#spy x family musical curtain call

[personinthepalace]

Loid making sure that Anya doesn't fall off the stage - Spy x Family Musical (2023)

[ariddletobesolved]

Spy x Family Musical | 2nd Day Curtain Call (Matinee Show)

Bonus, The Forgers after the extra bows:

2nd Day Curtain Call (Evening Show)

[vostara]

Hypnophobia — 02

zwei — dear lucifer, don’t pull your hand back now

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “I happen to be in desperate need of money.”

word count: 2.7k+

 title inspiration: dear lucifer - spiritual front

Only one pair of eyes (mine) proofread this due to some personal issues delaying my writing schedule. Please forgive any grammatical errors that I have sadly missed.

This work is cross-posted on AO3.

01 | 02 | 03 | ... series masterlist

The standard room at the Chicago location of the Continental is simple, but elegant. When a guest walks into their temporary home, they can expect a large plush bed covered in dark gray and white sheets. Walls are painted a soft ivory. Gray curtains are draped in front of wide windows, allowing guests the ability to block out the light pollution bleeding in from the streets and the other buildings. When they enter the bathroom, they are greeted with spotless white marble, dressed with glistening gold trimmings. And on the counter they will find at least three white towels, folded to a crisp perfection. A white clawfoot tub, with an attached shower head, rests against the wall farthest from the door.

In room 1431, this sleek elegance is tainted by various cosmetics scattered on the floor. Many of the items are used to hide the permanent darkness that has settled in the space beneath the eyes, as well as the reoccurring bruises that disrupt the skin. Some items are used to reintroduce life on dull cheeks. And a handful of products are designed to provide a perfect seductive pout.

Beatrix sits on the bathroom floor, in the center of her organized chaos. Her focused gaze is settled on the large gold ring adorning her right hand, the same one she had taken from Luca’s corpse. The ring is almost immaculate. Its perfection ruined by a small scuff right at the edge. Luca had taken great care in maintaining the item’s integrity.

After one last lingering glance, Beatrix gets up from the floor. She looks at her reflection in the mirror and frowns. In an attempt to bring some volume back to her hair, she runs her fingers against her scalp and gently ruffles her hair at the roots. She then smoothes down the fabric of her fitted black dress, buffing away the wrinkles that had formed. Finally, she reaches for a pair of rectangular emerald earrings and secures them in place.

Beatrix leaves the bathroom and approaches the bed, where more items had carelessly been thrown. She pulls on a long navy coat and closes it shut with a tie around the waist. She slips the Camorra ring off of her finger and reaches for a slim black clutch. The woman pops it open, double checking that her purse contains a spare berry lipstick and a pocket knife, and then drops the ring inside.

~ ~ ~

Fifteen minutes later, Beatrix enters the Red Line train to Howard. She heads to the back of the car and takes a seat. The crowd is on the sparse end, for a typical Friday night. Many of the usual party-goers have opted to skip the bars and rely on the booze they’ve hoarded in their apartments.

“This is Harrison.”

The doors ding as they slide open. Several passengers enter the train, including a man with tanned skin and neatly trimmed facial hair. He is sporting an all-black ensemble of tapered slacks, a large coat, and a collared shirt that doesn’t quite cover up the rose tattoo on the left side of his neck. A large oval cut sapphire, set in the center of a gold ring, is on display on the middle finger of his right hand. Without sparing a glance at the other passengers, the man turns and heads toward the back of the train.

The doors ding once again and slide shut.

“Jackson is next. Doors open on the left at Jackson.”

The man slides into the seat next to Beatrix.

“Transfer to Blue, Purple, Orange, Brown, and Pink Line trains at Jackson.”

A few moments of silence pass, while the man quickly examines the other passengers. There are small clusters of people preoccupied with loud conversations. Those riding the train alone have earbuds glued in to block out the constant buzz of the CTA.

The man breaks the silence. “Any trouble with that boyfriend of yours?”

“Things didn’t quite work out.” Beatrix responds. “I figured it was time to move on.”

“You keep any memorabilia?”

Beatrix opens her clutch and pulls out the gold ring. “Just a small trinket.” She holds the item out to him.

He turns his head towards the object and takes it out of her hands. The man brings the ring close to his face and examines it. He hums softly and then places the ring in the pocket of his coat. “I’m sure he didn’t need it,” he remarks.

Silence follows.

“The client is growing impatient.”

Beatrix turns her body to fully face the man. “Eli, this isn’t some entry-level contract. It takes time to get through all of the red tape.”

Eli smirks and raises an eyebrow. “You wasted much of that time sleeping with the wrong person.”

The woman swallows. “I misjudged his commitment.”

The man hums and slightly nods his head. “I told you to forget about the little guys, didn’t I?” He frowns. “I told you to head straight for the man in charge.”

“I was trying to establish a safety net.”

Eli chuckles, “When has a safety net ever been useful? When have you ever gotten through anything completely unscathed?”

Beatrix doesn’t reply.

“Can you handle this assignment?” He turns toward Beatrix and stretches his right arm to rest it behind her on the seat.

Silence.

Eli continues, “This isn’t your usual… task.”

“Why bother handing it to me, if you think I won’t cut it?”

The man smiles. He lifts his left hand and tucks a strand of hair behind the woman’s ear. “I didn’t think you would take it.”

“This is Jackson.”

The train doors slide open.

“Transfer to Blue, Purple, Orange, Brown, and Pink Line trains at Jackson.”

A group of drunk teenagers stumble onto the train. A tall blond male cackles a laugh, before beginning a tale for the entire train to hear. The doors slide shut behind him.

“This is a Red Line train to Howard. Monroe is next. Doors open on the left at Monroe.”

“You’ve just been so,” Eli pauses, “boring, since Paris.”

Beatrix breaks eye contact and shifts her attention to the salt stains on the floor.

Her companion leans in and whispers in her ear. “Where did my vicious Killer Bee go?” He teases.

Her response is instant, a warning. “Don’t call me that.”

Eli laughs and pulls away. “Touchy, touchy. Why does dear Izzy get all the fun? Even when I’ve known you far, far longer than any of your other so-called friends.”

Beatrix shifts her gaze back to Eli.

“I think it’s a perfect name for a girl like you. A cute little play on words, yeah?” He places a finger underneath her chin and tilts her head up slightly. His thumb rubs across her bottom lip, smudging the lipstick. “Wear sapphires next time.” He comments. “I like it when you’ve got some blue on.”

“This is Monroe. Thank you for riding the CTA Red Line.”

Eli releases the woman and stands up. “I’ll be in touch.”

He walks off the train.

Beatrix releases a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“Lake is next. Doors open on the left at Lake.”

~ ~ ~

Assuming that one has befriended the right people, finding Santino D’Antonio is far from a challenge. It isn’t often that the son of the man leading the Camorra goes unnoticed. Even those outside of his niche in society tend to stop and spare a glance towards him. It’s almost more difficult to ignore him: a finely-tailored gentleman, whom is flanked with a herd of well-dressed bodyguards.

The problem has never been whether Beatrix could find Santino. She knew exactly where he was, just moments after she first accepted the contract.

No, the problem was gaining a private audience with the man. The problem was initiating a conversation that doesn’t rouse a permanent suspicion throughout the duration of their relationship.

From her seat at the bar, Beatrix had a clear view of the Italian man, dressed in his perfectly tailored three-piece navy suit. His black curls are tamed on top of his head. And a gold Camorra ring was being illuminated by the flashing lights. With one arm propped on top of the dark leather booth, he takes a sip of red wine. Though Santino has a deathly bored expression on his face, he still exudes an air of arrogance to him.

On the other side of the booth is Angelo Ricci, an up-and-coming member of the Romano crime family. He frowns and slams his fist on the table. The man shouts something, but the blaring music drowns out the noise.

Beatrix sighs and takes a sip of her Shiraz.

By this point, the men had been in a heated discussion for over an hour. It appeared that no one was making progress in this negotiation, nor would they arrive at an agreeable compromise within the next hour.

Once again, Beatrix takes a sweeping glance at the small army of bodyguards that are loitering the areas surrounding the booth. Her eyes settle on the only woman in the bunch. The woman’s dark brown hair is cropped short and parted on the side. She is dressed in a tailored black suit, identical to her colleagues. Her shirt is buttoned all the way to the top and finished off with a black tie. Her hands are crossed in front of her, allowing Beatrix a glimpse at the tattoos marking her skin.

A few moments pass, before the female guard’s gaze shifts away from Santino and focuses on the spying assassin.

Beatrix straightens her posture and allows a small shy smile to appear on her face. She lifts her glass, as if to make a toast, and then downs her remaining wine.

The woman reveals a small, but flirty, smile. Barely a moment later, she shifts her attention back to her boss.

As Beatrix sets her empty glass on the bar, she watches Angelo finish off his Bourbon before getting up. He once again shouts something at Santino, before storming away. His guards briskly take off after him.

Grabbing her clutch, Beatrix stands up and makes her way towards the booth.

Just as she approaches, a large body blocks her path. One of Santino’s bodyguards. “Where you heading, miss?” He questions.

Beatrix paints her face with a warm smile. “I’d like to speak to your boss, Signor D’Antonio.” Her voice is laced with a false sweetness, highlighting the underlying threat.

The guard glances behind him.

Santino’s gaze shifts from his wine glass and onto Beatrix. After his eyes do a quick scan of her body, he directs his attention to the woman Beatrix had just interacted with. “Ares,” he calls.

The woman’s eyes dart to the man.

He motions for her to approach.

Within the blink of an eye, she’s by his side, ready for his instructions.

Santino makes eye contact with Ares and says something to her. Ignoring Beatrix, he turns back to his glass of wine and takes another sip.

Ares nods and approaches Beatrix. Without a moment’s hesitation, she reaches for the woman’s clutch and opens it. Seeing the knife tucked away, she pulls it out and sticks it in the back pocket of her pants. She hands back the clutch, and then begins to pat down the woman. She runs her hands along Beatrix’s ribs, waist, and hips, before reaching a hand up the woman’s dress to check the inside of her thighs. Her hands glide across the woman’s soft skin, before coming in contact with a discrete thigh holster. Quickly, she pulls out the dagger that had been secured to the assassin’s left thigh. Ares shoves the dagger in her jacket pocket, as she moves to stand up again. Finally, she hooks a finger on the front of Beatrix’s dress and pulls it away from her body. After making sure no weapons are tucked into the cleavage, she gives Beatrix a wink and then lets go of the dress.

Beatrix approaches the booth and slips into the spot that had been previously occupied by Angelo. After setting her clutch to the side, she places her elbows on the table and leans her chin on top of her clasped hands. “I finally get to meet the Santino D’Antonio.”

“And who am I meeting?” The man responds, his speech thick with an Italian accent.

Beatrix smiles. “At the moment, no one of significant importance.”

Santino makes an annoyed tutting sound. “Are you here to play games? Miss Nobody.”

The woman tilts her head and frowns. “You can call me Beatrix.”

“What does Beatrix want with me?”

“An opportunity.”

Santino blinks.

“Mr. D’Antonio, what are you doing here?”

The man shrugs his shoulders. “Drinking a glass of wine.”

“Typically, you enjoy your wine in places much nicer than this shitty bar full of dancing drunks.” Beatrix shakes her head. Her lips are pulled upwards, forming the smallest of amused smiles. “You’re not here for the wine.”

The Italian man swirls the wine in his glass. “Have we met before?”

“Santino—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Signor D’Antonio.”

Beatrix pauses. “Signor D’Antonio, I know the Camorra don’t visit Chicago, as much as they used to. You undoubtedly have power here, but not enough to warrant the frequency of your visits. I know that you’ve been having meetings with Angelo for several months now. And I know that those meetings don’t appear to being going well for either of you.” The woman leans back in her seat. “I think that you and I could share a mutual interest. I have a pretty good feeling that an alliance with the Romanos is not your goal, is it?”

Santino takes a sip of wine.

“No,” Beatrix says, “I imagine you feel that the Romanos are mere peasants, compared to you. All they have is a fallen empire. A pile of bricks they’re hoping to rebuild into something,” she turns her head to glance at the crowded dance floor, “not quite as pathetic. And now they’re trying to kiss your feet and beg you for help, but they’re too proud to do so without forcing you to compromise.”

The man doesn’t respond.

“As much as you’d love to, you can’t get rid of Angelo yourself. Nor can you be openly involved in sending somebody, outside of your circle, to do it for you. Because even though you believe the Romanos to be worthless, their name still holds value, respect, and loyalty from enough of the right families. Families that could retaliate, should you make the wrong move.”

Beatrix chuckles.

“Now,” she continues, “I’m certain you would be able to sway these families back onto your side. It would be easy, right? You just need to be your charming, charismatic self. Throw a few parties. Get them drunk off fine wines and distract them with pretty women who are willing to do anything for a buck. You might even promise these families a big lump of money, a favor, or even your loyalty, though that would be nothing more than false and fleeting. But really, would you want to do all of that work, over a situation that’s just a mere headache?”

Santino places his glass on the table and leans towards the woman. “Are you here to propose a solution?”

Beatrix smiles and leans back onto the table, closer to him. “I know that you’ve got plenty of money to burn. And I happen to be,” a pause, “in desperate need of money.”

“What do you gain from this deal?” The man narrows his eyes.

“I don’t care about your petty mafia games, Santino. And I also don’t care much for Angelo.” The assassin blinks and straightens her posture. “I care about financial opportunity, and I want to snatch it up before the next guy comes along.”

As Beatrix reaches into her clutch, she notices all four of the guards tense and reach for their guns. Without flinching, she pulls out a tube of lipstick and sets it gently on the table. “Consider my proposal. And should you be interested, return my lipstick to the Continental.”

She snaps her clutch shut, stands up, and turns her attention to Ares. “Hang on to my knives, won’t you? I’m sure they’ll find their way back to me somehow.” She winks.

Beatrix spares one last glance at Santino, before making her way out of the bar.

A/N: hello~ thank you so much for reading chapter two! if you liked what you read, please consider a quick reblog to share my work. i’m just a small blog with a small following, so every reblog truly helps me reach out to those who might enjoy my work.

if you would like to make sure you don’t miss any future updates, consider following this blog and/or my twitter @ VostaraFics. if you truly need to make sure you don’t miss any updates on this fic, please message me and i’ll tag you every time a new chapter is uploaded!

extra info! i am releasing writer’s notes, which are posts where i reveal (minor) canon details that didn’t make it in the final cut, alternative scenes that got scrapped in the writing process, and my general thought process while creating this series. you can check out the notes for chapter one here. notes for chapter two will be posted tomorrow.

anticipated release date for chapter three is may 23rd.

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

another esteban fic

You thought I was done. 

Night Vale spoilers ahead for the recent episodes as well as for Spy In the Desert!

~~~

The Night Vale adoption agency is the most important place Cecil has been to in a long time. It’s also one singular office, about the size of a hotel bathroom, with a card table and folding chairs under a bright poster that says, “YOU CAN ADOPT! YOU WILL ADOPT! YOU HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ADOPT!” A very tired-looking case worker in a black dress sits across the table picking at a Nature Valley granola bar with one of her hands. Her other two are typing across a laptop. 

“So,” she says, “adoption in Night Vale isn’t like other places.” 

“Of course.” Cecil smiles and glances at his husband, who, thankfully, doesn’t look too nervous. 

“Naturally, there are no cases of children that need to be adopted within the city.” She gives them a knowing look over her glasses. Carlos frowns in Cecil’s peripheral vision. 

“Why is that?”

“Children in need of adoption are adopted by the Hooded Figures,” Cecil explains in unison with the woman. 

Carlos shifts in his seat. “Um, is that a good idea? Are the kids safe there?” 

“Of course. They have regular health and safety inspections from the Sheriff’s Secret Police, the Night Vale Board of Family Services, and the GrubHub delivery guy.” The case worker raps her nails definitively on the desk. “Plus, the kids have an indoor waterpark to play in once they get home from school. They’re very happy.” 

Carlos lifts an eyebrow “But it’s proportionally impossible for a water park to fit in the dog par-”

“NOT ALL THINGS SHALL MAKE SENSE!” booms the case worker, and Carlos stops talking. “Now.” She collects herself and resumes her smile. “We’ll be adding you to a database of parents, since you’ve passed all of your inspections and filled out your paperwork. If there are children entered into the system, case workers will consider you to adopt based on the child’s needs and location. You’ll be getting a call from us soon.” 

Cecil beams. He squeezes Carlos’s hand under the folding table. Carlos’s warm, perfectly soft thumb slides over Cecil’s wedding ring, an adorable thing he’s been doing for years now. Little touches like that are why it’s so easy to love Carlos. Carlos is an incredible scientist and husband, and soon, he’s going to be an amazing father. They both will be. 

“If you have any questions?” The case worker’s first two arms tap her papers into a stack, while the third throws out her granola bar wrapper.

“How much notice will we get?” asks Carlos, who has a list of important parenting questions written down.

“At least 24 hours, in case you need to fly out of the city. Anything else?” 

“Do you think babies prefer ducklings or froggies?” asks Cecil, who has been nesting for the past few days. 

“Ducklings,” says the worker. “You two have a lovely day.” 

They pull into the parking lot of Buy Buy Baby Not Bye Bye Baby, the best baby supply store in town. Cecil turns off the engine. Neither of them unbuckle. For a while, they sit in the silence of the car, watching a shopping cart roll away across the parking lot and into some ornamental bushes. 

“We’re going to be dads,” says Carlos at length, breaking the silence. 

Cecil turns to look at him. “How are you feeling?” 

Carlos smiles, laughs, ducks his head. He’s so adorable. Even his awed laughter is perfect. “Cecil, I don’t have any scientific words for how I’m feeling - I don’t even think I can quantify it, you know? Cece.” He bites his smile, which has begun quivering. “I’m adopting a baby. With my husband. I just...”

“Never thought it would happen,” Cecil finishes. 

Carlos nods. Cecil unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to kiss the bridge of Carlos’s nose above his glasses. 

“It is real,” he promises. “It’s really, really happening! And now we have to go buy some onesies while they’re still on sale!”

“I will not let anyone get to the onesies before me.”

“They’re OUR baby’s onesies!” Cecil proclaims as both of them get out of the car and run to grab a shopping cart. 

The store is crowded today, moms and dads and parents jostling each other through the well-stocked aisles of formula and plushies. They are not like the Palmer-Scientist husbands, whose combined years of exceptional journalism and groundbreaking science have made them especially smart. Cecil and Carlos have their strategy planned. Carlos pushes the cart down aisles in the exact order that they need. Cecil stands on the front of the cart, shouting things like, “Hey, new dads coming through! If you don’t get out of our way you’re homophobic!

Back at home, they drag their purchases into a currently-empty room. This room promises to become a nursery, just as soon as one of them works up the courage to build the IKEA crib. 

“You shouldn’t be able to buy an IKEA crib at Buy Buy Baby,” Carlos comments, as he begins unpacking a bag of stuffed animals. 

“You shouldn’t be able to buy a lot of things at Buy Buy Baby! Oh, did we remember the -”

“-bloodstone mobile? Yup! I have it right here.”

“I love you.” 

They turn on music and set up the nursery. Gravity in the town conveniently shuts off for 12 minutes, so they stick glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling. They hang up curtains. When gravity comes back they set up the changing station, with a mat on the top shelf, baby powder and boxes of diapers on the bottom shelf. Cecil is obsessed with the changing station. 

“It’s so CUTE!” He gestures to one of the cloth diapers. “Look how TINY this is!”

“Babies are very small! Did you know that a baby’s head makes up more than a quarter of their entire body length?”

“No way!” Cecil thinks about adding that to the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner, but they’ve agreed together not to talk about their adoption on the radio. He places the dresser next to the changing station and places the equally tiny baby clothes into the drawers. Cecil already has matching outfits for all of the baby’s clothes. 

When Carlos gets frustrated over wrestling the IKEA crib, they take a snack break. They bring apple slices and peanut butter into the nursery, along with a bottle of wine, and sit on the floor to eat. 

“Did the case worker say whether our baby is male or female?” Cecil asks. 

Carlos pops an apple slice into Cecil’s mouth. “The concept of marketing color-coding to infants based on a gender they may not actually identify with is a capitalist tool to sell more baby clothes,” he says. “Also, it’s been scientifically proven that blue isn’t a more masculine color. And pink isn’t more feminine, it just isn’t.” 

“I know that. But we need to get our baby a Social Night Vale ID.” 

“Like a social security number?”

“More like a driver’s license. All kids under 18 have to have one, just in case they get arrested for not eating at Big Rico’s.” Cecil licks a smidge of peanut butter off of Carlos’s thumb. “Since not all kids can afford pizza, and so the law only applies to adults. It’s a get out of jail free card.”

“Huh.” Carlos frowns. “Even babies need one?”

“Yes. That’s the municipal decree.” Cecil stretches and refills his wine glass. “We can just put X on the form for now. City Council has to understand, I mean, we don’t even have the baby yet.”

“The baby,” Carlos repeats, like he’s savoring the word. “Our baby.” 

Cecil gives him a quick kiss. Carlos wraps both arms around him and pulls him close, the two of them tangling up on the floor, and they turn it into a long kiss. 

“I’m worried I won’t be a good dad, though,” Carlos murmurs as he sits up. 

Cecil dusts off his polka dot overalls. “I think being a dad is something no one starts off good at,” he says. “It’s like radio hosting. Or pouring out libations to the elder gods. It just takes a little time to get into practice. C’mon.” He tips his beret-capped head at the IKEA cabinet. “Let’s fight this thing some more.” 

A few days pass. Their nursery sits finished, though Cecil goes in every few hours to change the angle of a piece of furniture, or add another stuffed duckling to the pile of stuffed animals on a shelf. Carlos has added baby-proof handles to all of their doors, just in case the child they adopt is able to walk. “Did you know most babies take their first steps between nine and 12 months?” he says. “And then they start talking, like in little sentences, between 18 months and two years! But for some kids that kind of thing takes a little longer - I mean, I didn’t start talking until I was five. Or, some kids never learn to talk. And that’s okay!”

For the most part, they try to go about their normal lives. Guessing at what day they’ll get the call would only create anxiety. Cecil focuses on writing his shows and doing his outfits and makeup. “Babies need a lot of attention,” Carlos tells him. “We won’t have as much time for makeup or science or whatever.” 

“You’re learning a lot of scientific facts about babies,” Cecil comments as he laces up his hip-high boots. They’re boots so high that they can be worn as pants, though he’s put a skirt over them anyway, because fashion. 

Carlos nods. “Yeah. I’m... I’m worried, actually.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Worried that I’m not going to be as good of a dad as I want to be, you know? I want our baby’s life to be perfect.”

“Nothing is ever perfect,” Cecil assures him. Carlos nods, unconvinced. “I’m worried too, though. I understand. All we can do now is wait.” 

In the end, they don’t have to wait long. The Palmer-Scientists are curled up in bed, sound asleep, a week and a half after visiting the adoption agency, when Carlos’s phone starts ringing.” 

“Nhhh,” he mumbles. He tries to reach across Cecil to grab it and accidentally smacks his husband in the face. “I’m awake, I’m awake. Thanks, babe,” he adds as Cecil hands him the phone. “Hello?” Carlos sits up abruptly in bed. “Wait,” he says. “Really? Right now?”

“Put it on speaker.”

“Sorry, let me put it on speaker so Cecil can hear.” He fumbles with his phone through shaking hands. “Okay.” 

“Hello, Cecil,” says the case worker’s voice. “Can you get a flight tonight?”

Cecil can feel his heart hammering in his stomach, and in his brain, and all throughout his body, like somersaults of nerves racking his entire form. “You mean...?” 

“I’ve just received a call from the Children’s Hospital of Arizona,” the case worker continues. “They need an emergency adoption. A woman came in to their labor wing earlier this sick, but after giving birth, she fled. No one has seen her. She only left her baby, and a note saying she doesn’t want him.”

“W-why not?” Carlos asks. 

“Because he was premature. Initially, it looked like he wouldn’t survive for very long. Don’t worry,” she says as Cecil makes a cry of worry. “He’s been very sick, but has improved in the past few days. The doctors want him to leave the intensive care wing, but only if a family can take him in immediately and monitor his health. They also want a family that lives near a hospital. Fortunately, you meet all those conditions.” 

“He must be so scared,” Cecil whimpers, “All alone there.” 

“Which is why you need to get on the soonest flight you can. Tonight, if possible. From there, get a taxi or something to the hospital and check in at the maternal wing. And you’ll need an incubator at home, just as a precaution if he gets sick again. Okay?” 

Carlos nods and squeezes Cecil’s hand. 

“Okay. I’m looking forward to seeing you two in my office soon.” There’s a smile in the case worker’s voice. “With your son. Please call me if you need anything.”

“We will. Thanks.” 

Carlos hangs up. He sets down his phone on the bed and turns to Cecil, and when their eyes meet they both burst into tears. Cecil collapses into Carlos’s arms and buries his face in his shoulder, shaking. “Oh, my god, this is happening,” he whispers. “And-and he’s all alone, in Arizona, and he’s sick -”

“Yeah, and what if we can’t take care of him?” Carlos’s arms tremble. “If, if I’m a really terrible dad, and I make him even more sick? And he gets taken away from us? Or he grows up and he isn’t happy here, isn’t happy because I wasn’t good enough -”

“Carlos.” Cecil sits up and wipes his eyes. He cradles Carlos’s face in his hands. “Carlos, you are the most perfectly imperfect person, and husband, and you will be an amazing father. Okay? Like the case worker said, we’re right near the Night Vale hospital! We can help our son if he gets sick again.” Cecil sighs as Carlos keeps crying. “Sweetie...” 

This is new to him. Because when the town is falling apart or the grocery store stops existing or dragons sweep from the sky, Cecil has an answer for what Carlos doesn’t understand. Or when something in the world is confusing, Carlos has a scientific explanation for it. There are no explanations for learning, in the late hours of the night, that their future son is sick in another state, and that in the course of a few short hours, their entire life will change. 

Instead, Cecil cuddles Carlos closer and kisses the top of his head. “We will be okay,” he says. “And our son will be okay. I promise.” 

Carlos sniffles and dabs at his eyes with the sleeve of his nighttime lab coat. “B-but we don’t have an incubator.” 

“Okay... so only one of us will go to Arizona. You go, you know all the scientific facts about babies.” Carlos’s eyes go wide. “You do, Carlos. You know so much! And you’re better at leaving Night Vale, anyway.” The last time they tried to leave the town for a weekend getaway, Cecil kept teleporting back to Night Vale against his will. Aging did that to citizens. “You can do this, bunny. I know you can.” 

“I can do this.” 

“Yes, babe.” 

Carlos nods and takes a deep breath. “I’m going to go get our son,” he says. “And bring him home, safe.” 

“And I’m going to get an incubator and have his nursery all ready for him when you get back.” Cecil smiles. “This is exciting! Carlos, we’re finally going to have a baby! We’re going to raise a family together!”

“Yeah.” Carlos smiles and leans in to kiss Cecil. “Yeah, we are!”

They get up. Cecil packs an overnight bag for Carlos while Carlos packed a bag for the baby - diapers, formula, an outfit and a warm blanket for the plane. 

“Okay,” he said as he stuffed a blanket into the baby bag. “Do I have everything?”

“You’re forgetting your bag.” Cecil held it out. “This has an extra lab coat and your fidget magnets. Oh, and some snacks. Snacks are very important.”

“You are the best.” Carlos kissed Cecil’s cheek and took the bag. Then he drew a deep breath and looked around. “Well,” he said. “This is the last time we’ll be alone in our house for a while.” 

“Our entire life is about to change.” Cecil smoothed the lapel on Carlos’s lab coat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the airport with you?” 

“No, I want you to sleep. We won’t be getting a lot of it, because on average, babies will wake up and cry two to three times a night, and they won’t go back to sleep until they’ve been comforted and fed.”

“That’s a good fact to know.” Cecil holds out his arms for one long hug. “I love you so, so much.”

“I love you too.” 

They break apart, kiss, hug again, break apart. “Okay,” says Carlos. “Okay.”

“Okay,” says Cecil. “Oh, wait!” He runs to the nursery and brings back one of the stuffed ducklings. “So he’ll have something to play with.” 

Carlos nods and tucks it into the baby bag. Cecil reaches up and gives him one last kiss. 

“I love you,” he says. “Bring our son home safe.” 

And then Carlos leaves, with the sound of a closing door and a revving car engine, and Cecil is alone in the house watching the lights of Carlos’s car fade through the window. He puts on one of Carlos’s lab coats, gets a blanket, and goes to the nursery. He double- and triple- checking that everything is in order. The sun-shaped clock on the wall proclaims that it is 3:12 AM. At eight, he will get up and drive into the shopping district for an incubator. 

For now, he curls up in the rocking chair. He watches the bloodstone mobile spin in a breeze that isn’t actually there. And, eventually, under the clock’s steady ticking, Cecil falls asleep in a coat that smells like his husband, in a room that will be his son’s. 

[wernerherzogs]

there it is, finally! the list of my favourite hl fics of All Time.

disclaimer: some of these i have read only once and forever ago, but i’ve got them saved in a folder, and i vaguely remember them Meaning something to me when i read them, but basically -- if you read something from this list and end up not enjoying it, sorry not sorry! i operate on nostalgia sometimes, it’s possible i wouldn’t be that into some of them now, too, but whatevs!

i made myself stick to one work per author, otherwise this would be endless, but if an author’s nickname is bolded, it means i’ve had the time to read all of their works, and recommend them all.

i’m fairly certain i’m forgetting stuff (especially those stories that i’ve never saved/bookmarked), so i’ll try to keep this updated fairly regularly -- whenever i remember an old fave, or fall in love with something new. i’ll make sure to reblog this post then.

the order is completely random. this is a list where every work carries equal significance, even if not always for the same reasons. it was supposed to be alphabetical, but turns out i’m far too lazy for that. (shocker.) i took the liberty of shortening some of the original summaries, because this post is going to be Too Long anyway. rip.

enjoy! hopefully.

***

blackjacks running down my back | sequel by dangerbears (+ lj) (~10,000) 

AU. university stuff. best friend stuff. music stuff. sappy stuff.

try to not remember (rather than forget) by hereforlou (59,602)

He hadn’t left, but that’s what it had felt like most of the time. Just as if one day Harry had up and left him.

(Or, the one where Harry wakes up.)

Like Real People Do by moodlighting (58,469)

Harry is Louis' soulmate but Louis isn't Harry's - it takes Harry a while to figure it all out.

a prayer for which no words exist by Eliane (34,313)

Louis is a few seconds away from blowing up a rather important section of the New York subway when he sees Harry for the first time.

Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark (requires an ao3 account) (95,697)

“People died,” Harry whispers so quietly Louis strains to hear. “People died, and I killed some of them. How does life just go on after something like that?”

Louis shakes his head. “I don't know. It just does.”

hold on to your stars before they fade by adelagia (31,740)

The first time they meet, it is sunrise, and Harry is naked.

(Or, the one where Harry is a lost fairy, and Louis takes him in.)

Lambing Season by HelloAmHere (24,544)

“Shut up,” Louis says, an involuntary grin tugging at his mouth. It’s not every boy who will stand in the middle of a cold barn in a suit and play musician trivia. “I’m Louis.”

//lambing season brings sleep deprivation, noisy alarms, cold barns, demanding animals, and warm strangers.

Wild And Unruly by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews (123,655)

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy (149,570)

A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

the dead things we carry by MediaWhore (25,316)

“Oh,” Mrs. Padley says, clearly taken aback. “You two know each other?”

There are some things people never fully come home from. Until, one day, if they’re lucky, home comes to them.

i believe him when he tells of loving me by bitterlee (28,894)

louis doesn't remember harry. harry takes him home.

Come Along With Me by darkofthenights (28,032) (requires an ao3 account)

An AU where Harry is a magician and Louis doesn't believe in such a thing.

Dust Off My Wings by eravain (19,882) (+ download)

AU where the boys are cottage neighbours, Louis develops an obsession with the mysterious boy next door, and the end of summer is really just the start of everything else.

Boys of Summer by sharktoothedfawnskinned (49,545)

What he wants is for this to be a forever thing, not someplace Harry spent the summer once.  What he wants is for this to be more than a memory.

(New Jersey beach town AU.)

ever ever after by hattalove (22,645)

“Happily ever after, huh?” he can’t help asking, in a voice that’s softer than he’d like. Harry seems to sense the fragility of the moment. He settles down, containing the excited flailing of his hands, and mirrors Louis’s position. “Of course,” he says. “Don’t you have those here?” Louis bites his lip. “M’ afraid not. It doesn’t really work out that way for most people.”

or, an enchanted AU. sort of.

heroes of the orange skies by queenmcgonagall (30,656)

Louis likes bathroom walls and Sharpies, Harry likes metal, Zayn likes Liam and Liam likes Zayn, Niall is wise, and they all go to the zoo.

Empty Skies by green_feelings (134,048)

For three years, Harry has been running from his past. Now, he is moving to London and pledges to fulfil his only dream -- making it big in the music industry. Not everyone has a place, though, and the competition is tough. As is his past catching up on him.

Louis is part of the biggest boy band of the world, and getting there had meant a lot of hard work, as well as sacrificing parts of his heart and soul. He's still happy. Maybe not as happy as he could be, but who is he to complain?

nocturne in silver and blue by tinyweirdloves (97,594)

louis is a fallen star and harry brings him home. told over the course of fourteen years.

life does not go backward, nor does it tarry in yesterday by bottomlinsons (4568)

Louis and Harry are Knights of the Round Table and Camelot has a dragon problem. (Arthurian AU)

In This Light by exhilarated (99,234)

Harry is a wardrobe stylist who likes to live in the moment, and Louis is a popstar who looks dreamy in double breasted jackets. Harry never stood a chance.

our little corner of the world by brownheadedstranger (29,913)

AU. Louis is stuck in his mom's diner for the summer. Harry is the line cook with a pickup truck.

Every Arrow That I Aim Is True by estrella30 (24,890)

Louis doesn’t say anything again so Harry whispers, “Just stay here with me for a while, yeah? I’ll take care of you.”

Louis is quiet. He never picks his head up, but Harry can see the pillow move from where he’s nodding and his fingers tighten around Harry’s. “Yeah,” Louis says. “Yeah, all right.”

i'm not calling you a liar (just don't lie to me) by hazmesentir (33625) (requires an ao3 account)

Louis can't stop lying. Harry runs a farm. Somehow, he squeezes the truth out of him.

An Eternal Enigma by goldenquill (67,478) (+ download)

Louis is a reluctant king with a head full of fairy tales, and Harry is an emotionally challenged musical prodigy. Zayn is a hopelessly romantic painter, Liam is the castle’s resident ghost with sporadic amnesia, and Niall is the accidental head of the kingdom’s most prevalent spy ring. Very loosely based on the lives of Ludwig II of Bavaria and Richard Wagner.

all my love was down in a frozen ground by navigator (16,033)

Louis goes to the woods.

AU very loosely inspired by the creation of Bon Iver's first record.

walk my days on a wire by sunshiner (38,586)

“We’re here because we have inventive managers,” Louis says, giving Harry’s leg a little nudge with his knee, but all that’s going around in his head is, I think I'd be in the same spot in every possible universe.

or, when actor Louis Tomlinson used to daydream about dating Harry Styles, this is not what he had in mind.

take my hand (and my heart and soul) by bananasandboots (45,623)

"I – yeah. Hi," Louis finally answers, slowly, awkwardly. "I um. Sorry. I heard about your accident. You're alright?"

Or, the one where Harry hasn't spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can't remember why.

These Inconvenient Fireworks by wontsitstill (190,000) (+ download)

Future AU in which nobody tries out for X Factor but the boys end up finding one another eventually anyway. Louis is a jaded bastard who owns a cat named Duchess and teaches drama to teenagers, Harry is an idealistic aspiring photographer/part-time footy coach, Zayn teaches English lit and wears leather jackets, Liam saves people from burning buildings, and Niall is Niall.

things have gotten closer to the sun by starseas (49,276)

when a solar flare is announced to end the world in twelve days, harry reunites with the people that he used to know better than the back of his own hand.

Harry Styles Cooks... by sunsetmog (ongoing)

In which Louis Tomlinson can’t cook, there’s a very special shower curtain, and Harry Styles used to be a baker.

Or: Louis owns all of Harry Styles’ cookbooks, and he never intends to cook a single thing out of any of them.

101 Uses For Dragon Eggs by colazitron (42,249)

Louis just got back from a three week assignment yesterday and today was only supposed to be paperwork he needs to do to finish that up, before he was going to leave early and enjoy the weekend. And then Zayn, the traitor, emailed him about a bloke who was rumoured to have found a dragon egg and apparently live tweeting the whole thing.

Don't Want Shelter by FullOnLarrie (ongoing)

Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago…

When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own.

Escapade by dolce_piccante (requires an ao3 account) (146,241) (+ download)

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

Whether Clouds or Clear Skies by onewasturning (25,861)

“Harry,” Louis says, “last night I had an experience bordering on profound.”

“You’re making it sound like you did something sexual with my muffin,” Harry says.

Or, Louis gets into the habit of stealing baked goods while Harry’s busy keeping tabs on the weather.

the dead of july by whimsicule (117,446)

Being an Avenger means continuing to be Captain America and smiling and being honorable for the public and Harry does his best. But it doesn’t give him time to figure out who he is supposed to be once he takes off his uniform and puts the shield to the side. Just being Harry had always involved Louis, and Harry fears he doesn’t know how to exist without him.

or: Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

In the Clear by aclosetlarryshipper (80,751)

After Princess Gemma and her fiance Niall are captured by the witch from across the land, Harry and Louis are forced on a journey together to save them.

Featuring Lumberjack Liam, Magical Zayn, unsolicited tattoos, and untangling the past.

Also known as The Larrietale.

a house built out of stone by robpatFF (22,486)

Louis has a used bookshop and Harry has a habit of claiming things that don't belong to him.

out of the blue corner by fallingaway (85,422)

Louis is a boxer banned because of doping. Harry is a journalist following the story.

with your love we could breathe underwater by luminescents (28,542)

Harry’s brow furrows, a look of confusion spreading over his face. “But I am real. I exist, see,” he says, raising a hand out of the water and wiggling his fingers at Louis.

AU where Harry is a mermaid, Louis is a human, and they both discover a lot more than they anticipated.

dancing in the dark by clairdeloune (74,709)

Harry comes out and it brings more than he's expected.

Untangle Me by suicxne (103,000) (requires an ao3 account)

Or the one where Harry and Louis finally get it right.

California Sold by isthatyoularry (123,536)

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

you came into my life by disgruntledkittenface (57,180)

When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

like cabbages and kings by you_explode (60,875)

When Louis was a kid, he had a series of very vivid dreams about a place called Wonderland.

Loyal Knight and True by rainbowninja167 (51,569)

Oh, Harry thinks, mouth open on a silent gasp. This is how it happens.

In contemporary Oxford, Harry Styles and Niall Horan run a magical bookshop, unbowed by an entire academic establishment that insists magic doesn't even exist.

for now (and forever) by orphan_account (sadly can’t remember the actual author) (83,283)

"Listen to yourself," Harry laughs, shaking Louis' shoulders. "Don't you think it's a bit weird to con the country you're supposed to be serving?"

Louis is going into the Army, Harry is going nowhere, and there's nothing like a little identity fraud between friends.

Say You'll Remember by whisperdlullaby (93,521)

au. louis and harry are best mates that are only half aware that they're also soulmates. alternatively, louis goes to university and harry travels the world, and they always manage to find their way back to each other.

takes place over nine years, in which they love and hurt, make mistakes and learn, and above all, grow.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor (46,173)

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Battle Cry by Velvetoscar (21,377)

Harry's got a heart, a soul, and a band. And with that, obviously, comes a future paved in great success, right? So all he has to do is win the Battle of the Bands, right? Simple.

What's not so simple is the fact that Louis Tomlinson is his biggest competition. And also happens to be made of everything that Harry's ever wanted.

Take Me Where I Cannot Stand by LoadedGunn (13,988)

Harry can agree that being husbands in space presents some challenges. Sometimes they have to escape mindless cannibals, sometimes they're being held hostage, sometimes Louis doesn't want Harry to get pregnant, and sometimes someone slips on a banana peel. But that's all part of the fun, isn't it? They could have been juggling geese.

(Firefly AU where Harry and Louis are co-pilots in life.)

Just Me, You, And This Box of Matches by tomlinsunshine (87,020) (requires an ao3 account)

Louis is fairly sure that his new neighbour is going to destroy him. And also their apartment building, and the dumpsters outside, and all the forests within a thirty mile radius. But. Mostly him.

you're an egg if im an egg by giraffesaretall (1252)

au where one direction are eggs.

[ernestsinclairs]

The Fairest of the Fair

Ernest Sinclaire x MC (Mary Evenshire)

She was even more beautiful than the constellations

It was easy to tell where the bachelors were. Young women were crowded around each eligible one in scattered clumps. All one had to do was follow them.

Mary took the last sip of her elderflower wine and set it down a table nearby. Adjusting her skirts, she made her way to a particular clump by the left atrium. The daughter of the Holloway family that Grandmother had mentioned before - the one who’d made her debut just last week was laughing loudly, the shrill sound ringing in Mary’s ears as she got closer and closer.  

“Mr. Sinclaire, you must visit our estate again,” Felicity Holloway giggled, batting her fan in front of her face. “We refurbished our ballroom. French style, courtesy of a nobleman my father had the chance of encountering. It cost a thousand pounds.”

She said the last sentence rather boastfully, growing more brash just as the orchestra began to strike up music for a quadrille. She then fell silent, plastering a sweet smile on her face. Other women began to mill about and leave, sensing they weren’t getting anywhere. Louise Snowley went off to dance with James Comerford. The older, more dour faced Florence Holloway ushered the Crawford sisters away to dance. 

Mary managed to make her way and put herself face to face with Ernest Sinclaire. His attention immediately snapped to her, as he gave a stiff bow.

“Mr. Sinclaire,” Mary greeted, bowing her head. “How lovely to see you this evening. I would’ve considered this gathering quite dull had you not been here.”

Felicity Holloway looked rather miffed, but thankfully, stayed silent.

“Lady Mary,” he replied in return. “How thankful I am to see you tonight.”

His eyes strayed to the couple emerging onto the dance floor for the quadrille, the orchestra members beginning to play louder.

Please,” he said, dipping to a formal bow and extending his hand. “Will you do me the honor of this dance?”

Mary smiled, taking his hand in hers and curtsying.

“It is I who would be honored.”

She curled her arm around Ernest’s feeling quite safe and assured in his touch. Her skirts sailed across the lacquered ballroom floor as he led her with grace to the dancing area. She peered up at him quickly, only to make accidental eye contact. She looked away. He held it. 

“I don’t believe London has had the pleasure of seeing you dancing?” he said in a low voice, keeping their conversation to themselves. “If it had, I would have been beat out by countless suitors before you approached.”

“Or perhaps they have had the pleasure of seeing me dance,” Mary teased, trailing her fingers on the sleeve of his navy blue coat. “And perhaps they thought it quite crude.”

“Did they not see you at the garden party? I thought it was rather graceful.”

“There you go, flattering me again,” Mary laughed as the two arranged themselves in position for the dance. “Quite unlike you, don’t you think? I’m starting to think there’s another motive behind this.”

The music started up louder and livelier then before, and the rows of dancers moved in sync. Mary caught a sight of Felicity Holloway and her darkened expression behind her fan, and she forced herself to suppress a smirk. 

“And what would that motivation be?” Ernest asked, his eyes sparking. “Or is it too scandalous to say in public?”

“Little wonder you hold me in your favor,” Mary whispered as they turned, then regrouped. “You figure things out quite quickly.”

“Perhaps a private conversation is in the works, Lady Mary. If you cannot say it here, then perhaps you can say it to me alone.”

The music came to an end, and Mary curtsied quickly, rising up slowly to meet Mr. Sinclaire’s eye. 

He gently took her by the waist and escorted the two of them off the dance floor. His touch was warm, firm yet soft, loving yet aloof, passionate yet cold. Almost as if he was trying his best not to admit something to her.

There was a sudden blur of movement, and Miss Holloway materialized, sticking an upturned nose at Mary. 

“Mr. Sinclaire,” she said snippily, ducking into a hasty curtsy. “May I speak to Lady Mary? I believe us women have something to discuss.”

Sinclaire coughed uncomfortable, but still met her gaze head on.

“Of course. It would be improper to respond with such reluctance.”

He moved away slowly, the warmth of his touch still on Mary’s arm. Her hand reached up to touch that spot instinctively, already missing him.

“Walk with me.”

Miss Holloway turned abruptly, walking to a corner of the great room and plucking a glass of orange wine off a serving table, not waiting for Mary to catch up.

“Let me tell you this, Lady Mary,” Miss Holloway sniffed when the two of them were safely out of earshot. “I believe that between you and I, my birthright is stronger. After all, I am trueborn, and you are but a . . .”

Her eyes scanned disdainfully over Mary. A slight sneer curled across her lips.

“If you have the courage to drag me to this meeting, then you must have the courage to say it,” Mary retorted. “Sadly, I think I have overestimated your ability to hold a conversation.”

Miss Holloway’s mouth thinned into a gray line, and she gripped the stem of her wineglass so hard her knuckles turned white. A split second later, it was gone, and there was a only a pleasant smile on her face again.

“I must tell you, I do intend to attach myself to Mr. Sinclaire. And he would be a fool to not return my affections. After all, we are to be engaged. I will become Lady of Ledford Park, and you...”

Miss Holloway smirked.

“Well, I do not have an idea of what you will be.”

Mary reeled back, her head spinning as if she’d drunk a whole bottle of brandy like the village drunk she’d once known. Engaged? Surely, not. Mr. Sinclaire didn’t act like he was. And what could Felicity offer? She was the fourth daughter of six. She surely would not bring money, or a pleasant conversation, or anything at all. But still, her audacity must mean that there was something going on. 

“Excuse me,” Mary said bluntly, stepping away from Felicity Holloway. “I have better things to attend to.”

Miss Holloway simply smirked and took another sip of her wine before going to torment her older sister. As she did, groups of ladies here and there moved away from her.

Spying a back entrance, half concealed by heavy curtains of crushed velvet, Mary slipped behind it and out to a backwoods terrace. The hosts of the ball hadn’t put too much work into this area - few people would be expected to come here. 

Before her, the light of London twinkled, but for once, they weren’t the beautiful and welcoming lights that she’d grown to love. This time, they teased her - a taste of a life that might not be. Or a life that was only half of what it could be, when she didn’t have a certain someone at her side. 

Mary exhaled heavily, trying to clear her mind. It was no use. She felt as cloudy and confused as before, even before Felicity Holloway had even come along. 

There was a steady noise behind her and Mary spun around, her fan fluttering in front of her face. She came eye to eye with Mr. Sinclaire. 

“Did I . . . intrude?”

“No, no,” Mary said, shaking her head. “You didn’t.”

He stepped closer, but slowly, not sure if she would accept it. She did.

“Interesting people, here, don’t you think?” Mary asked, tilting her head. “Like Miss Holloway. Only the second time we’ve met, actually.”

Mr. Sinclaire raised an eyebrow.

“And yet something tells me you’ve already encountered that side of her.”

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but shut it and looked away for a moment. When she brought herself to look at him again, she simply stared down at the pale stone floor of the balcony.

“Do you remember what I said to you in the gardens when we were first introduced?” Mary asked.

“I remember you calling arrogant and vain,” Mr. Sinclaire said slowly. “And if I remember correctly, your exact words were ‘no wonder you’ve remained a bachelor all these years’“. 

Mary laughed.

“I do admit, I am now wondering how you’ve managed to stay a bachelor all these years for different reasons.”

“And what is that?”

“Miss Holloway. She seems . . . quite taken with you. She was very brazen just a few minutes ago.”

Mr. Sinclaire sighed, almost resignedly.

“Yes, the Holloways are an influential family. Though I find some of their members more intolerable than the others.”

He scowled, then hid it.

“You never mentioned Miss Holloway,” Mary said slowly, scanning Mr. Sinclaire’s face for any sign of recognition. “She did mention you.”

If he knew about what Felicity had said, he gave no outward clue. His face was impassive as he looked at her, the only movement being a few curls of hair being lifted astray by the summer London wind.

“And what did she say? Please, I’m rather curious now.”

Mary bit her tongue, suddenly abash.

“No, it’s none of your concern. I apologize for bringing it up.”

“I’m afraid you’ve drawn me in now,” Mr. Sinclaire said, stepping closer and leaning on the balustrade next to Mary. “You do have that effect on people.”

Mary wet her lips and stared back out at the London skyline for a few seconds, then rolled up her fan with a quick flick of her wrist.

“Are you betrothed to Miss Holloway?”

A look of shock swept over Sinclaire’s face as he took the news in. Mary cursed herself silently. It was obvious he’d never heard of it, and now she’d gone and been so brash.

“No,” he said once he regained his composure. “I am not engaged to Miss Holloway and I doubt I ever will be.”

“She seems rather sure,” Mary said softly, not making eye contact. “She told me so herself tonight.”

“Then she has told you a daydream. A wish. I have no intent to marry her.”

“She seems to have it all,” Mary sighed. “The Holloways are wealthy, no doubt, and she is trueborn. She did not have to be legitimized to claim the privileges of her rank.”

“She does not interest me,” Mr. Sinclaire said a little too fast. “For she is not...”

He trailed off, searching Mary’s eyes.

“. . . For she is not you.”

Mary hesitated, then leaned in, bringing her face mere inches away from Mr. Sinclaire’s. Those dark blue eyes met hers, and she felt something strange swelling up in her chest? Was it hope? Relief? A little bit of both?

“And what do I have that Miss Holloway does not?” Mary asked slowly, keeping her voice low to keep out any eavesdroppers. “I would very much like to know.”

He continued to look straight into her eyes, his gaze unwavering. Mary tried to drop her eyes from its intensity, perhaps move back a little, but a warm touch on her hand stopped her. His touch.

“That’s quite brazen, Mr. Sinclaire,” Mary breathed. “This ball, this gathering, surely isn’t the place for such-”

“She does not have the spark that makes me so drawn to you,” Mr. Sinclaire said in a low voice. “And no woman does or ever will. You have a way of making things surreal. You lift me up to the things I’d only dreamed of before, and at the same time, you anchor me and remind me of what I love most.”

Mary gave a small gasp, hiding it with a dignified cough. The two of them looked at each other in silence before she finally gave in.

Feeling Mr. Sinclaire’s hand still on hers, she curled her fingers around it. His larger hand easily enveloped hers, and he gave it a small squeeze as she moved even closer to him. He lifted a hand to her cheek, and suddenly, the London summer air felt quite cold. The only thing that was warm - truly warm, was him. Mary leaned into the touch gratefully, reveling in the moment.

He brought his own face forward and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. A tingling sensation buzzed through her body, making a smile appear on Mary’s lips. This was where she was meant to be, she could feel it.

And deep down, she knew this was where he was meant to be as well.

@katurrade @sunflowergirl-25

[mayhemories]

Braids & War Paint (Part 6)

Note’s On:

Part 1: / Part 2: / Part 3: / Part 4: / Part 5: 

I’m sorry this took so long, hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for it x                                                                                                       I’d just like to start this off by saying thank you to everyone for 105 followers, I know that doesn’t seem like much but it means a lot to me. I just can’t believe it. Thank you. 

It had begun. The preparations for Beltane. Maypole’s had popped up all over the city, dancing and signing in the streets could be heard for miles, fire pits everywhere, gifts for the little folk had been left at the edge of the Oakwald, the training field had been emptied for the Thirteen Blackbeak Witches and their overgrown lizards with wings. They were the only witches Terrasen had anything to do with after their war against the Yellowlegs, Bluebloods and that ghastly Blackbeak matron and the rest of her clan. The Thirteen had fought with Terrasen those days. That’s what Aelin liked about Beltane, people from all over Erilea put their disagreements, put aside their hatred and disgust for other kingdoms just for the night. 

Right now Aelin was having her final dress fitting. Lysandra, Elide, Nesryn, Sorcha and Dorian all came to see. Usually Aelin would keep her gown under wraps until the final hour, but this year was different, she wanted more opinions than just her mother’s. 

It was one of the most gorgeous gowns Aelin had ever worn. She usually wore the typical princess dress, fluffy and girly and usually a pastel colour. This year was different, she was a woman now. It was red like the deepest flame, intricately beaded with jewels that were laid on sheer panels on the bust, bodice and sleeves. It had a cut on the chest, deep enough to catch your eye but covered enough for someone of her ranking. It brushed the floor, long enough that you could only see Aelin’s golden heels when she moved. 

She looked impressive. She was impressive. She just hoped that was enough. 

“Stunning, as per usual.” Lysandra smiled, twirling her finger in slow circles indicating for Aelin to spin around. She followed the command. Lysandra could wear a potato sack and still look stunning. Her dress was gold and figure hugging with a deep cut and a cape accent. Before Aelin had gotten her gown made she was going to fight Lysandra for her gown. But then Aedion ‘accidentally’ saw her in it and the game was over, she had to wear it. Aelin knew how independent Lysandra was but a small part of her thought Lysandra chose the golden hue to match Aedion’s eyes. 

“Your fae will certainly stumble when he see’s you like that.” Dorian mocked causing the rest of her party to giggle, except Nesryn. She just doesn’t laugh unless Chaol does something that gets him minor injuries. 

“It’s not like that,” Aelin said, turning around so her faint blush wouldn’t be seen. “We’re carranam, he’s my friend.” 

Aelin only heard Elide’s mumble of what sounded like a “Whatever” before she ducked behind the modesty curtain. 

Rowan was sweating bricks. 

He stood in the drawing room, leaning against one of the windows. The carriages pulled in one by one, asterion horses pulling every pompous nobility of Erilea to Aelin’s doorstep. Rowan only had his Doneralle uniform as his finery. He wondered how Galan was holding up, wondered if he packed something appropriate for tonight or if he had to beg the Wolf of the North. He wondered what dresses would flood the ball room, he wondered if Terrasen’s music was similar to Doneralle’s. He wondered a lot of things. 

“Prince Rowan?” A feminine voice sounded from the doorway, Lady Elide Lochan from Perranth stood in a blue ballgown that had crystals in a plaid pattern. Elegant and simple. “The ball is about to commence, would you like to walk me in?” She said kindly. Rowan wondered if there was a bad bone in her body. Aelin had told him a lot about her future court. Elide was blessed by Anneith, the Goddess of Wisdom and Wise Things. Rowan knew she was smart, by asking him to walk her in he wouldn’t have to go alone and face the stares of the whole of Erilea. It wasn’t because he was afraid, Rowan wasn’t afraid of much. He just knew that Aelin wanted to be the one to introduce him to her friends, he couldn’t steal that pleasure from her. 

“Of course.” Rowan extended his bent elbow to the young lady. Aelin told him of when they were children, how they had been riding their horses and Elide had fallen, how her ankle got caught under a tree root, how nothing could be done when the horse jumped onto her leg. They removed it from under the knee and another member of Aelin’s future court, Nox Owen an inventor had crafted her a knew limb from metal out of an old clock. It was incredible really. 

The ballroom was lit with the biggest collection of crystal chandeliers Rowan had ever seen. Three thrones sat against the wall, opposite the grand staircase, which thankfully Elide lead him away from, they came through a door that must be for castle staff. 

The music was was loud and upbeat. It was very different to Doneralle, it was more like the intense tunes he had heard at Mistward; harps, lutes, lyres, violins and a pianoforte played symphonies. 

Elide lead Rowan over to a small group near the base of the throne dais. Some faces he knew like: Galan, Lysandra, Aedion, Prince Dorian, Captain Westfall, Nesryn and Sorcha. But the rest were foreign to him. If Lysandra’s, Nesryn’s and Sorcha’s gowns were anything to go by, Aelin would look like a goddess from above. Though Rowan knew that already, he knew that Aelin knew that too. Nesryn’s gown was a thick navy fabric, with a thin cut down the centre and Sorcha’s was the complete opposite, more dainty and childlike- which was her personality personified in fabric. Innocent in a pale pink with green floral accents. Lysandra was just drenched in gold. But he didn’t expect much more than that. Navy must have been the colour of the season, two Blackbeak witches wore navy, one a dress with a cape and the other, the one with white hair, wore navy pants that were attached to a beaded bodice, a jumpsuit Aelin had said.

“Everybody, this is Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doneralle, I’m sure some of you have met before.” Elide said sweetly, a few members of the party gave him curt nods, he received smiles from Lysandra and Prince Dorian. 

The night was going smoother that Rowan anticipated. 

A young red-headed girl with freckles and wine coloured eyes extended her hand out to Rowan, her smile reminded him of a wolf. 

“Lady Ansel of Briarcliff, a pleasure to meet you.” Rowan shook her hand and nodded. What caught his eye was the golden pummel of her sword, in the shape of a wolfs head. Rowan was fascinated by the human girl who wore a plain silver dress with patterns that reminded him of his cousin’s wallpaper. They were at a ball yet she deemed it necessary to strap a sword around her waist. No wonder she was a friend of Aelin’s. 

“An honour to meet you.” Rowan said, his voice empty, all the thoughts were whirring around in his head, they all centred around one existence that was not yet here. 

Another woman, maybe a few years older than Aelin with raven hair and fair skin extended her hand after Rowan retracted his from Ansel of Briarcliff’s scar flecked one. She was cunning, Rowan could see it by just looking at her. Her dress was black and matched her hair, with sheer panels and lace, a black cape protruded from her shoulders. 

“Lady Kaltain of Fenharrow, Aelin’s magic counterpart.” Rowan’s eyebrows quirked at her introduction, but took her hand anyway. “My flames used to be gold like Aelin’s when I was young but then I grew and they turned into shadows that burned any light they saw.” Lady Kaltain explained, Rowan saw Lysandra roll her eyes and the elbow to the ribs from Elide. 

“How interesting.” Rowan said politely, his patience was waring thin. 

Introduction after introduction: Lady Ansel of Briarcliff- military personnel, Lady Kaltain Rompier of Fenharrow- spy, Nehemia Ytger Crown Princess of Eyllwe- the wyrdmarker, Lord Ren Allsbrook- the diplomat, Manon Blackbeak- Leader of the thirteen aerial witches of The Wastes, Asterin Blackbeak- Manon’s second, the eleven other Blackbeaks: Sorrel, Vesta, Linnea, Ghislaine, Fallon, Faline, Imogen, Thea, Kaya, Eda and Briar, Nox Owen- the inventor and Illias of the Silent Assassins- Aelin’s trainer in the ways of the assassin. 

So much for Aelin introducing him. 

The room had gone silent, Rowan piveted at the sound of doors opening, a short man, an announcer, called out into the stone silent ballroom:

“Please make way for Terrasen’s royal family!” King Orlon came first, the clapping and cheering was deafening as soon as his boot passed the threshold. Rowan turned to Aedion,

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” He asked, the celebrating nearly drowning Rowan’s voice, Aedion shook his head.

“I’m technically a part of the Wendlyn Royal family.” 

Rowan’s eyes wandered back to the stairs, Prince Rhoe and Princess Evalin stood proud, the three of them walking down the stairs together before taking their spots on the dais, the three thrones made of gnarled wood and antlers. 

But where was Aelin? 

“And finally, Terrasen’s Heir, Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.” 

Rowan’s jaw clenched when he saw her, his hands curled into tight fists- knuckles now white, his chest felt tight and his heart was pumping at an insane rate. Aelin was devastatingly beautiful at the worst of times, now when she had been done up in the red dress, her cosmetics dark and sultry, her hair was puled back in a sleek tail, her antler tiara keeping her wild streak. 

Rowan had never seen something so beautiful, she still looked the same as when he watched her watch the sunrise, she was just highlighted now.  She caught his eye during her descent, he swore she could hear the rhythm of his heart. As her heel touched the ballroom floor the music cranked back up again, as did the conversations around the room. 

Rowan walked for her, they met in the middle of the floor. For Rowan everything was happening so quickly but yet he felt like h’s movements were slow as he took her hand, bowed and rand his lips over her smooth knuckles. 

In that moment he could live forever. 

“You look beautiful.” Rowan said, it had become hard to swallow. His throat cutting off any words he might regret. But when she smiled at him from under her thick lashes he was gone. 

“You represent your kingdom well.” Aelin’s eyes sparkled as she traced the owl on his cuff.

Couples took the floor, dancing around the pair as if they were nothing but furniture. Dorian took Manon Blackbeak by the wrist and took her onto the floor, her navy pants flying around as he spun her. 

“Would you like to dance with me, Rowan Whitethorn?”

“It would be an honour, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.” 

Galan watched the couples take the floor from where he stood near the food tables. 

Aelin and Rowan had been dancing for nearly eight songs, Aedion and Lysandra nearly half that. The Prince of Adarlan and the Iron-toothed witch had been dancing as if their bodies were moulded for each other. Captain Westfall and Private Faliq had found good rhythm in talking rather than dancing, as did Lady Elide and the rest of the Blackbeak witches, Sorcha the healer girl was dancing with the inventor Galan had met that morning, Nox he thought the name was. The boy from the desert and the princess of Eyllwe were having a conversation but not with their mouths, signing to each other instead. 

Galan wanted to go home. 

He missed his father, he missed his horse, he missed his own godsdamned bed and he didn’t care if he was complaining like a child. Galan had never seen Terrasen before, he had never experienced the wild. The wild wasn’t his calling but he couldn’t believe that Rowan had somehow joined the flame in the middle of the forest. 

“Would you like to get some air?” Aelin asked Rowan as she lead him off the dance floor, he nodded and Aelin took him out the service door, towards the rose garden. 

The moon gave a pale cast onto all the flowers, their pigment suddenly gone. 

Aelin clung onto Rowan’s arm, her heart racing at the new found privacy. He was her carranam, she’d respect him but you couldn’t blame a girl for trying. 

“What did you think of them?” Asked Aelin. She had wanted to introduce her friends to him, but it seems he beat her to it.

“Who? Your friends?” Rowan asked, his accent thicker than she remembered, she wondered if he didn't try to hide it as much after she told him she liked the sound of it.

“Some are friends, some are allies.” Aelin said casually, her mind running to whether Dorian and Manon had found their own privacy yet. 

“They were…” Rowan wracked his brain for the right word, Aelin could see him searching for something of little offence before he settled with: “Unique.” 

Aelin nodded, he wasn’t wrong. 

A marble seat was before them, Aelin had lead Rowan into the middle of the rose garden where the hedges were the tallest and the guards were non-existent. She unlaced herself from Rowan’s muscled arm and sat on the seat, looking at the full moon, Rowan following her every move. He sat next to her and Aelin ran through all the probabilities in her head for what she was about to do. 

Aelin turned her body to face him, Rowan’s glance still trained on the moon. She didn’t know whether it was romantic, stupid or nïeve but she placed on of her hands on his. Rowan’s attention was locked on her, she could feel the burning of his gaze.

Rowan’s breathing hitched for a millisecond and that’s all it took for Aelin to lean in and brush her red lips onto his before kissing him fully. 

He didn’t kiss her back.

As Aelin started to pull away, ashamed and hurt, Rowan’s hand flew to her cheek, cupped it and kissed her back with such gentleness Aelin nearly melted into the ground. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but you could’ve told Aelin forever and she would’ve believed it. They pulled away breathless, Aelin missed the taste of him, missed the feeling of their lips together already. 

“Thank the gods I wasn’t the only one.” Was the only thing Rowan said before kissing her again. 

Aelin couldn’t sleep, not with the size of that smile on her face and that was when she realised. 

She sat up in her bed, Fleetfoot’s light snores were the only sound in the room as Aelin fished for the braid in her hair, she took out the band keeping the small braid in place and started to remove it, her hair was crinkled and wavy after having a braid in for so long.

She smiled at the leather band that had been woven in her hair seconds before, she placed it on her bedside table.

Her promise to Sam Cortland had been fulfilled, she had found true happiness in the form of a Fae warrior from Doneralle. 

AN: I hope you guys liked it and I’m so sorry it took so long :( 

This part was written for: @2-bookmaster-2 @aelin-and-feyre @rowanismybae @sparkleywonderful @cassiancalore @igniscorde7112 @illyrian-high-lord @daughterxofxnight @bigsis227 @crazybookladythings @gcarroll @sugarcoated44 @wolffrising @notjustanyoldfangirl  & @bluephoenix222

Thank you to everyone who read this! I love you all so much!

As always if you have any questions, ideas, prompts, requests or just want a good all chat jump into my inbox or ask me a question :) I always love hearing from you guys, don’t afraid to leave a comment.

Much love and many thanks!

-El.

[flarebossmalva]

just for future reference and in case anyone was curious i’m going to explain what the hell i was on about re: some stuff in my writing tag

skipping things that are obvious or self-explanatory but if you’re puzzled by something i wrote and i didn’t explain it here then feel free to ask i guess

disgust - i thought of vomit immediately and then wrote about the last experience i had with a friend who was sick. i don’t actually remember which friend this was anymore. “you’re never going to die ever again” i’m not sure about but i think this may have been referring to how awful stomach sicknesses are and how they can literally be so bad they make you feel like you’re dying? that’s a guess

aether - thought of “ether” instead which is very volatile so that’s how i got onto the theme about exploding. i think the rest was just vague associations

pincushion - human pincushion. i guess someone who has bled out completely

aura - you know how they talk about people having colored auras? i just picked a color and went from there. don’t know what “i can taste it under my fingernails” means even remotely but if this is from when i worked in produce/floral i constantly had plant matter under my fingernails so maybe that. am reading “you look lovely, by the way. very fresh.” in GLaDOS’ voice for some reason and not sure if that was what i had in mind when i wrote it

mint leaves - catnip is in the mint family and some people says humans can get a mild high off smoking it

indie - this was about seeing mother mother live. the “he” is ryan

wind - probably masturbation but trying to explain the trip from point a to point b that i made here would get really complicated if i’m even recalling it correctly

lamp oil - amnesia: the dark descent. lamp oil is a resource in that game. player character hallucinates bugs and grinds his teeth when he spends too long in the dark

bombs - boss fight wheatley. the track that plays during that battle is called “bombs for throwing at you”

cucumber - i was thinking of items you could buy together at a supermarket that would disturb the cashier. a single cucumber, rope, and a paperback romance novel sends some interesting implications i think

columbia - no idea but one of my friends told me this is essentially the plot of bioshock infinite

kevin james - one of those paul blart mall cop memes involved the phrase “distant egg song!” and that’s what i was going off of

marigold - flowey

25-27 - since this looked like it was referring to three sequential questions on an askmeme i acted as though that’s what i was answering here. i don’t know why i chose the colors blue and orange; portals from the portal games are those colors but what with the other two responses in this post being undertale related i’m thinking maybe blue = sans and orange = papyrus

🙌 - reference to a (nsfw, i won’t link it) fanfic about sans smoking. i have a massive smoking kink so i think you can see why i’d find that emoji appropriate

syringe - this is a reference to a short story i wrote in high school. the association is that i think syringes were used to administer drugs to the protagonist

wine - almost positive there’s an audio log in the first bioshock game that’s a bit like this. even if there isn’t, there’s an area where a party has clearly gone down (lots of alcohol, splicers are dressed fancy) and that’s what it made me think of

glow - no idea

can of soda - i was thinking of a sprite can

amsterdam by imagine dragons - a song i don’t know; i used to be friends with this kid who was weirdly snobby about music and would condescend to me if i admitted to not knowing of a song or artist, so i wrote about that, kind of

apartments - “apartments are like cages” is a phrase that either i or someone else has used and i thought of that phrase and then i thought about cages and then i thought about johanna from sweeney todd and her one musical number

gold - this is about my paternal grandfather moving west as an adult. he didn’t move as part of the gold rush but that’s what i thought of first and then i thought about his moving to california so this was kind of a mix of the two concepts

sting - musical artist sting has got an album called brand new day and this was written thinking about the album art

lunar theatre - i’ve explained this one before but i wrote this while really sick around the time i first got diagnosed with lyme disease. i was sleeping most of the time and tired whenever i was awake. at the time i was also taking ativan (among other medications) and it made me very sleepy and out of it. the title comes from an art installation i saw once which basically looked like an artificial shoreline, which is where the ocean/water imagery comes from

tessellation - obvious maybe but repetition is part of the definition of the word

roses - james from team rocket, often carrying a rose

paris - this was a joke about egg hatching in pokemon x/y (the most efficient way to do it is to bike in circles repeatedly around the game’s version of the eiffel tower)

n - i feel like this is obvious too but it’s a joke about n harmonia from the 5th gen pokemon games

nature - i’m not sure how i got to talking about gelatin molds but have you seen some of the ones from the fifties and sixties? truly horrifying

berry - early on in x/y you’re put in charge of a berry field and then later you become champion (the league is at the top of a mountain). there are curtains in the champion’s room. idk i just thought about becoming champ and then abandoning the berry field since that’s basically what i did in-game

dogs - pretty literal, this is just my experience with pet dogs

q - this is a reference to a song from goddamn sesame street

teacup - malva has a butler, who presumably serves her tea sometimes. he battles you on her behalf once and his team is pretty powerful, but of course she’s elite four and would have him beat

guitar - at the time there were a lot of “wonderwall” memes that’s what i thought of

pine - pine trees, christmas trees, their lives are cut short but they get to dress up fancy for a few weeks, i don’t know

touch-me-not - fanfic i plotted out once but never actually finished writing. in it, bryony and celosia are using one of those remote-control vibrators (celosia was the one wearing it, and bryony had the remote, iirc) but if you remember team flare also used a remote to control the ultimate weapon and i loved the idea of getting the two remotes mixed up. all the higher-ups (save bryony and celosia, of course) are playing with the remote thinking it’s broken and trying to get it to work. meanwhile poor celosia is dying and the only one who notices is malva, who is the “she” in this piece, who deliberately starts messing with the remote to get a reaction out of bry + cel. i don’t remember how this fanfic was going to end but i think probably celosia would excuse herself to go to the bathroom (to, ahem, take care of herself) and malva would follow her in and then idk they’d fuck. listen i’ve had worse ideas

nightshade - i’m not sure how i got from the prompt to my fill but the fill is definitely about another fic i was working on involving a trainer who experiments on eevee trying to discover new eeveelutions

knives - my abuser had a “suicide attempt” (not really, he didn’t do anything except think about it, but that’s how he classed it iirc) where he planned on using a knife. also he wrote (bad) poetry once comparing me to a knife because idk i was mean for not wanting to fuck him probably

cake - it’s 2007 bro. memes bro. this was about portal bro

gameboy - self-explanatory i think but this was specifically a goof on ben drowned even though a lot of video game creepypasta start out this way

ruby - as in the pokemon game. this was about being a team magma grunt

cicada - i think this one is straightforward but in case it’s not, in my area you find dead cicadas all over the place in june

notebook - this was about harriet the spy

tree - based off of something that happened with me and my best friend when i was eleven or twelve

big ben - well, english clock towers... there’s a scene in a christmas carol where scrooge wakes up and hears the clock strike an hour it’s already struck and gets freaked and worries about the spirits coming to haunt him

cookie - i got a baby doll for christmas when i was a little kid and gave it to my younger sister bc she liked baby dolls and i didn’t. she named that doll cookie. this was general feels about being the Bad Child who Wasn’t Feminine

paint - straightforward again but this is about my parents’ house, the one we moved into when i was a young teen and where they still live with my little sister (and, currently, me). it was initially painted white and we repainted yellow a few years ago (i think after i had moved out to go to college). also that house still doesn’t feel like home to me in the same way our old house did

boots - god this is gonna take a lot of explaining but in the underland chronicles, second book, gregor (protagonist) is separated from his baby sister (nicknamed boots) after, iirc, the boat they’re in capsizes and they get washed into the nearby catacombs by the waves. he assumes she’s drowned since she’s a toddler and can’t swim. it’s basically his blue screen of death moment and he spends the next part of the book feeling totally dead inside, like a machine, no emotion no empathy. this scene fucked me up bad when i first read it aged about nine

freckles - i think this is obvious but just in case, this is about me (formerly) hating my freckles

egg - aforementioned fic about eevee experimentation was maybe going to involve unethical forced hatching of eevee eggs by cracking them open before they’re ready. i was basically thinking of every sick thing you could do to a pokemon to try and force an evolution

fairy - same fic. the protagonist has a shiny eevee that she gives special treatment and thinks is going to evolve into something special bc no evolution method she’s tried has worked on it. it was to be revealed later that her “special” eevee had actually just swallowed an everstone, and, immediately upon operating to remove said everstone, eevee evolved into sylveon

orange - as a small child i was allergic to oranges. the only memory i have of having an allergic reaction was breaking out in hives and going down our creaky old staircase, which felt big and intimidating to me as a little kid, to tell my parents about it

yuri - i thought of a favorite f/f pairing of mine, bryony/celosia, and in particular the scene that got me to ship it. in that scene, you battle celosia (who acts very woe-is-me upon being defeated) and bryony immediately springs to her (girl)friend’s defense

mitochondria - i learned the word from the sequel to a wrinkle in time, in which charles wallace gets really sick with some sort of mitochondrial disease and his older sister meg tries to save him by like astral projecting inside his mitochondria or something. god that book was weird

a gigantic rubber duck - when she was a baby someone gave my sister a gigantic rubber duck (which she adored, i think we still have it somewhere) and so this was about how i felt about having a new sibling

electricity - eevee fic again. rival character in the fic was an electric-type trainer. this was about the convention of trainers locking eyes and then battling

feverish - fevers as sex metaphor somehow??? i guess because fevers, like sex, often leave you sweaty. eleven was when i had my first wet dream and eighteen was when i listened to that “naegi with a fever” audio and got real gay

anger - metaphor again. i really did make a glass paperweight one time, on a class trip to a glass museum. my abuser and i were off-again with our friendship at the beginning of that trip and on-again by the end of it but there was still, i think, unresolved anger on both sides. that’s the association. i don’t know how to explain what i was thinking here beyond that

mosquitos - “petty annoyances” is just what i think of mosquitos and then i guess i just went from there. “bigger than i am but you know when to kneel” might have been my abuser again. he was, indeed, bigger than me but he got down on his knees begging me to be his friend again right at the end of things between us lol. honestly it was the most compelling thing he ever did

laundry basket - i thought about dirty laundry and then about worrying my clothes smelled dirty or that i smelled dirty and like, obsessively bathing because someone wanted to come over and have sex with me and i was just barely not a virgin at that point and had no idea what i was doing and was freaked out over the whole thing

cow - i took a year of spanish and for some reason the only thing i actually learned was how to say “where is the cow” and “the cow is here” which are not actually useful phrases in most contexts

[ariddletobesolved]

Musical Spy x Family Curtain Call | Masuda Risa’s Last Tokyo Performance as Anya

Bonus, this cute exchange when Loid (Morisaki Win) asked Yor (Yuzuki Fuka) to give a speech:

[ariddletobesolved]

Spy x Family Musical | 2nd Day Curtain Call (Evening Show)

The child actors didn't appear after the evening show curtain call, so here have some Yuri cheering for Loid (it was Suzuki Hiroki’s first performance as Loid) as well as Loid and Franky being buddies before the extra bows: