and alert the police, but the killer, too, disappeared, and was never heard from again.

It feels like a well-worn path in your mind. Nobody ever questioned Mark’s innocence in everything - it was assumed. He had just been there, equally terrorized by the killer as the other victims. But exact details had never emerged to the public, and Mark had been reticent to ever speak of things. The missing guests, too, were just so easily presumed dead at the hands of their friend, their mysterious disappearances more like eerie window-dressing on a ghost story than a suspicious hole in an otherwise tightly-woven story.

Maybe not so tightly, since now that you can see the holes, it’s hard to ignore them.

The tender inside of your cheek aches from your teeth worrying it, bitten raw. You swallow your thoughts for a moment, trying to return to the conversation. Jonah’s been equally quiet, letting you puzzle. “...and you think the Manor has some clue to that? To what might have… really happened?”

“...that’s my working theory. Mark left the place so quickly after everything, it’s still full of his stuff. He didn’t want anything to do with it, wanted to start fresh. Technically, the local historical society owns it all, now, but you know what their funding is like, so it’s all just sitting around. I figure, in his rush, he left something behind that can give us an idea of what we’re missing. Besides, reports of weird stuff happening there has been on an uptick.” You suck your teeth, feeling some of the edge of the conspiracy theory-laiden tension fade.

“Massive media blackout, I can run with. But, what, you think there are ghosts that have something to do with it?”

Jonah groans. “I never said ghosts, specifically, but… come on, kid, you have to admit it’s weird.”

“It’s practically a hundred-year old house, of course it’s weird - the wires are probably all way out of code and nobody’s been in the place in ages.”

“Okay, okay, maybe it’s a stretch,” he admits, retreating from the point. “I’m just looking for patterns. We don’t have a lot to go on, in terms of hard information. Which is why getting in there is so important.” He’s turning toward pleading again. “Please, kid, it’d mean the damn world to me if you’d just take a look around. I’ve got no idea when I’ll be able to get out there myself. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.” You know he wouldn’t, he’s always been considerate of your time and comfort. Really, Jonah is one of the best friends you’ve had, coworker element aside. It makes it horribly hard to say no to him. Which is why whatever reservations you’re still holding on to cave in the face of his honesty.

“...okay. I’ll go poke around. But you seriously, seriously owe me for this one.” You can practically hear Jonah smile on the other end.

“Seriously, I do. Thank you, kid, honestly.” He sounds relieved, taking a steadying breath. Was he really so worried you’d say no? “And take pictures if you see anything!” he quickly adds.

“Only if you call the cops if I don’t call you back in an hour. If there’s someone in there, Jonah, I--”

“Hey, hey, I promise. I’ll stay right by the phone. Cross my heart.”

You sigh quietly to yourself. “All right, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, kid, and seriously. Thank you.” He sounds painfully sincere. You can’t summon up the spite to gripe at him anymore, so you let yourself be equally honest.

“I’ve got you, Jo. You know that.”

“Yeah. I know. Okay, I’m gonna let you go. Just be careful.”

“I will be.”

Then the line goes dead and your phone beeps dully before returning to your ridesharing app. You stare at it for a second, before you swipe up and close the app completely. No way you were going to chicken out now. Apart from Jonah’s confession, your mind was on fire. Sure, you could go home and just apologize to Jonah, but you know you’d be awake all night, tossing and trying to turn over the truth thanks to your limited information but unlimited curiosity. It wasn’t just his skepticism polluting your mind, either, there was definitely something missing from the narrative. Almost like the incident was too well-put-together, the reports from back then too careful with their words, what they didn’t say. Real crimes were messy because people were messy - their memories faulty, their behavior unpredictable and sloppy, even more so when under duress. But everything about the case and its retelling was clean. Neat.

It might as well have been wrapped up with a bow.

With nothing else between you and the Manor besides the peeling gate, you turn back to face its imposing exterior. Although the house had glowed softly in the setting sun, the rock reflecting the light so warmly, it had faded to a soft gray in the twilight. The windows are obviously dark and empty, now, their size exaggerated by the deepening of shadows as the sun slipped behind the horizon. You stare up at them, watching them back through the locked front gate from your tottering bit of pavement. You take another breath in, out. Then you square your shoulders and step up to the gate.

“It’s just a creepy old house,” you mutter, worming yourself between the wide bars. “Nobody inside, just a weird… big house. ” Nonetheless, a shiver goes down your spine when you’re through and the lawn stretches out before you and up to the front door. You crane your neck towards the nearest neighbor, but their windows were dark, too.

So why does it feel like someone’s watching you?

[dreaming-gamer]

DMC Week Day 4: Food – Dante & V

Warnings: None, gen, no shipping.

V found it odd to be the first one back at Devil May Cry after today’s hunt and find it actually… pretty clean? No papers nor books were scattered around the desk, it was all neatly stacked upon the surface, right beside Dante’s photo of his mother. There was even a fresh scent in the air, as if the windows had been recently opened. And the old pizza boxes thrown away, finally.

“Huuuh, it’s like someone threw a magic spell over this place!” Griffon said, fascinated as he flew off to Dante’s desk.

“I certainly doubt it was Dante..” V admitted, setting down himself to sit at the sofa. “Since it is now looking rather presentable… let it stay like that.” He added, green eyes following his familiar who was stepping all over the desk with his talons.

“Oh ho, I found something!” Griffon snickered. “EH? ‘Cleaning’s coming out of your cut, take me shopping pronto!’ signed by some Patty. Dante have enemies in the human world too huh?”

“In any case, it is his private matter. Leave it be.” To V’s ears, it didn’t sound like a threat, but to the older Devil Hunter, the prospect of shopping might be. At least to his wallet…

If anything, V found it interesting that Dante might have friends that were outside of the devil hunting business. So far, all people that V knew of from Dante’s immediate vicinity were involved in the circle of fighting the demons, but of course, Dante had spent many years among humans. He was bound to have at least made some other connections.

V lowered himself down onto the old leather couch, feeling it dip under him just as the doors to the shop opened up anew.

“Well well, didn’t expect to not be the first.” Dante grinned upon seeing them, Griffon swooping over to the couch and his master.

“Hehe, maybe yer getting old.” The avian snickered, earning himself a grin from the seasoned hunter.

“Oh yeah?” Dante said in amusement, stepping towards the old jukebox and giving the power on button a tap. “Wanna see this old man bust some moves?” Energetic rock music started up in the speakers and Griffon shrieked.

“Once was enough!”

V smirked to himself, Dante’s dance at that time had been unexpected certainly but somehow so very Dante that it had been amusing to watch. Who else would have started to dance like Michael Jackson, on the inside of a demonic tree that tried to send mankind to its doom?

“So, everything went fine?” Dante asked, checking his desk and noticing the paper Griffon had almost flown away with. His fingers stopped just over its paper surface, his shoulders rising slightly in a huff, but V could not see his expression.

“No complaints, it was only a few strays.” V replied, taking out his book. Strays or not from the horde, Sin Scissors could still pose quite the threat to unarmed civilian targets.

“Yeah, we fried ‘em up good! Now, who’s that chick that’s got it out for ya money?” Griffon snickered, hovering over Dante’s shoulder.  

“Just a friend. Who’s angry at me for ditching a certain party.” Dante huffed in amusement, pulling his arms back and puffing his chest out in a stretching motion. “For a job well done by both of us, how about we order some pizza? The power’s on, the water’s running. We deserve a treat.”

And yet you have just received another bill? V thought, softly closing his book on the page of the Proverbs of Hell. Dante and money did not seem to walk hand-in-hand. The summoner’s stomach did feel a tad empty after the long day however, so the offer of food seemed tempting. Despite the small detail…

“I have yet to try pizza. I suppose I could give it a try.”

Dante’s eyes locked onto V, his arms still locked in a stretch as his lips seemed to twitch into a surprised smile. As if the thought of there existing a man that had not tried out the delicacy of pizza, in his own shop, was hard to believe for Dante, the man who regularly fought creatures that most people would not believe existed.

“Then it’s high time you have a taste.” Dante grinned, walking around his desk and pulled a drawer open, extracting a folded paper and offering it to Griffon, who was still hovering around the desk.

“What am I, a messenger bird?!” Despite his annoyed tone, Griffon snatched it out of the air, flapping his wings over to the couch, handing the menu to V. The paper was printed with bold red and black letters, the logo a cartoony pizza baker just taking a freshly baked pizza out of the oven, whistling as he worked. Given a little more detailed, one could probably make the pizza baker look like Dante. V wondered if they were truly so happy while doing their job, he imagined it involved some stress, though different from the one he regularly faced as a Devil Hunter.

Carefully, he opened up the menu, the spine where the simple menu folded in two lacked color and the edges looked faded, telling him that Dante had had this menu for quite some time. It was however already damaged now, three poking holes through it from Griffon’s talons.

It contained no pictures, only rows upon rows of text and though V had much love for the written word, his admitted lack of experience with this cuisine did not make him much wiser as to what to choose. The amount of toppings and combinations were actually staggering. Could there truly be such variations to it?

Should he ask for a recommendation…? V swatted away the thought, how hard could this be? A flutter of wings suddenly descended on his shoulder, Griffon peeking on the menu with all of his golden eyes.

“Just grab one with everything V! Might put some meat on yer skinny bones!” His noisy familiar stated. “And everything you don’t want, I’ll eat!”

“You don’t even need food.” V pointed out with a small smirk playing on his lips. “But I suppose that can be arranged.”

“Oh no, you’re gonna learn that pizza leftovers are the best there is!” Dante pointed out. “And take a pizza without olives, that’s my one condition!”

Well, that did limit his options somewhat… which V certainly didn’t, despite the fact that he wouldn’t mind trying olives. In fact, there were a lot of foods he wouldn’t mind trying out, at least once. He was however surprised, since he had thought no matter the toppings of a pizza, Dante would appreciate it.

“Or you take one with, just to see his face!” Griffon lowered his voice, the will to cause some mischief very prominent in his summoner’s ear. V couldn’t help but smirk, the thought was entertaining yes, but if he was going to be treated then he didn’t wish to step on toes.

“I’ll keep it simple.” He concluded, asking for simply pineapples on his pizza. Sweets was something that V had found himself enjoying more and more and pineapple was quite a lovely fruit. Though peaches might still be his favorite that option was not available, making him wonder if it was not considered a good topping.

Dante nodded appreciatively.

“Interesting first choice. I’m more for that touch of pepperoni myself.” Just as his hand moved for the old phone on his desk, the doors flew open to show off a gang of pizza box carrying hunters. The smell of melted cheese, tomato sauce and baked bread was suddenly so prominent that the shop smelled like a pizzeria.

“Oh good, you’re here! Grab the pizzacutter!” Lady ordered, carrying three stacked boxes and setting them down on the desk.

“My, what a delivery! I’m touched you’re treating me.” The veteran Devil Hunter declared, heading for the kitchen.

“We put it on your tab.” Trish stated, grinning as if it was obvious, adding to Lady’s stack of boxes, earning a laugh from Dante.

“Should I be concerned you have a tab at a pizza place?” Nero wondered aloud, putting down the, in his opinion, needlessly expensive bottles of soda the girls had decided they should get as well.

“Yo V, dinnertime!” Nico grinned. “Nobody knew what yer favorite toppings were, so we got ya a plain one and ya can just try a slice from everybody!”

“Now we’re talking!” His avian familiar declared, flapping over their heads and checking the contents as boxes were opened up, pizzas cut into suitable triangles and passed around on napkins or plates. V opted for a plate, surprised at how many slices were put upon it, from all the others. From Nico’s pizza with banana and curry, to Nero’s with cheese-stuffed crust and some extra sauce on the side, to Lady’s with fresh tomatoes, salad and prosciutto, to Trish and Dante’s pepperoni pizzas, he tried a slice of them all. His hand felt dusty from holding the slices while eating, a feeling he did not enjoy but all the different toppings he got to try did make up for it and he found himself to enjoy a surprising amount of them, despite how long the stringy cheese could turn, making a bite treacherously close to messy . After Lady’s pizza though, the pepperoni, while different, made it feel a bit lackluster.

“Compared to the rest, this is not… not as flavorful as I expected. Not to mention, the edges are a little burnt, ruining the visual appeal and no doubt, the taste at the edges.” He admitted to Dante after finishing his first bite. First of all, there weren’t even a lot of slices of pepperoni on it. Griffon happily snatched the rest of the slice to himself, exclaiming ‘finally’!

V observed, eyebrows furrowing at the veteran Devil Hunter as his commentary was met with a hearty chuckle.

“I don’t see what I said that might be so… amusing?” V tried, waiting for the outburst to subside.

“Nothing. Just thinking this might be the birth of a pizza nerd.” Dante clapped V’s back with some force, making the summoner frown, he had only stated an analysis.. Oh.

“Certainly not. That said, yours did not have as much pepperoni as I expected.” V smirked.

“Yeah, they were being stingy this time, doesn’t happen often. But it makes each bite of it the more satisfying.” Dante grinned.

V had not expected his smirk to soften to a smile, nor expected himself to agree. Relaxing times like these were not frequent, but that made each time even better.

“And don’t worry, next time, we’ll get that pineapple pizza.” Dante promised, the grin never leaving his face.

“Very well.” V secretly hoped that wouldn’t come too soon. Tasty it might have been, but he felt full enough on cheese, tomato sauce and bread to last at least a month without it.

[woodrokiro]

Hollowed (fic), Part Six

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: They call her a miracle, but he looks at her as if she’s normal. It scares her. Fantasy/Futuristic/Zombie kinda?AU. Read Parts One, Two, Three, Four, and Five.

As Ichigo approaches Rukia’s quarters, he can’t help but be on edge for what he might find.

What was it that Yamamoto said she’d be, after going to the medical facilities? ‘Frail,’ ‘tired?’ What, like she’s sick?

Ichigo doesn’t know a whole lot about medicine, but considering his dad often helped out Uryu’s father with medical visits within the village, he does know some. Sure, there are some herbal medicines that can make a person drowsy. The stronger pill-form antibiotics that he read about from the Old World haven’t been made available in years… Although, he admits to himself, this is the military compounds he’s talking about, who would have more access than anybody to rare medicinal goods. 

Still… He can’t imagine the girl he spoke with to be in such a weakened state that she’s incapable of making decisions. What sort of medications or treatments or whatever are they giving her?

He approaches the door to her rooms. And why do they keep giving them to her, even though it’s obviously not working? And why did she have to go to the medical facilities right then after the Hollow--

He opens the door and finds the girl in question completely nude. 

---

She doesn’t really notice him until she hears a strange wheeze-scream coming from outside the screen. 

She looks up from her book to take a glance at his beet-red face, the finger pointed accusingly at her. She lifts her eyebrows. “Good morning.”

“YOU’RE NAKED.”

“Well, I suppose I am--ah, no I’m not! I’ve got this bandage around my arm.” She points to her shoulder, the crisp white bandage tied tightly around it.  

“That doesn’t make a diff--!! What is wrong with you?!”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was in the middle of changing and got caught up in some reading.” 

“Yeah but you still knew I was coming??”

“Of course. But if you’re my personal guard protecting me at all times, this shouldn’t matter to you. I’ll be changing in front of you quite often.” 

“Do not gaslight me about this, like this is in any way normal--” 

 “If it really bothers you that much, you can turn around.” 

He pauses, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before spinning around wildly. “You know what, I--whatever. This place is so fucking bizarre. Can you just put something on?”

“Certainly.” She reaches over the other end of the table for the silk robe she discarded, slightly miffed.

No, she can’t say that she’s always up to date on social cues from the outside world; but she’s not that naive. She knows it’s not normal to be naked in front of anyone, let alone a person of the opposite sex. 

But it’s different here, she considers as she pulls her hands through the sleeves. She’s different. Most here have always viewed her as something Other: not Creature, and certainly not Human either. The medical grounds certainly find her fascinating, but she is Lady Rukia, the link to saving humanity. 

No one has ever quite seen her as Woman before. 

What a strange boy. 

She tightens the knot at her waist. “There. Are you satisfied, sir?”

He glances behind him, scoffing. “Yes. My sincerest apologies for reacting like any normal person would. And don’t call me ‘sir.’ Just call me Ichigo.”

“Ichigo. All right.” She crosses her arms.

She is looking a bit tired, he notes; there are creases under her eyes, a paleness to her already milk-white complexion--and the way she holds herself is almost like she has to will herself to stand. 

His mind jumps back to her bandaged shoulder, though… He doesn’t remember her being injured any point. So why does she have--

“Were your sisters all right yesterday? And your friends?”

He’s caught off guard, and scratches his head self-consciously. He would’ve thanked her from the start, if she had been clothed--but he’s still embarrassed that she brings it up before he does. 

“Oh, um. Yeah, they were. You were right, I guess: none of the ‘service’ or whatever were within its radius, and my friends posted in military were okay. Hey and--I just wanted to thank you for doing that. I know you technically weren’t supposed to release me, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“Of course. It wasn’t of much consequence to me, I hope it wasn’t to you.” She looks down at her table, picking at an invisible speck on the pristine table with a thoughtful look on her face. “Family is important.” 

“... Sure. Yeah.” He’s stumped on what to follow up with that before he suddenly remembers. “Oh, hey! By the way, I met your brother on the way here. He’s, uh…” He grits his teeth. Shit. 

She watches him struggle awhile to come up with a decent adjective, her eyes dancing with a shade of laughter. “Formal?” 

He lets out a scoff. “Yeah you can say that.”

“He can be, yes. But he’s actually very kind. He’s done a lot for me, more than I can ever thank him for.”

Ichigo doesn’t know about that--the thought of caging up his sisters like animals regardless of the reason makes him want to hurl--but before he can retort, a maid enters from from one of the doors in Rukia’s room. 

“There ya go, m’lady! Fresh sheets on the bed, and flowers from the garden on your nightstand too. The blooms haven’t been really good, Sentarou says--but I told him he better go back out there for your bouquet. ‘Only the best for Lady Rukia!’ I said, and he sped right out and brought back some really nice roses. He can be a real good gardener when he’s not lazy.” The blonde scrap of a girl turns to nod at Ichigo. “Heya there. New guard, huh? Keep that phrase in mind. ‘Only the best for Lady Rukia.’”

Ichigo’s too busy with a dropped jaw to even speak to the girl inside the room with Rukia.

“Thank you, Miss Kiyone. Give my thanks to Mr. Sentarou too, I’m sure the roses are lovely.”

“‘S no trouble at all!” The maid peeks over Rukia’s shoulder at an ornate tray of food on a cabinet that Ichigo didn’t even have the chance to notice. “Aww, milady, you haven’t even eaten yet! Ya not feeling well again?”

Rukia waves a hand away at the thought. “No, no. It looks wonderful, I’m just not hungry. Please, take it for yourself and your mother to enjoy.”

Kiyone puts her hands on her hips. “Now, milady. That’s the third time this week you’ve done this with your meal. I shoulda never told you ‘bout my mom. She’s not that sick, really, just has a cold. You can’t keep giving your food to us, at least take a few bites and then, if you so want we’ll take the rest--”

“No because then you can’t eat it at all.” Rukia says it so sharply that the girl jumps. Rukia stops, takes a breath and continues softer: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I’m already giving you the food I won’t eat, it wouldn’t feel right if I gave you the picked over remains. Please. I’m happy to give them to you.”

Kiyone twists her mouth, but picks up the tray and with a curtseyed “thank you, Lady” clicks open the screen door and walks out the room, past Ichigo. 

The two remain in silence for a minute. Ichigo watches her rub her shoulder absent-mindedly.

“So… Can you explain to me what that’s all about?”

Rukia frowns. “What? I wasn’t hungry.” 

“Yeah, I gathered. I’m asking why you near screamed my head off yesterday with just touching the screen and yet here comes a little girl, no older than my sisters and she’s changing your sheets?”

“It-it’s complicated.” She huffs. “I don’t want anyone to come in here. I’d be happy to do the cleaning and tasks of my own rooms. Lord Yamamoto and Brother are adamant that I don’t ‘strain’ myself, so Kiyone is the only one that comes in, and I keep my distance from her just in case, and she goes to the medical facilities for check ups regularly, and--”

“What the fuck is it that you have?” Ichigo interrupts incredulously. “What? Is it infectious? Do I need to be worried--”

“No. No.” She rubs her eyes, and Ichigo realizes she must be really tired and stressed out but this is important, nobody in his group can afford to be sick right now. “Of course nobody knows the full scope of my… My condition, but I am near positive that Kiyone won’t be affected. Ever. If I thought there was any chance, I’d put my foot down.”

“But for now, you won’t because you like the service?”

“Do not mock me. I hate this as it is. But I have to pick my battles.” She glares at him, and Ichigo can’t help but notice for being a frail, tiny woman dressed in only a robe, in this moment she may as well be a giant. 

He thinks--not for the first time--about how he may have underestimated her. 

“With all that said, I do not feel comfortable with anyone on this side. It’s not personal, but that includes you.”

“And what about the times that I have to walk you out of here? Like that time you came out to see us when we first came here? What then?”

“In which case, there’s not much to be helped, but you and I will never go out alone. You will call forth at least three guards to assist you, although they will maintain a distance of at least six feet from me. Speaking of which,” she gets up, and the movement is so fluid and regal that Ichigo blinks. “I’d like to go for a walk. Ring the bell outside the hall and send a messenger for that assistance. Meanwhile, I’ll get dressed.”

 She is about to walk into what is apparently her bedroom when Ichigo finally calls out. 

“Are you all right to go out? I mean… If you’ve been sick. Do you really want to go out in all those heavy clothes, in your condition?”

She turns to look at him from the doorway, assessing him. “I’m all right, thank you,” she replies coolly and Ichigo sees the similarity between her and her brother clear as day. “The fresh air will do me good. And I won’t be in those ‘heavy clothes.’ Those are only for certain occasions. Besides,” she smiles dryly, “Sometimes I think those gowns are so I won’t blend in. Easier to keep track of the only girl in ornamental garb.” 

She shuts the door, and it may as well have been on Ichigo’s face.

[frauleinsmaria]

The Facebook Flub (1/3)

Summary: When Emma accidentally sends a friend request to the wrong person, she doesn't expect much to come of it. But maybe this accident is the best decision she's ever made.

Rated: T for now, potentially high T/low M in the future

Also on AO3

A/N: Inspired by a comment I came across on Instagram asking people to share how their long distance relationships began: "I added the wrong guy on Facebook that I met at the bar...the guy I added lived in Germany and I was in Canada. That accident...is now my husband."

A few changes to make it fit Captain Swan, plus a whole lot of support and cheerleading from @wellhellotragic , @profdanglaisstuff , and @thejollyroger-writer later, here we are! Thanks a million, ladies, you’re the best.

Going out was the last thing Emma wanted to do tonight. She had a long week dealing with a tough case at work, the weather reports were calling for snow, and she had a headache- not to mention the fact that she didn’t feel like being hit on by some drunk low life.

“Those are all reasons for you to go out then,” Ruby insisted when Emma relayed all of this to her over the phone. “It’s Friday night. You need to come let loose with your friends and forget about whatever else is on your mind. And you know I’ll gladly fight off anyone who bothers you.” It took similar texts from Elsa, Graham, David, and Mary Margaret for her to finally give in and join them. Which is how she found herself sitting at the bar at one of their favorite burger and beer places downtown.

She was drinking one of her favorite beers, with Graham on her left side flirting with the guy behind the bar, and a stranger on her right who had been talking her ear off about some upcoming movie since he sat down an hour ago. Emma wasn’t all that interested- in both him or whatever this movie is- but she listened anyway. She didn’t have the energy to join the rest of her friends at the dart boards, and at least this guy wasn’t trying to flirt. So when he suggested she add him on Facebook before he left, she’d had enough to drink that she saw little reason to object.

It wasn’t until he was gone when she opened the Facebook app on her phone and realized she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of his name. He’d introduced himself when he first took the seat beside her, but that had been several beers ago, not to mention the loud music in the bar making some of his words hard to hear.

It had been something different that she’d never heard before. Killiam James, maybe? she thought as she typed it into the search bar.

“I should’ve known.” Ruby appeared behind her, holding a glass of whatever she’d picked for her poison tonight. “Don’t tell me you came out just to sit on your phone by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. Graham’s he-” She turned and saw that the man in question had apparently slipped off with the bartender without her noticing.”Huh. Or maybe not.”

Ruby sighed. “Come on, Emma. You know you wanna watch Mary Margaret kick David’s ass at darts.”

That was a statement she couldn’t argue with. “Hang on. Let me do this first.” But Ruby instead grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the dart boards, causing Emma to hit “add friend” for the first option in her search results without paying much attention to the name or profile picture.

The guy from the bar and the friend request had been forgotten about by the next morning when she woke up with a pounding headache and wondered exactly when she’d started getting old.

The events of that Friday night didn’t cross her mind again until the next weekend. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel with David and Mary Margaret, who were always willing to join her to watch any superhero movie despite both of them losing track of the plot at least half an hour in. It wasn’t the same as getting to experience it with someone as invested as she was, but years of going to the movies by herself when she was younger made Emma grateful for their company regardless.

They arrived at the theater early, battling the lines at the ticket booth and again at the concessions stand for overpriced popcorn and candy. The theater was already filling up after they’d gotten snacks. Emma stepped on quite a few feet to get to the only empty three seats together. Once they were settled, she pulled out her phone and opened the front camera. “Smile, guys!” Mary Margaret got the memo, but David looked like a deer in headlights in their selfie. This was definitely getting posted.

She made a few adjustments to the lighting before posting the photo on Facebook and Instagram. It’s Captain Marvel time!

The lights in the theater dimmed as the first movie trailer began to play on the screen. Emma silenced her phone and dropped it into her purse before grabbing a fistful of popcorn and settling into her seat.

It was over two hours later when the movie had ended and the three of them had arrived back at David and Mary Margaret’s house before she thought to check her phone again. There was a new text from Elsa about the shirt she’d borrowed last week and a handful of social media notifications. She opened Facebook first to see the response to her pre-movie selfie. It was when she started scrolling through the list of various reactions that an unfamiliar name caught her eye. Of course since she’d tagged David and Mary Margaret in the photo, several people who’d liked it weren’t Facebook friends of hers or people she knew. But this one stood out- it belonged to a person she’d never heard of before, and one who was apparently on her friends list.

Killian Jones. She frowned and clicked the link to open his profile page. They had no mutual friends, but sure enough, they were friends with each other. The brief amount of information listed under his personal details told her he lived in London and worked for a company named Ship Shape.

Emma quickly began to question just how she knew this Killian Jones. They hadn’t gone to college together; his profile listed him as an alum of a university in London she’d never heard of. He wasn’t in her line of work, so that wasn’t a possibility.

What if he had been a previous one night stand? No, that definitely wasn’t the case. She rarely got men’s names when those happened, let alone befriended them on social media.

And there was no way she would have forgotten a face like his. His current profile picture was taken from a distance on a beach somewhere, which made his features a bit harder to notice. The handful of previous ones were closer shots though. There were a few that looked like they were taken at some kind of professional event and a selfie with a dog she presumed was his. He was gorgeous, she realized as she quickly flipped through them. Piercing blue eyes, a head of dark hair that successfully toed the line between messy and polished with a five o’clock shadow to match. Yeah, she definitely would have remembered him.

Emma scrolled through a few more photos before she started to feel like she was crossing some sort of line. She had zero ideas on who this Killian Jones even was, and yet there she sat combing through the details of his Facebook profile as if they were close friends.

Contacting him seemed like the most logical thing to do. She opened Messenger, still annoyed that the feature wasn’t included with the regular Facebook app anymore, and typed out a brief message. Hey. Sorry if this seems weird, but I was wondering how you and I knew each other?

Her phone chimed with a response only a few minutes later. Not weird, love. Although I was wondering the same thing considering you’re the one who added me.

She stared at her phone screen and read the message again. There had to be some kind of mix up. Her friends list was on the small side, mostly former classmates and coworkers, and the people she regularly interacted with now. What reason would she have for sending a friend request to Killian Jones all the way in London-

And then it hit her. “Killiam James,” she groaned, remembering the guy from the bar the weekend before. If that was even his name. Emma blamed the combination of beer and loud music for the mix up, which explained why she’d added this guy with such a similar name.

What was she even supposed to say to Killian Jones now? The truth was ridiculous, and she couldn’t think of a lie that sounded even moderately believable.

Honesty won out in the end. “What does it matter? He’s never gonna meet me anyway,” she muttered as she started to reply. So, funny story. I thought I was sending a friend request to a guy with a name that’s really similar to yours and I just now realized my mistake. I’m sorry again because I know how weird this all probably sounds to you.

She hadn’t expected another reply. He’d probably delete her from his friends list after learning the reason behind the mishap and forget all about their brief interaction. What she got instead was a huge surprise. That’s quite alright. I suppose it could have happened to anyone. But, while we’re here, can I ask how the movie was?

Movie? Oh, right. She’d gone to see Captain Marvel tonight. His liking her photo was what started all of this. I liked it a lot. Keep in mind I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t know how accurate anything was. But it’s a great addition to the MCU if you ask me. And the cat was awesome.

I’m glad to hear that. I don’t know much about the comics myself, I just like the films as well. I’ll have to keep my eye out for the cat you speak of when I see it for myself.

This conversation was already a positive changed compared to the ones she usually had about Marvel movies. Most people, men especially, would make fun of her or call her a “fake fan” when she admitted she wasn’t familiar with the comics and didn’t really have plans to change that. Not only was Killian Jones not making fun of her preferences, he actually seemed to share them.

Emma soon found herself discussing everything from Endgame theories to the newest Spider-Man: Far From Home trailer with him. It wasn’t until her eyes grew heavy and she started yawning that she realized it was after midnight. Had this guy really stayed up until five in the morning to talk superheroes with her? Crap. I just realized what time it is. I’m really sorry if I kept you up. You’re probably exhausted.

No worries, Swan- can I call you that? As coincidence would have it, I’m a bit of an insomniac. I likely would still be awake now regardless. Plus, I work for my brother, so he can’t fire me for sleeping on the job unless he wants to lose his kids’ favorite babysitter.

Swan is fine- after all, it is my name. Although I still feel like you may need to apologize to your brother on my behalf.

Truthfully, she didn’t expect to hear from Killian again. Sure, they’d had a long conversation about a shared interest of theirs, but that didn’t mean he had any desire to continue talking to a stranger in the middle of the night. Or at any other time, for that matter.

Which is why Emma was caught off guard when she received another Facebook message from him a few days later. Hello, Swan. I know it’s the middle of the day where you are so you’re probably working, but I just saw Captain Marvel with a friend of mine and I needed someone to discuss the end credits scene with since he’s not nearly invested in this.

Their conversation soon left movies entirely and shifted to their everyday lives. Within the next hour, she learned that he was thirty-one, worked as a marketing executive for the shipping company owned by his brother, was the proud uncle of a nephew and two nieces, and spent most of his free time hiking or reading whatever fantasy novel was next on his to read list. Emma was more hesitant when it came to sharing specifics about herself for several reasons: talking about herself wasn’t exactly something she enjoyed, she barely knew this guy, plus, what if he really wasn’t the person he claimed to be?

If there’s one of us that ought to be suspicious, it���s him, she thought. You added him first; you could be the one Catfishing for all he knows.

Their once sporadic conversations soon became a nightly occurrence, switching from Facebook Messenger to texts once they felt comfortable with sharing numbers. (The short amount of time this took didn’t go unnoticed to Emma. She refused to let herself think too much about it.) Over time, it soon became easier to open up to him about a number of different things. Some days it was her favorite color or flavor of ice cream, others it was conspiracy theories she believed that dealt with people like Marilyn Monroe and Kurt Cobain. Emma rarely brought up her upbringing or personal life, and he never asked.

On nights when Killian’s insomnia was particularly brutal, they watched Netflix together, one of the few pastimes they could share considering the distance between them. They usually chose comedies, preferring shows like The Good Place and Parks and Rec so they wouldn’t miss much of the story if they got caught up in whatever conversation they were having at the same time.

The first phone call happened by accident when they’d been talking about three months. Emma had just got in from work and was debating between Chinese and pizza for dinner when her phone began to vibrate. She froze at seeing Killian’s name on the screen. Why was he calling her? They had never talked outside of Facebook and texts. Phone calls had never even come up once in their conversations.

“H-hello?” she answered after a moment. “Killian?”

“Oi, Jones, is this your girlfriend?” Not Killian then, although another man with an accent who sounded far from sober. She heard some sort of commotion in the background, followed by, “Give me back my bloody phone!”

“Um, hello, Swan.” His voice sounded exactly as she’d imagined. (Not that she’d spent that much time thinking on the subject. Not at all.) The accent was there, of course, but his voice was softer and he sounded considerably more under control than whoever had greeted her. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. Killian, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you calling me? Where are you?”

“Well, you see, a few of us brought Liam to the pub tonight for his birthday, but I realized I’d forgotten to tell you about it earlier. I know you wanted to start Brooklyn 99 tonight since we finished New Girl. Anyway, I was in the middle of typing out a message to you explaining all of this when Will took my phone and called before I could stop him.” He sighed. Emma had a feeling Will would get an earful as soon as this conversation was over; she heard a lot about him from Killian, mostly complaints. “I’m terribly sorry, love. I’m sure this must be awkward for you.”

“It’s fine, Killian. I appreciate you for telling me, but I know you probably have better things to do on a Friday night than watch Netflix with a stranger in Boston.” Although that was the gist of their relationship from an outside perspective, Emma’s heart sank at her own words. She thought more for this virtual stranger than she did most of the people she saw in person on a regular basis.

“Don’t talk like that, Swan. Besides, it would’ve been bad form to leave you hanging without an explanation.”

She should have known he would be a stickler for manners, even for something as trivial as a regular Netflix binge. “Thanks, Killian. Seriously though, go enjoy your night out. Sing ‘happy birthday’ obnoxiously loud to your brother and maybe don’t let anyone else take your phone. We’ll catch up on Netflix later, alright?”

“Alright, love. Goodnight.”

The next time Killian called, it was intentional. Neither of them thought much of it.

The calls (via WhatsApp to keep from spending a fortune) soon became a semi-regular part of their “routine.” They didn’t happen as often as the texts, however, since it was harder to both talk and vaguely pay attention to whatever show they were watching at any given moment. Talking on the phone often made it easy to forget the difference in time zone and the ocean between them, even when Killian said something particularly British, like “tosser” or “knackered.”

She and Killian had their first shared experience with FaceTime the night before the surprise party she and Mary Margaret have planned for David. Emma had been asked to make cupcakes, something she now regretted agreeing to as she stood in her kitchen dumbfounded by the assortment of ingredients strewn out across the counter.

As if on cue, her phone vibrated.

Killian: How are the cupcakes coming along?

Emma: They’re not.

Do I really have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately? They all go in the same bowl in the end. And how much batter do I put in the cupcake liners without them blowing up like mushroom tops? I don’t get why I had to pick a recipe that calls for baking soda AND powder too.

Basically, I need to be able to snap my fingers and have a professional chef in my kitchen to take care of this.

Killian: I’m no professional, but if you want to FaceTime, I could possibly help walk you through it.

Of course he could. She’d quickly learned that Killian Jones was one of those people who was unfairly good at most if not all things.

Emma opened the camera app on her phone to get a look at her current appearance. An old Rolling Stones t-shirt that probably should have been thrown out years ago, her-square rimmed glasses, hair thrown up on the top of her head in a messy knot, and no makeup, not to mention the zit on her chin that she hadn’t gotten the chance to get rid of yet. It would have to do. They were friends, and he already knew what she looked like thanks to social media. And she didn’t have time or energy to freshen up before she got the stupid cupcakes taken care of.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered.

Her phone screen was taken up by Killian’s smiling face seconds later. “Hello, Swan.”

“Uh, hi.” Somehow he was even better looking in real time. It wasn’t fair. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Come now, love. How hard can it be?”

“Consider who you’re dealing with, Killian. I almost cooked an oven mitt last week.” She didn’t add that it had happened due to their intense conversation on nineties one hit wonders and she’d been so distracted she hadn’t paid attention to where she’d placed the mitt after taking pizza out of her oven.

He barked out a laugh. “Something tells me chocolate cupcakes will smell much better. Do you have the recipe up?”

“Yeah. I’m sending it to you.”

Killian, being the good sport that he was, spent the better part of the next two hours going through the recipe step by step with her. Which was much easier said than done.

“You mean to tell me that not only do I have to mix the wet and dry ingredients separately, but I can only mix half of each together at a time?”

“Aye, that’s what the woman recommends.”

Emma had long since forgotten the name of the woman who’d posted the recipe online, but she had quickly become her worst enemy. “I should’ve just told Mary Margaret to make the damn cupcakes herself.”

“I highly doubt she could’ve gotten away with making cupcakes for her husband’s surprise party in their own house,” Killian noted.

How was it that he seemed to know her own family better than she did. “Yeah, well, then I should have bought cupcakes from the store and brought them to the party on one of my plates.” It would have at least saved the trouble of having a kitchen covered in flour, butter, and the other dozen or so ingredients she’d added to the mix.

She had just began pouring batter into one of the slots in her cupcake tin when Killian spoke up. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Swan.”

“Killian, I may have the cooking skills of a dustpan, but I do know that cupcakes have to be baked.”

“Right you are, but what about liners?”

“Come again?”

“You know, the paper things? You’re going to have an awfully difficult time without them.”

Of course. “Shit!” Hurling the mixing bowl at the wall now seemed like a great idea. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about that.”

“Hmm.” She heard the sound of computer keys typing as Killian looked something up. “Do you have parchment paper? Several sites list it as a possible substitute.”

“Wouldn’t that look kind of tacky though?”

“You don’t exactly have a lot of options, love, unless you’re willing to make a trip to the store.”

Emma glanced at the clock above her oven. It was past ten. A handful of stores would be open, but she didn’t have the energy or motivation to change into decent clothes to leave the apartment. “Parchment paper’s fine, I guess. What does it say I’m supposed to do?”

He quickly walked her through the process, which was much simpler than she presumed. After cutting the parchment paper into squares and folding them around a glass that was the same size as the slots in the cupcake pan, the problem was solved. They rewatched one of their favorite episodes of The Good Place while the cupcakes baked. She was so caught up in the show that she wouldn’t have remembered to turn off the oven if Killian hadn’t reminded her.

“So far, so good,” she told him once the pans had been taken out of the oven and placed on her counter. “They smell incredible.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Killian groaned. “The only form of chocolate I have in my flat is unsweetened cocoa powder.”

“Well, that’s just depressing.”

The icing process, while tedious, went over much more smoothly than the baking had.

“Swan, you’ve got chocolate icing all over your cheek now.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve got two dozen nice looking cupcakes. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“I suppose,” he agreed. “Although you’re just giving me something else to make fun of you for.”

He laughed when she stuck her tongue out at him.

She’d gone this far without sampling anything, too concentrated on not botching the cupcakes. But the sound of her stomach growling reminded Emma she’d never eaten dinner. “You think I can justify having a cupcake now if I don’t eat one at the party tomorrow?”

“After all the work you’ve put in, I believe you could justify two.”

“You, Jones, are a bad influence,” she said, taking the nearest cupcake and pulling off the parchment sheet liner.

“A bad influence who reminded you of the importance of cupcake liners.”

“Ugh. I hate it when you’re right.” Emma took a hearty bite of the cupcake and couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped her lips. “Ohmgod.”

Killian was quiet for a moment. Then, “I presume it’s good?”

“It’s not good, it’s fantastic. I never thought I’d say that about something I made.” Another bite elicited the same reaction, her eyes closing as she savored the rich chocolate taste. This caused her to miss Killian blush as his eyes shifted away from the screen.

“Erm, well, I’m very glad to hear that.”

The cupcakes, thankfully, are a hit. Several people at David’s party ask Emma for the recipe, a few eve complimenting the unique choice of liners. Her own brother was skeptical that she’d made them herself.

“I did!” she insisted. “I mean, Killian provided moral support via FaceTime, but all the manual labor was my accomplishment.” Her family and friends have known about her unconventional friendship with Killian for awhile now. Most of them went along with the idea, although a few were skeptical that her virtual friend was really the person he claimed to be.

“You and this guy have gotten pretty close, haven’t you?” David was one of those skeptical people.

She shrugged. “Kind of. I guess we’re as close as friends can get when they’re on opposite sides of the pond and have never met in person.”

“And you’re sure he’s not, what’s the word, fishing with you?”

“The term is catfishing, David. And the answer is no, considering we FaceTimed during the cupcake ordeal and his face matches the one in all of his pictures.”

“If you say so. I just don’t want you to risk getting hurt.” He almost always went into Protective Big Brother mode whenever Emma referenced a guy in any capacity, and this was no exception.

“I appreciate that you care about me, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about considering the circumstances. The chances of the two of us meeting are basically nonexistent.”

A few days later, they were on their third episode of Schitt’s Creek of the night and discussing each other’s uneventful work days when he brought it up. “So, uh, Liam has been talking about sending me away for work sometime soon.”

“That’s cool. Does he want you to go back to the Dublin office again?” Emma remembered that he’d taken a short trip to Ireland for business not long after they’d became friends.

“Actually, no.” He paused. “He’s made a few comments about Boston this time.”

Any interest she had in the episode they’d been watching was long gone. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. Sometime next month, if nothing changes.”

Her next words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I know a semi decent tour guide who lives in that neck of the woods if you have some free time while you’re here. And, y’know, if you’d be up for that.”

“I think that could be arranged.” She couldn’t see Killian, but somehow she knew he was smiling.

Emma didn’t start freaking out until the day before his flight. She was at Elsa’s apartment with Mary Margaret and Ruby, drinking wine and eating Elsa and Anna’s homemade cookies at the kitchen table. She was on her third- okay, maybe it was her fourth- snickerdoodle, only half participating in the conversation when she glanced up and saw the three of them staring at her.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. “Have you been listening to anything we’ve said?”

“Yeah, of course I have.”

“Emma, I just said that Granny was having surgery next month, and your response was, ‘that’s cool,’” Ruby deadpanned.

Her face flushed red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind I guess.”

“Is something goin- oh!” Elsa exclaimed. “Aren’t you finally meeting that friend of yours from London tomorrow?”

“Yeah. His plane is supposed to come in at two, then I’m meeting him for dinner and a little sightseeing before his meetings start the next day.”

“That’s really all you’ve got planned for him?” Ruby waggled her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass.

Emma rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Ruby. He’s just my friend.”

“Your very attractive male friend, who you talk either to or about nonstop,” Mary Margaret added.

She shot her an annoyed glance. “I thought family was supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side! I want you to be happy, and I’m just saying maybe you should be open to the possibility that Killian could have something to do with that.”

Leave it to her sister-in-law to bring Emma’s love life (or lack thereof) into the conversation. ““Don’t get any ideas, Mary Margaret. I love that you’re an eternal optimist, but everything else aside, he lives over three thousand miles away. I never thought we would actually meet.”

“People do long distance all the time,” Elsa chimed in. “Anna and Kristoff did for several months when he was away doing research about climate change in the North Pole. It wasn’t easy, but they got through it and are happier than ever now.”

She wanted to remind Elsa that her sister and her fiance had been together for over two years before this, but disregarded the thought. “I know you all mean well- even though it seems like Ruby just wants me to get laid- but can we change the subject? Killian is my friend. That’s all there is to it.”

Even as she said the words, Emma wondered for the first time whether that was actually true.

Her intention had been to sleep in the next morning since she’d gone ahead and taken the day off. But, much to her dismay, she was wide awake at seven. By ten she’d gone for a run, showered, eaten breakfast, and cleaned most of her apartment. It was tempting to blame the random burst of energy on wanting to be productive while she had the time to spend at home, but that wasn’t it.

She was excited to see Killian. And the closer that came to happening, it terrified her too.

For starters, what if they didn’t mesh as well in person as they did online or over the phone? It sounded silly just to think about, but maybe actually being in each other’s space for the first time would somehow change how their friendship worked.

The conversation she’d had with her friends the day before wasn’t helping matters either. What they’d said shouldn’t have been getting to her like it was. Every argument she’d made against their insinuations about her and Killian had been true.

Then why have you barely paid attention to other guys since the two of you started getting close? The thought came to her once she’d started walking laps around the apartment just to keep her busy. Dating for her had been a rare occurrence since Neal almost ten years earlier. Walsh was the one exception, and things with him hadn’t gone much better. One nighters happened now and then when she wanted to scratch an itch without having strings attached. But even one of those hadn’t happened in months.

She didn’t even know whether or not Killian had been seeing anyone. Her first assumption was no. He’d never once mentioned dating, and, regardless, he’d spent the majority of his nights over the past handful of months talking to her. His unconventional friendship with her on top of his job and his family didn’t give her the impression he had a lot of time for dating.

Emma glanced at the clock on her phone. It was just after twelve. “Dammit.” Even with traffic, it would be at least another hour and forty-five minutes before she needed to leave unless she just wanted to drive in circles around the airport.

“Screw it,” she said at one-thirty after she’d won her fourth game of solitaire. TSA might give her hell about parking if she had to wait a bit for Killian, but she couldn’t sit around her apartment much longer without losing her mind.

There was a knock on her door just as she was pulling on her jacket and boots. She went to the door and found her brother standing with his arms crossed over his chest. “Hey, David.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping I’d catch you in time.”

“In time for what?” she asked. “I’m about to leave for the airport.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m coming with you.”

He’d known she was going to meet Killian today for over a week and had yet to mention this to her. “What? Why?”

“I don’t want you going alone, Emma. It’s not safe; you’ve never met this guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I could understand if I’d met a guy on a dating site or something, but I’ve known Killian for months now, David. I’m pretty confident that I’m not picking up a serial killer.”

The frown on his face hadn’t budged. “Either way, I’d still like to meet him before I leave you alone with him. Gotta let him know what he’s dealing with if he hurts you.”

Emma checked the time on her phone again. “Ugh. Let’s go,” she groaned. “You’re not gonna let this go, and I don’t have time to argue with you about it.”

Any nerves she’d felt before had briefly been alleviated by the desire to strangle David. The drive to the airport was spent with her hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel so she wouldn’t wrap them around his neck instead.

“Are you gonna insist on spending the day with us too?” she asked as she pulled into the airport’s parking lot and looked for the garage for short term parking.

He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Ask me again once I’ve met him and had a chance to evaluate.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’m your older brother. That’s my job,” he insisted.

Emma parked in the short term garage connected to the airport. There was no point in trying to wait at the curb since she knew they’d be asked to move. She and Killian had decided to meet at the landside area, so she sat and waited for a text that he’d arrived and tried to ignore David tapping his fingers against the passenger door.

Her phone vibrated a few minutes later. Hello, Swan. Just wanted to let you know I’m waiting for my luggage and then I should be good to go.

Emma swallowed hard as she got out of the car on shaking legs. This was it.

She was too anxious to object when David followed her out of the garage and into the airport; she’d known better than to expect him to wait in the car for them.

When they’d entered the waiting area, Emma quickly scanned the room for a familiar face, coming up short. This was the place where they’d agreed to meet, wasn’t it? He’d sent her the text just minutes ago confirming their plans. What were the chances the nerves had gone to her head and made her mix something up?

She was so lost in thought she failed to hear the footsteps coming up behind her. “Someone in particular you’re looking for, love?”

They’d FaceTimed on several occasions and shared more ridiculous Snapchats than necessary. Emma knew what to expect. And yet, somehow, she’d been all wrong. His eyes were so much brighter and vibrant in person, there was no way to accurately capture that on camera. There was a tinge of red to his hair and scruff she’d never noticed. She liked it. A lot.

“Hello, Swan.” Shit. His already perfect smile was somehow better in person too. It wasn’t fair.

“Killian. Hi.” How could she have talked to him for hours on end over the past few months and be at a loss for words now?

They stood in silence for a moment, each trying to take the other in. Emma wasn’t sure how she was supposed to greet him. Was their friendship advanced enough to permit a casual hug? Or should she stick to a handshake?

David solved that problem for her, stepping between the two of them and extending his hand to Killian. Emma had all but forgotten that he’d come with her.

“So,” he said, using what could only be called his Protective Big Brother voice, “you’re the British guy.”

“Seriously?!” Emma hissed loud enough for only him to hear as Killian accepted the handshake.

“Aye. And you must be David.”

Her brother looked taken aback. He must have been under the impression Killian had no idea he existed. “Uh, yeah. Emma’s mentioned me then?”

“Oh, yes, several times. She tells me you’re quite the Orioles fan.”

Uh oh. This had the potential to be a recipe for disaster. David did not take comments about his notoriously terrible favorite team lightly. If Killian made any patronizing remarks about the Orioles, any chance at getting on her brother’s good side was doomed.

“I’ve caught highlights from a few games online before,” Killian continued. “Always admired Ripken.”

Emma let out an audible sigh of relief. Killian may very well have been lying through his teeth to appease David, but at least he’d avoided making a bad first impression. “Yes, well,” she butted in, “David’s just here for the ride. We’re dropping him off back at his apartment on our way.” She shot her brother a look that told him not to argue.

The first few minutes in the car were filled with awkward silence as Killian fidgeted in his seat, clearly used to a steering wheel in front of him on the right side, while she tried to ignore David’s presence in the back.

“How was your flight?” she asked after a moment as they headed in the direction of David and Mary Margaret’s building.

“All right. Bit of turbulence, but nothing terrible. The airplane food, on the other hand.” Emma saw him cringe out of the corner of her eye and tried not to laugh. “I’ll be more than happy to see what restaurants you have to recommend in the city.”

“Anything particular you’re up for? Most places aren’t gonna be busy at this time of day. And no, he’s not coming,” she added, glaring at David in the rearview mirror before he had a chance to chime in.

Killian pursed his lips. “Eh, would you judge me if I said I just wanted a good, American cheeseburger?”

She laughed. “That was the last thing I expected. But no judgment here, Tony Stark.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that comparison.” He grinned. “Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…”

“I’m sorry, playboy?” David questioned. Someone didn’t know his movie references.

They arrived in front of David’s building minutes later. “Okay, here we are, you’re welcome for the ride home, talk to you later, bye.” Emma must have gotten her point across since he got out of the car with no objection other than a shake of his head.

“I’m really sorry about that.” She glanced at Killian apologetically as she pulled back out into traffic. “I didn’t know he was going to show up and insist on coming with me, or I would have warned you.”

“It’s quite alright, Swan. He was just looking out for you. If I’m being truthful, not wanting you to be alone when you met someone you’d come across online isn’t an unreasonable request.”

“I totally get that to a certain extent, but I know you well enough to trust that you’re not, like, a serial killer. Unless you have something you wanna tell me.”

He barked out a laugh. “Rest assured, love, I have no blood on my hands. At least, none but my brother’s when we were lads.”

“Let me guess, it was always Liam who started it?”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

Traffic was light at that point in the afternoon, the two of them arriving at Emma’s chosen destination sooner than she was expecting. “This place might not look like much,” she told him as she pulled into a parking spot in front of Granny’s, “but she’s got the best burgers and fries, excuse me, chips, in town as far as I’m concerned.”

“And grilled cheese and onion rings as well, I presume?”

“You’re a smart man, Killian.”

The diner was fairly empty as well, just an older couple drinking milkshakes at the bar and a group of college students crowded around a table with a stack of textbooks.

“Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to sit?” she asked Killian.

“No. It’s your pick.”

They took a booth near the back of the diner. Emma handed him one of the plastic menus and flipped through one herself, even though her order had been virtually the same over the years. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt her to branch out a little more with her choices, even if it was just getting a burger or chicken club instead of a grilled cheese for once.

A waitress came to take their orders after a few minutes. Killian requested the cheeseburger he’d wanted with fries, the American term sounding foreign on his lips. She ordered the same.

“No grilled cheese and onion rings? Are we sure this is the real Emma Swan?” Killian asked, feigning concern.

She shrugged. “I’m trying to live a little. And for someone like me, that’s apparently as simple as ordering a burger. Or maybe you’re just a bad influence,” she teased.

“Oi! I wasn’t a bad influence when I helped you make cupcakes in your time of need.”

“Yeah, yeah, technicalities.”

There was a long pause as Emma tried to figure out what to say next. She wondered if Killian was having similar thoughts. This was an easier problem to remedy when they were texting or talking on the phone and she could turn the conversation to whatever show they were on at the time. Even still, there wasn’t the added component of having him across from her to sense any awkward tension between them.

Killian broke the ice. “I’ve been meaning to ask, Swan, have you ever seen One Day At a Time? Been seeing a lot about it online lately.”

“I haven’t actually.” She should have remembered most of their best conversations began with shows. “You know how I feel about good sitcoms though.”

“Aye. Perhaps we’ll add it to our unofficial to watch list?”

“I like the way you think, Jones.”

They talked for awhile about the season of Schitt’s Creek they were working on until the waitress brought their food a few minutes later. The conversation had somehow turned to which of Moira’s wigs would look best on him. It was hard not to laugh as Killian nearly swallowed his beloved cheeseburger whole.

“Don’t judge me,” he said through a mouthful of fries when he noticed Emma snickering. “I was bloody starving.”

“Clearly.” She dipped one of her own fries in the generous pile of ranch dressing on the side of her plate. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have so easily done away with all that English charm us Americans aren’t civilized enough to have.”

“What do you mean ‘done away with’? I’ll have you know I’m always charming, love.”

“Says the man who has ketchup on his chin.”

Killian’s face reddened as he grabbed a napkin and wiped off said ketchup. It was barely enough to be noticeable, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to tease him a bit.

As they ate, the conversation shifted from shows to Killian’s work and what he’d be doing in Boston over the next few days. She didn’t know much about his job, other than that he worked for Liam and their company provided parts and equipment for ships. While the company’s primary clientele was located in the London area near their home office, they were looking to expand to other areas as well, hence the meetings Killian had flown over to attend.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why were you the one to make the trip instead of Liam?” she asked. “I don’t really know how a lot of business procedures work, but it seems like he would be the one to handle stuff like that considering he’s over everyone else.”

“Aye, you would think so. But the truth of the matter is, Liam’s tied up with so much within our office. Not to mention he doesn’t like making trips now since he’s got Belle and the kids. From both of those angles, it makes more sense for me to handle as much of the international business as I’m qualified for since I truly have nothing tying me down in London nowadays.”

Emma hated the way her heart skipped a beat at his words. If he had nothing tying him down at home, did that also mean there was no girlfriend there too?

(Could she ask him something like that without him seeing right through her?)

“That’s, uh, great,” she told him, trying to get back to the point of the conversation. “That you’re able to travel for him. I’m sure you get a lot of cool opportunities and stuff.”

“Opportunities like getting to eat an American cheeseburger while I have a face to face conversation about sitcoms?”

“Exactly.”

Killian asked a handful of questions about her job, how she liked her boss and coworkers, if she’d dealt with any major cases lately.

“Not really. It’s mostly the usuals, cheating husbands and deadbeat parents.”

He frowned. “Pity situations like those occur enough to be ‘usuals.’”

“It’s enough to make me want to throw in the towel sometimes if I’m being honest. These people are lucky enough to have a family in the first place, and they just throw it to the side like it means nothing to them.”

Emma didn’t realized what she’d said until it was too late. While she’d become comfortable enough with Killian to share certain details about her personal life over the past few months, her upbringing in foster care was the one subject she’d avoided. She’d heard stories of his and Liam’s upbringing by their single mother, who died when Killian was in college. The only family she’d ever mentioned to him was David, and he didn’t even know they weren’t actually siblings.

But that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at Granny’s in the middle of the afternoon. She wasn’t sure how much time he had free to spend with her, or when she would see him again. If you even will, she thought.

Sensing her discomfort, Killian reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “Is everything alright, love?”

The feeling of his hand in her own stopped Emma’s train of thought. She almost hated how comforting it was. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” She gave what she hoped looked like a genuine smile. There was no need to waste her time with him focusing on bad memories. “What do you say we pay the bill and go do some sight seeing? Boston isn’t New York or LA, but it can be fun. I think so anyway.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.”

They bickered at the cash register over who was going to pay. Killian wanted to be a gentleman, Emma wanted him to feel like her guest in some way. She somehow won. “You can buy me a bear claw at my favorite bakery later if you really want to,” she told him as she swiped her debit card through the reader and he stood to the side pouting.

She and Killian were heading for the door when a familiar face entered the diner. The sight of Ruby made Emma consider grabbing Killian and hiding him.

“Emma!” Her friends’ eyes lit up when she spotted them, red lips breaking out into a grin.

“Hey, Rubes. I didn’t think you were working today.” She would have taken Killian to eat somewhere else otherwise. Emma loved her friend, but something told her Ruby would have less of a filter than usual around him.

“I wasn’t, but Ashley had a doctors’ appointment and asked me to cover her shift.” She glanced around Emma to get a look at Killian. “Oh, is this the English guy? You didn’t tell me he was hot.”

The urge to crawl under the nearest table was tempting. “Uh, yeah,” she said, her face reddening, even more so when she realized it sounded like she was agreeing with Ruby’s comment. She turned to Killian. “This is my friend, Ruby. Granny’s is, well, her grandmother’s.”

Ruby held her hand out to him. “It’s so nice to  put a face with the name. Emma talks about you all the time.”

Emma shot her a death stare as Killian accepted the handshake and brought her hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure, love. I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well.”

“Such a charmer.” Ruby’s grin widened. “I love it.”

“Yeah, well, we were just leaving, and I know you have to get to work.” She grabbed Killian’s hand and pulled him out the door before Ruby had another chance to embarrass her. “Bye!”

Emma groaned as soon as the door to Granny’s had shut behind her. “I’m sorry about that. She means well, but she tends to come off a bit strong.”

“No worries, Swan. I can’t say I have many objections with a woman who so freely acknowledges my good looks.” He smirked, and she couldn’t help but think how much she wanted to kiss the smile off of his face.

Which she wasn’t going to do. Because that would be ridiculous. “Yeah, I’m never gonna let her live that down.”

She moved her car to a free public lot and spent the next hour with Killian, walking around downtown Boston to show him some of her favorite spots in the area. She pointed out the precinct where she often dropped off bail jumpers, the library, her favorite coffee shop, and the bakery that made the best bear claws in town.

“You can definitely return the favor from lunch now,” Emma told him when they entered the shop and she caught a whiff of something that smelled like butter and cinnamon.

“Whatever the lady wishes.”

“The lady definitely wishes for a bear claw. Or five.”

In the end she requested one, although Killian told the attendant to add another to her bag. “In case you’d like one for the weekend and don’t feel like making the trip.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll let it go uneaten for that long.”

They sat at a bench outside the bakery since the weather was nice. Mid September in Boston was often ideal since it was still warm without being unbearably hot. Emma took one of her bear claws out of the paper bag and bit into it, letting the warm dough melt in her mouth. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she told Killian, who had started eating his blueberry scone.

“I’ll take your word for it, Swan. You know I’m not fond of raisins.”

“Whatever.” She feigned disappointment. “More for me.”

It occurred to Emma that she had yet to ask another important question. She had no idea how long he would be in Boston, and if she would get to see him again after today. Killian had mentioned in previous conversations that he had a handful of meetings over the following two days, but nothing about what his schedule looked like or when he would be flying back.

Killian picked up on her unspoken apprehension. “What’s going on in that head of yours, love?”

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Hadn’t she decided she wasn’t going to waste time worrying while he was there? “It’s nothing,” she insisted again. Killian’s expression suggested he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press the issue.

“Did I tell you my nephew is into Peppa Pig now?” she asked, knowing he might like this change of subject. “He’s, like, fascinated with the British accents and tries to talk like the characters all the time now. It’s hilarious.”

His eyes lit up. “Is that so? I like this lad already. Although I do prefer Percy Pigs myself. It’s a type of candy,” he explained when her eyebrows shot up. A quick Google search provided a photo of what he was referring to, which was, as suggested, a gummy in the shape of a pig’s head.

It was weird, if she was being frankly honest, but Leo would love them. “Kid’s definitely getting an order of these for his next birthday.”

Emma finished her bear claw and wiped her mouth with a napkin from the bakery. But she must have not done an adequate job. Killian leaned over. “You missed a spot, love,” he said, brushing his thumb at the corner of her mouth. Any reply she had was forgotten with the gesture as she became hyper focused on the brief but startling feeling of his touch.

“Uh, thanks.” The words came out raspy and uneven.

Her reaction seemed to make Killian realize what he’d done. “Apologies, Swan. I wasn’t thinking.”

She couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the question that followed. “What are we doing here, Killian?”

[carmenlire]

Meet Cute

Part 3 of my Mafia AU!

read on ao3

Alec walks around the furniture store, eyeing everything critically.

He’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for-- he just figures that he’ll know it when he sees it. The remodel on the gym is going well and it’s time to buy furniture. While he’d been making do, it was time to finally install statement pieces that spoke to his authority and position in the New York Underworld.

He’s spent the past few months browsing through furniture catalogs and stores around the city. To Jace’s eternal amusement, he’d even visited a local flea market, tackling an old, scarred table that he’d turned into a fine end table for his apartment over one sunny weekend earlier this summer.

Still, now that he’s looking for his office furniture, it’s different. Alec wants to make a statement. Something that says he’s ushering in the new without giving way to the old. He wants something that he’s comfortable with-- which probably means lots of dark leather and wood.

In Izzy’s words, an elegant caveman.

Leaving the daily operations to Jace for the day, Alec’s enjoying a rare opportunity away from everything. The past year has been hectic and so stressful that Alec regularly marvels that he hasn’t had a heart attack yet.

He’s learned more about himself-- and the city-- than he’d ever dreamed possible. Since that night at the Judge’s townhouse, everything seems like it’s been moving in fast forward, whirling by so quickly that Alec’s just managed to gain his footing as the rug’s being pulled out from under him again.

He’s done things that were unthinkable a year ago.

He’s enjoyed a lot of those things a little too much.

As he sweeps an absent hand over a brocade sofa in a repulsive shade of red, Alec thinks about his schedule for the upcoming week. There’s a deal in Hell’s Kitchen that he needs to facilitate and one of his girls had come to him a few days ago and told about a strange man who’s been lurking around her area.

He’ll check that out tonight and deal with whatever he finds swiftly.

If he’s learned anything in the past fourteen months, it’s how to make a statement without opening his mouth.

There’s also that other matter that he hasn’t told anyone about, not even Jace. With a wry grimace, Alec reflects that it’d be a little hard to tell his brother about the lead he’d been given on who had killed Robert without divulging his source. And, try as he might, Alec hasn’t found it in him to kill the messenger.

Not yet, at least.

Strolling down a path between dozens of couches, Alec raises a brow as he sees something that might work. It’s a cozy looking couch in a dark, dark brown leather. It’s inviting as hell and Alec sinks into the seat with a sigh.

He loses track of time as he enjoys the innocuous pleasure of a comfortable seat and a day of no responsibilities. He feels anonymous here, in the middle of a furniture store in Brooklyn. No one knows him here and he’s just another customer looking for something innocent enough. It’s nice not to feel sharp looks in his direction as his men wonder what he’s thinking, what his next step is.

It’s nice to fade into the background once in a while.

Alec’s startled, then, when a low voice speaks right next to his ear. “You look dead on your feet, darling. Trouble sleeping?”

Whipping his head around, Alec glares as Magnus settles on the other end of the couch. It’s infuriating, the way he sits so gracefully, crossing one leg over the other while watching Alec with an amused glint in his eye.

“What the hell are you doing here,” Alec asks and debates the pros and cons of killing Magnus under the stark fluorescent lights.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m furniture shopping, Alexander.”

“Don’t call me that,” Alec snaps and he has to bite his tongue from immediately reneging the words.

Magnus’s voice is sly as he teases, “But darling’s okay?”

Alec doesn’t say anything, resolutely keeping his mouth shut.

Sighing, Magnus relaxes a little further into the couch and studies Alec with a patient gaze that’s a little too warm under the bright lights of the show room.

“What do you want, Magnus?”

Alec watches Magnus’s gaze turns sharp as he asks, “What if I said that I just wanted to see you?”

“I’d call you a liar,” Alec replies dryly and tries to ignore the warmth that sweeps up the back of his neck at those implications.

Laughing softly, Magnus just shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says easily before tilting his head in curiosity. “Have you followed that lead I gave you yet?”

Alec scowls. “That’s none of your business.”

Tsking, Magnus pushes. “Afraid of what you might find if you go digging? I assure you that my information was accurate. He might be a valiant opponent but I think I’d still put my money on you if it came down to it. Christ knows why,” he muses.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Alec starts, looking away. “But you should go.”

“Why?”

He’s surprised at the sharp retort, the way Magnus studies him with calculating eyes.

“What do you mean why,” he manages to get out. “We’re enemies, business rivals.”

“And why is that? Because our fathers were?”

“It’s just the way things have always been,” Alec replies, though he can hear the doubt lurking under the words.

That just makes him scowl with a little more heat. He can’t believe he’s letting Magnus Bane, of all people, get to him.

Magnus just sends an arch look his way and asks, “And traditions can’t change? We could be allies, you know. Maybe even partners one day. I like what I’ve seen so far. You’re a formidable adversary, even if you are so green.”

Alec can’t help but scoff. “You’re what? A year older than me? You’re hardly an old hand at this sort of thing.”

Magnus’s gaze hardens as he considers Alec carefully. Alec’s uncomfortable under the scrutiny for a brief moment before something shifts in Magnus’s face and his eyes turn warm and a little bemused.

“I’m a few years older than you, I’d say. It’s been a long time since I was as green as you, though, darling. More’s the pity.”

With a sigh, Magnus straightens before standing. Alec has to tilt his head up to meet his eyes and it makes something twist in his gut.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the vulnerability this position displays or the ease with which he remains sitting, giving the man in front of him the advantage.

“I told you about Valentine and gave you the evidence I had. I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, of course, but I would think that you’d have pursued that lead a bit more than you have. If you ever need help-- with anything-- don’t hesitate to call me.”

With that, Magnus reaches into his pocket. Alec tenses and knows by the way Magnus’s lips quirk that he sees it. Still, he merely pulls out a card and holds it out to him.

Alec lets the hand stay outstretched for a moment, carefully studying the offer. Magnus’s hands are strong and look capable of all sorts of things even if at the same time, they’re too elegant, pristine. Alec has a hard time imagining them doing the kinds of things that need doing in their line of work. His nails are painted black with the faintest hint of glitter lurking in the ebony. There are a few rings adorning the slender fingers and Alec has a moment to think that the rings with his initials are a little pretentious.

He’s annoyed that he also finds it charming and that it undeniably works for Magnus.

Magnus endures the scrutiny with a smile. Somehow, it feels like he knows Alec’s intentions even before he does. Reaching out, Alec plucks the card from where Magnus had been holding it between two fingers, the offering a challenge of sorts, possibly even a test.

Alec knows by Magnus’s smile that he’s passed with flying colors as he shoves the business card into his pocket.

“I’m not going to use this,” Alec adds, wanting to wipe that smirk off his face.

If anything, Magnus just looks more facetious. “We’ll see about that, I suppose.”

“Why do you want to help me, anyway? Why should I trust you?”

Magnus doesn’t answer immediately, instead taking his time to reply. Alec gives him points for the seriousness of his tone when he does.

“There’s just something about you, I suppose,” Magnus finally says. “It might be foolish of me but I can’t help but want to get to know you better.”

“What if you don’t like what you find? Not everyone can be who you want them to be.”

Magnus laughs, tickled. “Oh, Alexander, you don’t have to tell me that. Yours isn’t the first pretty face I’ve seen but it is the first time I’ve felt compelled to each out. You didn’t kill me when you had the chance last month and that made me wonder. I guess we’ll both just have to see what happens next, hm?”

Alec’s overwhelmingly aware of the card in his pocket, at the way its sharp edge pinches his skin. His eyes trace crisp lipstick and perfect eyeliner, the clean lines of Magnus’s outfit.

He’s intrigued. He shouldn’t be-- the very idea is ludicrous-- but he is.

Magnus’s gaze breaks from his for a brief moment before he’s looking back with an arch look and tilting his head towards something. “That would look nice in your office, don’t you think?”

Following his gaze, Alec sees metal and wood a dark stained drink cart. It’s nothing overtly fancy. It doesn’t stand out. It’s almost black, the wood ever so slightly distressed, the iron aged. It’s utilitarian and looks just big enough to hold a half dozen bottles of liquor with the accompanying glasses.

It’s would be mostly unobtrusive and fits his style perfectly. Alec’s a little wary of just how well Magnus had pegged him.

“What makes you think I need a drink cart,” he asks sardonically.

Shrugging, Magnus merely offers, “Every great leader should have a drink cart, Alexander. It’s useful in so many ways-- wooing potential business partners, a nice pick me up after a dreadful day. Don’t tell me that you keep your whiskey in your bottom desk drawer?”

Before he can school his expression, Alec’s brows are flying up incredulously. How the hell did Magnus know that?

Magnus just laughs quietly and nods a little to himself. “That’s what I thought,” he says. “It’s a small thing but it can really make the difference. You won’t even realize it’s there until you need it.”

“Whatever,” Alec mutters as he rolls his eyes.

He misses the fond, speculative look Magnus throws his way.

“Well, I should get going. While this was a lovely distraction, I do have work to finish before nightfall.”

Magnus has turned and taken just a few steps when Alec finds himself calling out, almost without meaning to.

“Magnus.”

Pausing, Magnus looks over his shoulder. His gaze is inscrutable.

Alec has the briefest moment to reconsider but finds he doesn’t want to. “Rumor has it one of your men has been stealing from the till.”

Before his eyes, Alec watches as Magnus changes. It���s imperceptible but chills him down to the bone nonetheless. It’s as though Magnus closes himself off from everything else, become colder and sharp enough to slice to ribbons.

His voice is steel as he asks, “Where did you hear that?”

Alec shrugs. “He was bragging to one of my men who came back and told me about it. I guess he was in the mood to boast about how he was pulling one over on the boss man.”

Magnus smiles and it send a shiver up his spine. “Do you have a name?”

Squinting a little, Alec thinks back and offers a tentative, “Elias?”

Magnus nods once as his gaze warms a few scant degrees. “Thank you, Alexander. I appreciate the heads up.”

“Maybe our fathers were enemies,” Alec says slowly, feeling each word as it leaves his mouth. “But you were kind to me and have never been anything but a gentleman. I wanted to repay that, even if the gesture was small.”

“No gesture is too small, darling.” Magnus’s mouth twitches up before he adds, “It was nice running into you. I’ll see you around, Alec.”

“Magnus.”

This time when Alec calls out, Magnus doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look over his shoulder. He merely stills and the silence is expectant.

“Who told you that I’d be here?”

Magnus is still facing straight ahead and his voice is expressionless as he replies, “Raj.”

He doesn’t wait for Alec to say anything else, merely continues on his way and Alec watches him until he exits through the front door.

The store is surprisingly empty as Alec sits and thinks over the past half hour. It was only a conversation but it feels like things have shifted irrevocably.

He’s not quite sure how he feels about it.

A few minutes later, though, a salesman comes over and Alec orders a few things that have caught his eye.

It’s a few days later when he pours Raj, one of his newer recruits, a drink in his office. He carefully places the stopper in the decanter of whiskey before setting it down on his brand new drink cart that had been installed yesterday morning. Then, Alec's turning towards the man who’d betrayed him without a second thought.

It was an unwritten rule that one never told anyone about the boss’s whereabouts-- let alone his supposed number one rival.

Alec feels no remorse as he takes care of business. It’s another day of the same old shit and he tries to pretend that he’s not exhausted of it all, already.

He thinks about Magnus and wonders when they’ll next meet.

He thinks about the fine line he’s walking and how this will probably blow up in his face when he least expects it.

Still. There’s just something about Magnus that pulls Alec in and he’s helpless to do anything but sit back and see how it all plays out.

In the meantime, he starts researching Valentine and his operations. Piece by piece, the puzzle starts to come together and finally, it’s time for Alec to make his move. He needs to avenge his father and solidify his place at the table. It's taken nearly two years but Alec's ready.

It’s just his luck that Valentine saw him coming from a mile away.

[barpurplewrites]

Portraits in Stone

Happy, slightly-late, Birthday to the ever amazing @beastlycheese

Hope you like the lemonny goodness ;)

“Rumple? What are these for?”

Rumple gave a small sigh. It had seemed like such a good idea this morning, to have Belle help him sort the cupboards of lesser magical items. The job should have been done and dusted in a hour or two, but it was now approaching evening and they were barely halfway through. He'd forgotten to allow for Belle's insatiable curiosity. Add to that her total certainty that he wouldn't turn her into a toad for asking questions, and he'd spent most of the day explaining the workings and history of dozens of magical items.

It hadn't been a bad way to while away what would have been a dull day he supposed.

Belle was currently holding two smooth black rocks. Flat on one side and curve on the other, the two would fit together to create a polished egg about the size of a duck's. Rumple smiled, he'd not forgotten he had these little oddities, but he'd had no cause to spare them any thought since he'd traded for them.

“Aha! You might enjoy these.”

He plucked one of the stones from Belle's hand and whirled around to conceal what he was about to do from her. The squeak of irritation she let out as she tried to dodge around him made him titter.

“Uh-uh-uh.” His wagging finger caused her to pout at him, but with only a small huff she allowed herself to be shooed back a few paces. He wouldn't accept that challenging look from anyone else, but Belle was different, his caretaker was bound to be allowed some small liberties. He could hear the rustle of her clothing as she tried to lean around him to catch a glimpse of what he was doing. He held the rounded side of the stone in his hand and kept the flat side close to his face so the high collar of his waistcoat obscured her view. Very softly he whispered; “Cheese.” He'd never understood why that was the activation word, some strange joke by the creator of these things he guessed. The flat surface shimmered and captured an image of him. From behind him he heard a chirping sound.

“Oh! Rumple, I can see you!”

He turned on his heel and waved his hand in the air; “I should hope so, dearie, I'm standing right in front of you.”

Belle clucked her tongue at his mild teasing. She was focused on the image of him that had been transferred to the rock in her hands. It had to be the spectacle of the magic that had created that look of wonder on her face. It certainly wasn't going to be the rather-too-close image of his scaly face. She looked up at him with bright eyes, he recognized that look. He leaned back against the table and crossed his legs at the ankle ready for the inevitable onslaught of questions.

It always surprised him that she never swooned at moments like this, for she never appeared to draw breath. Although, he had noticed a slight flush would colour her cheeks sometimes. He idly examined his claws. This show of affected indifference was to preserve his beastly image, and what was left of his sanity. He'd watched her take a deep breath the first time she'd bombarded him with questions. The sudden tightness of her bodice had sparked something akin to concern within him. He'd almost blurted out that she no longer needed to be a slave to fashion if it affected her comfort. Not at all the sort of thing a beast would say.

He had briefly entertained the idea that she was attempting to use her physical charms against him, but Belle honestly didn't appear to know just how well her name suited her. She truly was a very odd girl.

He heard her draw breath, and here came the questions.

“Do these work both ways? Can anyone spy on them, like with the mirrors? Do they send sound as well? Are these part of an important deal? Are they safe to use regularly?”

A second deep breath and it was safe for him to look up again. Five questions, these odd little stones had caught her interest. Now why would that be? He ticked his answers off on his fingers.

“Yes. No. No. No. Yes.”

A smile he would almost describe as sneaky curled her lips. His little maid had a plan.

“So, we could use these while you are out on your deals? They're a better way to keep an eye on me than the ravens afterall.”

Rumple couldn't argue that point. After the incident with the Queens of Darkness he had warned her about the dangers of birds as spies. She'd taken his words to heart. His dire warnings had slipped his mind when a deal took longer than expected and he wanted to see what she was up to alone in the castle. A messenger raven had been a lazy, but effective way to check on her, so he'd thought. When he'd received no answer, he'd hurried back expecting to find her in some manner of trouble. Instead he'd discovered the raven trapped under a large saucepan, and Belle armed with a sword keeping watch for a potential attack. He'd been persona non grata with the ravens across half the realm for months after that incident.

These little stones wouldn't end up with him having to dodge raven shit. He gave her a wide grin; “I think you may have hit upon a rather good idea. I expect I'll be seeing many, many pictures of the books you read in my absence, hum?”

Belle bounced the stone in her hand; “I wouldn't send you images of all the books I read while you are away. Some of the romances would only make you blush.”

Rumple blinked rapidly and snapped his jaw closed. He could deny that he blushed, but since his cheeks felt annoyingly warm that would only earn him a cheeky smirk from her. He pulled a scowl on to his face and wagged a finger at her again; “If we are going to use these, then I'd best teach you how to work them. Now, pay attention. I'm very busy and don't want to repeat myself.”

She dipped her head, but he still caught the flash of triumph in her eyes. Yes, she'd scored a point in their on-going little game of teasing. He'd work out a way to get a few of his own, just as soon as he could get the thought of her reading scandalous novels out of his mind.

-o0o-

Belle had mastered what she had taken to calling the 'portrait stones' after one short lesson. Rumple hadn't expected anything else; she was a fast study at everything from languages to cookery, although dusting still eluded her.

It had taken them a while to negotiate the exact terms for using the stones. Rumple had tried to say all he needed to send was an image of his glaring eye, or a pointed finger, but Belle had huffed and said she would respond in kind and then he would never know what she was up too. In the end they had decided that he would send her an image of where ever he was at the time, and she would respond with an image of what she was doing. Rumple knew he'd been talked into showing her some of the world that she craved to see, but he was rather pleased with the clever way she had gotten what she wanted from him.

He'd thought their plan meant they wouldn't use the stones until he next left the castle for a time, after all it was supposed to be him sending the first image, but Belle quickly took to sending him images of the table laid for tea. If he ignore that image then he receive one of her with a cake in hand ready to take a bite. When he'd been particularly busy one day he'd also received a picture of a plate, empty but for a few crumbs. He had hurried to the great hall at that point and found that she'd tricked him, there had still been plenty of cakes and tea left. He would have been huffy about her trick, but there were peach tarts that needed him immediate attention.

After a few days of this he had felt the need to make some sort of comment; “Most people summon me by calling my name thrice, dearie.”

Belle had shrugged; “You come quicker when there is something sweet on offer.”

He'd choked on his tea at her unintended word-play. A treacherous little voice wondered if it was unintended? After all she had admitted to reading novels of a, hem, colourful nature. She didn't look to be teasing him. There was no tell-tale twitch to her lips as she thumped him on the back and fussed about his sudden bout of coughing. She was just talking about cakes, and he'd read something other into her words. Well, nothing wrong with a beast having a gutter-mind, on occasion. It wasn't as if he was going to act on his thoughts, beast he was, but not that kind of low-life animal. Belle gave him a sweet smile as she poured him another cup of tea. No, he wouldn't act on any of his salacious thoughts with Belle, but there was nothing to stop him occasionally taking himself in hand in the privacy of his own bed chamber.

-o0o-

Rumple was going to either have to find a spell that would alter the meaning of the word 'occasionally' across the realm, or he was going to have to admit that he had become obsessed with the images Belle sent him. He could be his normal self around her in the castle, but the moment he went away for a deal he found himself taking time to choose the best view to send to Belle and then twitching, waiting impatiently for the stone to chirp.

At first, as he had predicted, he had received images of the books she was reading. Then she started sending him images of herself and what she was doing at the time.

And damn it all, those images were testing his self-control.

The first one of her, feather duster in hand stretching to swipe at the glass fronted cabinets in the great hall had an element of seduction to it. The curve of her hip, the stretch of her arm, and a little flash of more stocking-clad leg than he normally saw from her were all rather alluring. He was sure she had no idea how tempting that image was, but he did reconsider his theory that she was trying to seduce him into freeing her. No, no, that was ridiculous. The only women who were attracted to him were crazy for power, Belle didn't give a damn about power, so she wasn't attempting to seduce him.

He looked at that image for quite a while, until he'd committed every fine detail to memory. And that should have been the first warning sign that he had a problem.

The second image of herself she sent him featured the library. She was reclined on the chaise, a book open on her stomach, one arm tucked behind her head as she gazed at the window. Rumple could name a dozen artists in the realm that would sell their souls to paint her portrait in this pose. Even with the help of his magic, not one of them would capture the soft blush on her cheeks, or the secret dreamy smile on her lips.

He'd stared at the stone and it's tantalisingly detailed image until he'd squirmed and palmed his cock through his leathers. With a growl he'd removed his hand, and shoved the stone into his waistcoat pocket. He had work to do! A lord, or count maybe, who wanted, erm something-or-other. Later that night in the dark of an inn room, he'd taken himself in hand and bit through his lip to stop himself from moaning Belle's name.

That should have gotten his lingering lust out of his system. A spot of self-pleasure in the dark might have done the trick if Belle hadn't kept sending him suggestive and alluring images. (The one of her in the garden, bathed in sunlight, her bare feet curling in the grass.) He should have stopped sending her images then she wouldn't have replied. (The one of her smirking over the rim of her tea cup.) He should have taken the damn stone away from her. (The one of her legs, bare from mid-thigh, as she splashed her feet in the lake.) He should have set up another way to keep a check on her when he was away. (The one when he'd clearly woken her up in the early hours, sleepy eyed, her hair fuzzed and mussed on her pillow.) He should have done any number of things to solve this problem, but instead he found himself with his hand on his cock far too often for a dark creature of his considerable years.

He kept his depravity out of the castle. Thrusting into his fist, tugging at his cock, and gasping until spots appeared before his eyes as he stained the bed covers were things only to be done in the dark of a heavily be-spelled tavern room many miles from home.

Belle had no idea what her images did to him. When he returned home all she wanted to talked about was the image of whatever far flung corner of the realm he had sent her. His reaction was his problem and he would deal with it alone, and well away from Belle. No one else ever saw the images of Belle and he would never tell a soul about them. It was a secret, one of many that he kept and would until he died, and even then the devils in hell would have to be bloody creative to get it out of him.

He should stop. Just go out on a deal and forget to send Belle an image. Easy. Then she wouldn't send one back and his addiction would wither away. He should stop, and for the first hours he was away he did stop. He gave no thought to the scenery, not a second glance at the interesting architecture, and didn't spare his little maid a seconds consideration.

He strolled into the opulent room the Agrabah inn had insisted he take that night, and decided to strip of by hand rather than by magic. His dragon-hide coat was shrugged off and slung over a chair. The scarf around his neck was untied and left hanging around his throat as he sat down on the silk covered bed and began to unlace his boots. He felt the weight of the stone in his waistcoat pocket as he slowly tugged the laces free. After a long long while he was able to pull his feet out of his boots. He peeled off his socks and wriggled his toes with a frown. There was sand between his toes, he needed to improve that repelling spell again. His left hand  went to his waistcoat buttons as his right dipped into his pocket and wrapped around the stone. Once his waistcoat was draped over his coat he stretched out on the bed and absently rolled the stone between his fingers.

He looked at the smooth black surface and grinned. One more, and this would be the one that broke Belle of the habit. A trickle of purple smoke took the stone into the air above him. Rumple rolled his shoulders and tucked his hands behind his head. He wriggled his hips and let his legs loll apart in comfort. The leather might not be straining, but it did frame his estate rather well.

“Cheese.”

Rumple let the stone hang in the air above him as he closed his eyes.

“Chirp-chirp.”

The stone dropped onto his chest and his fingers fumbled to grab it. Belle had sent him a reply? After that image? No. No, of course not. Thing must be malfunctioning. He turned the stone over in his hand and his eyes bulged out of his head.

Belle. Naked. In his bed.

The shock-wave caused by the rapid departure of the Dark One from Agrabah started a sandstorm that lasted for three days and uncovered the Cave of Wonders.

-o0o-

Even with the fire burning in the hearth, and all the candles she had lit Belle had goosebumps. This was a terrible idea. What had she been thinking? Sending an image like that to Rumple! She was mad! Had to be. But he had sent that delicious image of him laying on a bed. Had he finally taken the hints she'd been sending him? He was going to send her back to the dungeon for this.

A howling swirl of purple smoke appeared at the foot of the bed causing the candles to wildly flicker. Belle's hands grabbed the soft throw around her body as she lurched to sit upright. Whatever level of ire she was about to face she would not do it on her back.

The smoke clear to reveal Rumple as undressed as he had been in the image he had sent to her, but with a very confused face.

“You. You are in my bed.”

Belle nodded. He never appreciated her stating the obvious.

“But this is my bed and you are in it.”

Okay so he was actually as confused as he looked. This was new.

“Yes Rumple. I am in your bed. And I am naked.”

She let the throw slip from her shoulders. The sound Rumple made was something between a whimper and a growl. A hot trickle of arousal ran down Belle's spine.

Rumple's whole body twitched towards the bed, but he sharply pulled himself back; “What do you want Belle?”

“I want you Rumple.”

When he still hesitated Belle elaborated; “I want you Rumple, as a woman wants a man, for pleasure, and for intimacy.”

He lurched forward, his knees landed by her feet and his hands by her hips. His face was scant inches from hers. She saw him swallow and then felt his warm breath across her skin as he whispered; “Do you mean that? Really mean all of that to happen between the two of us? For us to share that act?”

Slowly she raised her hands to his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut as she stroked her fingers over his mottled skin.

“Rumple? Do you want me as a man wants a woman?”

“Yes.”

Her thumbs brushed over his lips and she said; “Yes. I mean every word. I want you Rumple.”

He whimpered and leaned in slowly toward her. Belle met him half-way and their lips met in a gentle kiss. For a long moment neither of them moved. Finally Belle wound her hands into Rumple's hair. Belle squeaked against his lips as he surged forward and pushed her back against the pillows. He was between her legs, but holding himself away from her, so as not to crush her. Their kisses deepen, passion and need turning the simple press of lips into licks and nibbles.

“Belle. Belle.”

Rumple eased back despite her clinging fingers. She gave him a pout and let her hands move from his hair to the open neck of his shirt. His eyes fluttered briefly closed as her nails toyed with his bare skin.

“I, erm, I was going to ask are you sure about...”

She didn't let him finish his question. She hooked a leg around his hip and tugged him towards her. The smooth leather of his britches was warm under her skin, but nothing compared to the sensation of Rumple's hips grinding against hers. He thrust against her twice before he fought back some control and eased a little distance between their lower halves.

“Okay, so you do want this. Good. Wow. Erm...”

He was going to ask her how she wanted to do this. For all she loved words they didn't come easily to her in this moment. She gripped the collar of his shirt and gave a tiny tug, just enough to make her intention clear. Rumple's eye went wide and he nodded. Belle bit her lip and really pulled. With a sharp rip the thin fabric tore, making both of them laugh softly. Belle's ran her hands across the glittering plans of his scaled chest as Rumple struggled to free his arms from the wreck of his shirt. The rags were tossed aside as Belle's fingers caught the laces of his britches.

Rumple gave her a wonky smile; “They go on with magic, best they come off the same way?”

A nod from Belle and the trousers were banished with a thought. Rumple howled as Belle reached around and grabbed his arse with both hands. A smug smile appeared on her lips as she squeezed the firm muscles. A wicked twinkle appeared in his eyes and he flipped them over. Belle surprised gasp turned into a moan of wanton pleasure as her sex slipped across Rumple's cock.

“Oh, ooohh.”

They settled with Rumple leaning against the headboard and Belle in his lap. In a soft blur of stroking hands, questing fingers and warm kisses they moved together. From amber to blue permission was requested and granted. Breath that had been held slowly escaped as satisfied sighs as two became one. Waves of pleasure swelled again and again until finally they crested together.

Somehow they had ended up snuggled side by side. Belle's hand lazily stroking Rumple's side as he twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers. Everything had changed, and come the morning they would talk about the exact nature of that change, but for now peace and contentment ruled in the Dark Castle.

[ashesurnsjewellery]

It is safe to say that you are contemplating whether cremation jewellery or charms for bracelets pandora for ashes could help keep a friend or family member’s memory alive? In the event that you’ve as of late lost somebody unique, it very well may be troublesome dealing with your misfortune – and the subject of how to manage their ashes probably won’t be something you’ll need to consider for months or even years. 

However, for the individuals who feel prepared, commemoration gems can be a brilliant method to feel near a friend or family member once more, and I discover it carries my customers such a great amount of comfort to have the option to have a lovely bit of jewellery or Belgravia Pendant they can take with them any place they go. 

Considering that, here are 8 things you have to think about incineration glass jewellery: 

1. You just need a teaspoonful of ashes 

It tends to be fairly a shock to huge numbers of my customers that you in reality just need a little measure of your cherished one’s ashes to make some sensational, striking jewellery. Indeed, the less utilized, the better, as permits the light to radiate through and show the genuine excellence of the glass and perplexing examples inside. 

Any unused ashes are generally sent back (albeit consistently checked with your picked incineration glass organization that this will be the situation), alongside the completed item. 

Utilizing not exactly a teaspoonful of ashes, you can have: 

A wonderful glass ring 

An Ashes Chamber Pendants 

A dazzling arrangement of cufflinks

An awesome craftsmanship form 

A beautiful dedication canvas 

Adaptable incineration fascinate

Likewise, the estimating spoon you use may even be given in your request pack (contingent upon the organization you go for), so you never send more than you need. 

2. It can take up to 6 – two months to make 

In case you’re just barely finding out about incineration glass for the first occasion when, you could conceivably have just discovered that incineration jewellery can take a few organizations a normal of around 6 – two months to make. This is an assessment that is maybe founded on the quantity of requests they need to measure, as each piece is exclusively made. 

Notwithstanding, regardless of this being common for the market, some littler organizations might have the option to get your unique glass jewellery back to you all the more rapidly, so it’s consistently worth inquiring. 

I would say, I realize that accepting a request back ASAP is very significant for the majority of my customers, particularly as it’s something so close to home that can leave individuals feeling restless about being left behind them for any time span. Considering this, I expect to handle every one of my clients’ requests inside about fourteen days. 

I likewise keep my customers on top of it and let them comprehend what’s going on at each phase of the cycle. 

3. It requires experienced hands 

Since the cycle associated with making incineration glass jewellery is so fragile, it implies that the individual creating it must be knowledgeable about glassmaking. This is on the grounds that various warms can be utilized to accomplish various outcomes, and if a blunder is made, you may need to begin again and those ashes will be squandered. 

The formation of remembrance gems requires a ton of ability and accuracy, and on the grounds that each piece is exclusively made, you need to deliberately create every one with the perfect measure of warmth and afterward chill it off in a controlled domain until you get the ideal impact. 

4. You can consolidate various ashes into one bit of jewellery 

Maybe you need to join the ashes of at least two diverse relatives or friends and family into only one bit of jewellery – it’s entirely simple to do, and implies you would have the option to have, say, both of your folks or grandparents along with you in one exceptional pendant or incineration glass ring. 

Many individuals pick this choice with regards to recollecting pets, as well. 

5. It very well may be made in the shade based on your personal preference 

Another incredible reward of incineration glass gems is that you can regularly arrange it in your preferred hues. Most sites will give you a pre-chosen selection of hues, in any case, a few organizations will have the option to give you a custom shade based on your personal preference. 

In some cases, this may mean holding up somewhat more while they request the glass in, and it likewise takes insight to get the shading match perfectly, as it relies upon the measure of warmth that goes into making your cremation ash jewellery uk. 

6. It ought to consistently be sent through followed mail or messenger 

I can’t pressure how significant this is, as though something so close to home were to disappear in the post, I would never forgive myself. Most organizations will guarantee that your extraordinary jewellery is sent safely through following mail or dispatch to guarantee that there’s zero chance of that occurrence. 

In any case, the delivery strategy will change from organization to organization, so it’s consistently worth enquiring before putting in a request. 

7. You frequently need to pay forthright 

Unfortunately, numerous organizations will request installment forthright, as they typically anticipate that you should look at through a standard internet shopping bin. Notwithstanding, some littler organizations (myself included) will permit you to pay after your glass has been delivered and before it is dispatched out to you. 

I generally prefer to send every one of my client’s photographs of their completed jewellery to check they are 100% content with the shading and by and large look before mentioning installment. 

8. Each piece is absolutely one of a kind, without fail 

One of the most magnificent realities about incineration glass jewellery is that nobody”s piece is ever precisely the equivalent. This is on the grounds that the ashes respond to the liquid glass and make little air pockets and markings, bringing about a special result.

[williamexchange]

9 Mobile Marketing Trends to Watch in 2019

The 2018 fiscal year is a wrap and 2019 is has come faster than anyone expected. With mobile marketing trends are changing almost as fast as the seasons, it can be hard to plan your strategy for the coming months.

In the digital age, it’s no longer about keeping up with the best marketing strategies. It’s all about staying ahead of the game.

No worries – We’ve identified nine big mobile marketing trends that you’re sure to see in 2019. Jump on board now so your marketing efforts will lead the pack.

1. Chatbots

You’ve probably engaged with a chatbot more than once. In fact, many of you have used a chatbot more than once today. In case you’re out of the loop a little on this, a chatbot is basically a computer program that simulates conversation with a human user. This can be in written form, like chatting on a website, or verbal interaction, like Apple’s Siri and Amazon’s Alexa.

Chatbot technology is definitely not new, but it’s becoming smarter and better every day. What does this mean for mobile marketing?

We’ll see more and more … and more chatbots in 2019. Many organizations are already using Facebook Messenger as a chatbot interface. According to Facebook, there are over 300,000 bots on Messenger handling more than eight billion monthly messages between users and businesses. Believe it or not, those numbers are going to grow – a lot.

So why are chatbots a big deal? A well-programmed bot can answer questions, make reservations, place orders, cancel service, and gather demographic information. And the list of bot functions keeps growing. Chatbots are truly a gateway to your customer. You’re not only engaging with the customer, but you’re also learning more about them.

Chatbots are also handy for conducting quick customer surveys They’re easy to administer in this way and can be free from common hang-ups, like response bias. And it’s all happening automatically.

In 2019, we’ll see bots going head-to-head with mobile apps when it comes to reaching customers. This brings us to our next trend, apps.

2. Fewer Apps

Not so long ago, everyone was building a mobile app for their business. From the local dry-cleaning chain to the subscription cat food service, it seemed like every business had an app And we were downloading them like crazy.

But how often are those apps actually being used? Answer: Not that often. In 2018, Americans use about nine different apps per day. That may seem like a lot but consider the most commonly used apps are those that come native on your mobile device (think email, messaging, and calendar.) In the end, we’re only using a handful of mobile apps on a regular basis, even if we have a ton of them downloaded on our device.

Going forward, we can expect to see fewer mobile apps where apps don’t really make sense. Instead of building an app just for the sake of having one associated with their brand, companies are now more likely to examine the return on investment. If your customer isn’t going to use your app regularly, is it really worth the cost and effort?

Instead, organizations will move toward a more efficient way of interacting with their customer, like chatbots (see Number 1, above) and other customer profiling tools.

3. Content

Traditional mobile advertising is really taking a hit. 70% of people say they don’t like mobile ads (though I’m a little surprised it’s not closer to 100%.) To combat ad blocking programs and general distaste for mobile ads, businesses have turned more to content marketing.

Content marketing is definitely not a new thing, but it’s being used more and more frequently. And while the number of people who read on their mobile devices keeps growing, the average Joe has grown tired of looking for information only to find poorly written, generic pieces.

Content marketing is on the rise and with that, we’ll see more “real” content. Forget about a thinly veiled sales pitch (Hint: Your customers hate that.) Your customer wants a genuine interaction. Get rid of the robotic, outsourced articles you’re using to fill up your blog.

Instead, use content that actually offers value to your customer. Your content should be conversational easy to read, and transparent, even if it is promotional. And don’t forget to optimize it for a mobile reading experience. Remember, consumers are becoming savvier, more selective, and less patient. They won’t waste time reading a crappy article with sales links every other sentence.

4. User-generated Marketing and Social media marketing

While we’re on the subject of transparency, consider that 86% of consumers said authenticity is an important factor when deciding what brands to support. If your brand or your marketing tactics are shady or seem disconnected, your potential customers are going to pick up on it. And they’ll probably take their business elsewhere.

User-generated marketing –- or rather, social media marketing gets through real customers – is a real thing. And it works. Let me quickly clarify, I’m not talking about influencer marketing. With influencer marketing, brands are touted by celebrities or other people with large social media followings. This was all the rage for a while, sure, but consumers quickly realized they don’t entirely trust a celebrity who is being paid to pose in a bikini holding a magical tea bag.

Instead, your customers want to see genuine people engaging in real life. Here’s the proof: 60 percent of people said social media content from friends and family impact their purchasing decisions, while only 23 percent said celebrity influencer content was impactful.

In addition, 85% of consumers trust online reviews as much as a personal recommendation. This means user generated content that can easily be found online about your business can make or break consumers’ perception of you.Instead of marketing with stock images and content written by someone who has never used their product, brands are beginning to capitalize on the real customer experience.

5. Voice Search

Earlier this year, a study found there were an estimated 1 billion voice searches done per month. Admittedly, that figure includes both mobile and in-home devices, but the statistic is too shocking to discount.There are plenty more stats surrounding voice-enabled searching that will probably surprise you, but I won’t bore you with them here. Suffice it to say, voice search is massive.

So why does it matter how people are searching for things online? Why is voice search on our list of mobile trends for 2019? Answer: Because it’s not the same as typing in a search engine. Obviously, typing and speaking are different, but it’s a little deeper than that. First, a search done by voice tends to be longer than one typed out. Here’s an example.

Second, voice searching is inherently location-focused. The goal of a voice-enabled device is to find the best one answer to the query. To do this, the user’s location needs to be considered. While standard search engines also consider location when returning search results, it’s not as prioritized.

You’re probably still wondering why all this matter. Well, it matters because of your content, your website, your entire brand needs to be optimized for voice search.

As we move into 2019, brands will start rethinking SEO with voice searches in mind. And remember the chatbots we touched on earlier? Those guys work best when the content they’re indexing is optimized for voice searching. (Think conversational instead of technical.)

6. Micro-moments

The phrase “micro-moments” was coined by Google back in 2015. Micro-moments are those brief moments throughout a customer’s day in which they reach for their mobile device to learn something, do something, or buy something.

Micro-moment marketing is making the best of that fleeting few minutes when the customer’s attention is focused on that one thing – buying a new swimsuit, checking out hotel prices in Southeast Asia, or figuring out the language spoken in Sri Lanka.

In 2019, micro-moment marketing tying in with some of the other concepts we’ve talked about, like chatbots and voice searches. (In fact, it’s happening already.)

How can you take advantage of micro-moments? Lots of ways, really. Many we’ve already talked about, like optimizing your content for mobile readability and voice searches. Also, take a look at your customer journey. If you’re lucky enough to get a customer on the phone based on their micro-moment interaction, you’d better have the best tools in place to help them.

Capitalizing on micro-moments is all about making the best information available as quickly as possible to satisfy the customer’s need.

7. Messaging Apps

By 2019, more than a quarter of the world will be using mobile messaging applications. That number alone should give you a clear indication that mobile messaging is a huge, largely untapped goldmine of marketing opportunities.

More companies are making themselves available via messaging apps like Facebook Messenger, iMessage, and others. And consumers are loving it.

The concept is pretty simple. At first, messaging apps were used primarily for the customer to contact businesses for support. This alleviated the need for making a phone call, sending an email, or visiting a website for a live chat. The customer simply popped into their messenger and fired off a question or request.

This type of interaction worked so well, organizations realized they should reverse the flow of communication. Instead of waiting on a request or complaint from the customer, businesses now reach out proactively with product news, offers, or even simple holiday greetings All in the name of keeping their brand at the top of the customer’s mental list.

This trend won’t come without challenges, though. In fact, it’s one of the only on our list that will likely require capital investment from the business. Organizations implementing mobile messaging as part of a marketing plan will need to consider their equipment and software needs as well as the capabilities of their staff to manage real-time messenger conversations, (especially when interactions might turn into a phone call.)

8. Geofencing

The concept of geofencing has been around for a while but’s it’s a relatively new notion in the mobile marketing world.

In order to understand how geofencing works, we have to first assume most people have smartphones. It’s not a hard assumption, considering an estimated 237.6 million Americans have one. Now imagine all these smartphone users going about their normal daily lives.

On the other side of things is a business, let’s call them “Ice Cream Shop.” The business designates its area (or “fence,” if you will) based on longitude and latitude. For the purposes of this explanation, let’s say their geofence is a 2-block radius of their shop.

Now the two come together. John Doe ventures within Ice Cream Shop’s geofence – we know this because of his GPS-enabled smartphone. What happens next? You guessed it – John Doe gets a push notification on his phone offering two cones for the price of one at Ice Cream Shop.

Of course, there’s a downside to this, too. No one wants to get bombarded with notifications about dog grooming, Korean barbeque, landscaping services, and a hundred other things every time they walk out the door. Organizations must be responsible with why and how they contact customers, especially as geofencing becomes more common.

9. Mobile Optimized Websites

I know, I know, this one’s obvious. But it’s important enough to make our list. Mobile optimization of websites is not just a 2019 trend, it’s an ongoing trend. This is especially true as we see the number of homegrown apps trend downward.

As we all know, the majority of web traffic is from a mobile device. But let’s pair that with a couple statistics:

40% of users will go to the competitor after a bad mobile experience.

84% of users have experienced difficulty completing a mobile transaction.

For 2019, this means rethinking what “mobile-friendly” really means. In the past, it meant simply stripping down content and removing Flash player. But it’s not that simple anymore.

Consumers are looking to have an equal (or better) experience on a mobile site compared to that of a non-mobile device. With this in mind, we’ll see organizations move to a “mobile-first” mindset when it comes to their website. The site will load incredibly fast, the need for scrolling will be minimized, and menus will become more intuitive. Enhancing the user experience is what it’s all about.

[raywritesthings]

Hi, thanks for answering! I’ve been lurking and thinking about joining the Ten/Donna fandom for a while now but I agree it can seem closed off to newer people. Not that anyone is mean/rude or anything, it just seems hard to know where or how to get in. Maybe because it is so small. What sites would you recommend a newbie join? Or what other steps to take? Also, how do people respond to new writers who are not so good? Most people in the D/D fandom seem so skilled (like you!) and I’m NOT! *blush*

Hey, I totally get that! I think it took me about four years after getting into the show to start writing Ten/Donna stuff. Part of me just wondered if anyone would still be around to care, that I’d probably missed the boat. And truthfully, I still feel like I’m a bit on the outside of it all. I have a few lovely mutuals, of course, and people who regularly send me prompts or comment on my fics, but I think it’s not an easy thing to feel like you’re “in”, if that makes sense. Not because of anyone else’s actions, it’s just more my own doubts than anything.

I know there’s a fair few people here on tumblr and who post on ao3. I honestly don’t know how many people post on ffn anymore, though that’s less of a community thing and more of a platform to get your writing out there. I believe there’s people over on LJ (livejournal) but I’ve never had one of those, so I wouldn’t be much help there. All I have at the moment is this tumblr here and an ao3 account where I cross-post my fics.

I think the thing that got me noticed the most was that I started posting fairly consistently. If you’re out there providing regular content, it gets you more noticed. I’ll admit that I can be a bit spotty about commenting on fics (mostly cause I’m trying to keep up with my own writing and forget to check the page for things to read!) but every so often I try to have a bit of a reading session and catch up/comment on what people have been sharing. My best advice in a fandom as small as this is don’t worry about the number of people responding. Sometimes it might be a little or it might be a lot, but what’s true about the Ten/Donna fandom is that you are going to find some people who absolutely love your work and they will show up to tell you so Every. Single. Time. And that’s honestly one of the best things in the world, knowing there’s someone out there so dedicated to the things that you share with them.

I hope that’s the kind of advice you’re looking for. Honestly, don’t feel like you have to put down your own writing. The people in this fandom are just happy to read about these two characters, no matter what they’re doing. It can be something serious and plotty, or it can be a fluffy drabble where they make breakfast together and nothing else happens. Really. If the issue is more that you’d like a beta or just someone to talk to about ideas, my inbox and messenger is always open. The most important thing is that you enjoy writing it!