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aflamethatneverdies · 1 year

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Wrote the nichest of crossovers for the dearest of friends! Happy Birthday dear Autumn @midautumnnightdream

Am really pleased about all the Romantic references I managed to squeeze in this so putting it here too, because why not.

There was a knock at the door to the captain’s cabin. The flourishing strokes of the pen on the paper cease. The ship, which was a rather large Frigate, was equipped as such, except, it would perhaps surprise the readers a little that it was floating in space. The stars stretched out across, as guiding lights, where lighthouses would have served that purpose on the rough seas.

“Enter.” The captain’s tone was brusque.

“Captain,” the boatswain began hurriedly, before the cook moved forward.

“Look what we found, stowing away. A little bilge rat.” The cook held up a small struggling child by the scruff of his collar. “Want me to throw him out into space?” he grinned looking at the child’s face which turned pale.

“I may be a rat, but you’re a pig, the way you give the entire crew so little grub and keep the rest of the ingredients to sell at the nearest ports for ready money.” the child retorted.

“Captain, we can’t have a child onboard the ship,” the boatswain said, ignoring this remark and the cook’s look of outrage. “What should we do about this?” The captain paused and chuckled a little, “Young man, I don’t know how many ships you’ve been on but the number one rule is to never antagonise the ship’s cook.”

“I like you.” the child said, still struggling in the air and trying to free his collar.

“What’s your name?”

The child paused to consider, “Why should I tell you that? What’s yours?”

The captain for his part laughed loudly, “Oh, put him down, Berric.”

The child stood tall and brushed his dark blue cape with his hands, in the background the dark expanse of space was visible from the porthole while the wooden interior was brightly lit.

The captain smirked, “Leave us Berric and Laron. I want to have a discussion with this young man.”

The child grinned as he looked at the disgruntled faces of the boatswain and the cook, who nodded and then closed the door.

“Jehan, I want to know your opinion on this matter too.” the captain turned round and addressed the air languidly. With a shock the child saw an apparition emerge in a sailor’s coat and he was left stunned for a moment.

“What?” the child whispered to himself looking around in confusion.

The apparition or the strange figure, who had an intensely sorrowful look in his eyes was dressed in a long frock coat which was perhaps more maroon than red and a doublet or a vest of a bright purple colour and long sailor's boots; this would have made him stand out everywhere and he attracted attention here too, and a feeling like he had walked out of a play or a medieval pirating expedition.

“He reminds me of Gavroche,” the captain sighed, stroking his beard and gazing far away into the depths of an unknown past, it seemed to the child, “I’m inclined to keep him around. But the crew–”

He is certainly very interesting as a study,” Prouvaire whipped out his magnifying glass to observe the small child who was gazing at him defiantly, hands folded across his chest.

“Ah! This locket is very charming. And perhaps very old. A family heirloom?” Prouvaire asked.

“Don’t touch this!” the child retorted loudly glaring at Prouvaire, his face scrunched up in irritation, and then tried to gauge the captain’s face and see if this would make him throw him out. Prouvaire seemed delighted by this response.

“I think we should keep him, Bahorel.” Prouvaire said. “We can be the guardians of this unfortunate child.”

“We don’t know anything about him. Besides, he looks far too young to even be a cabin boy.”

“I’m not. I’m–” the child searched around for an age he could give and settled on seventeen because that seemed to him a large enough number in human years (he assumed they were humans from a backwater planet Earth he had heard about, they did not seem to belong to any of the regions of space he was familiar with). Twenty was also the limit to which he could count currently, his space faring people relying on a mixture of mathematics and music to gauge distances, “I’m seventeen.”

“No you’re not, I’m sure of that.” Bahorel grinned, “Though I appreciate the lie. And won’t ask how old you are.”

“I can do the work on ships, I'm used to it.” The child looks at them defiantly, “And the name’s Marvelous by the way.”

“Well, you have put me in the second serious situation. With your age and us being pirates against the Zangyack now.”

“What was the first?” The child was sneaking glances at this captain.

“Oh, dying I suppose. More than twice at least in the span of two hundred or so years. Wouldn’t recommend it especially, but old wounds now, eh Jehan?” Bahorel placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

The ghost-like figure had tears in his eyes, which he finally let flow, making the child, Marvelous, shift a little, feeling sorry for the ghost he had met. He moved forward to pet the translucent figure’s hand and the bird-like ghost acknowledged it from his seat near the window, holding Marvelous’ hand in his.

“It makes one weary– this living and dying on this mortal coil. This loss of the most beloved of friends.” The ghost gave a sniffle as his mind drifted to a hot June morning, the 5th to be precise, of the year 1832 and to a particular gathering of friends in Corinthe (we will learn later why), and then went back to being cheerful, “I am Prouvaire by the way, Jean Prouvaire, sometimes known as Jehan among those of a poetic disposition.”

Bahorel laughed and translated, “Jehan is a poet so he adds an affectation to his name.”

“It’s not just poets who do that. Marvelous is quite a name. Tell me where did you find it?” Prouvaire turned his gaze to the child. Marvelous grinned, “It fell from space.” He wasn't sure if he should as yet share that he had chosen it as his space pirate identity deliberately.

Prouvaire nodded approvingly at this response, it seemed if not completely poetic then at least mysterious and he appreciated that quality in a pirate recruit, “Tell me young space pirate, have you ever visited the moon? I have some affection for it, such that I am writing an epithet in its honour. Two more verses and then my agonies will have ended, until a new beauty captures my heart.”

Bahorel laughed, “Jehan, Marvelous will not care for your poetry about the newly discovered moons of Planet Eistla.”

"Why not? To think they are always discovering new moons and different phenomena, even almost 200 years after the first time we died. It makes you excited and almost makes the Immortality worth it."

Bahorel turned towards the boy, “Why were you stowing away so dangerously on this ship? You could have died. Do you really not have any place to go?” He walked over to the porthole and looked beyond the deck, “I suppose not, for you wouldn’t be here in this way, hiding in between our-- the crew's possessions.”

Marvelous tried to make his voice seem casual, but he couldn’t help the quiver that was visible, “The Zangyack burned our ship. I snuck into a freight ship and they burned that too.” He looked ahead, a hollowness present in his eyes that made Bahorel’s heartache fiercely and his voice want to howl against the miseries.

“So I’m here.” Marvelous shrugged his shoulders.

“Palsambleu! Those bastards do seem to get around a lot across the Universe, taking over everything that doesn't belong to them. Colonising every planet.” Bahorel nodded sympathetically.

“Which is why we seem to have acquired a pirate ship and are apparently wanted pirates, eh, Jehan.” He placed his hands on his hips. "There are posters of course with our names and faces plastered all over several planets. I must say it makes for quite an adventure requisitioning a ship and being known as pirates. Much better than the skeleton prank we once pulled in Paris."

“I’m also a pirate to make a fashion statement, Fashion being political of course and nothing more political than being a rebel pirate against the Zangyack Empire, right now.” Prouvaire said, turning around and showcasing his long dagger which he unsheathed from its case, his eyeliner and several earrings, rings and bracelets. The young Marvelous’ eyes shone with excitement at Prouvaire’s look.

“I’ve never seen someone look so much like a pirate. Like how I would like to be one.” He said, admiring Prouvaire’s look and moving around him. “I want to be a pirate in search of treasure and to fight the Empire.”

“You shouldn’t really be a pirate.” Bahorel placed his hand on the child’s head and shook it a little playfully.

“Well, I am,” the kid puffed up his chest. “They are calling all the rebels as such from now on to stop anyone from supporting us. You should know if you are one.” For a moment, Bahorel and Prouvaire appear distracted thinking of the reports they have heard from spies and smugglers and groups of anarchist rebels working against the Empire.

“Oh no you don’t,” Prouvaire said running after the child, “Give me back my gun.”

“I saw you,” Marvelous said looking Bahorel straight in the eye, “In the market town of the trading post GJ-148 down below, tearing up posters and picking a fight with the Goumin and Sugoumin on the planet to save people from being killed by the Zangyack, so I followed your ship. I want to fight with you all.”

Bahorel grinned, the child knew how to flatter him. Also he was holding Prouvaire’s large (for Marvelous) gun.

“Tell me young Marvelous, do you know how to fight?” Bahorel asked, his feet casually on the table, the dagger in his hand, waving in the air lightly away from him.

Marvelous held up the gun, adopting a posture he had seen and taken several times before and shot the dagger cleanly out of Bahorel’s hand.

“Not bad. Could do with some improvements but not bad.” Bahorel said, patting him on the back. “Where did you learn to shoot?”

‘With another group of rebels. They were arrested and executed by the Zangyack.”

This time there were tears in Marvelous’ eyes. Bahorel walked to comfort him and Marvelous grabbed his long pirate coat and hugged it tightly to him, his lanky body shaking a little.

“Well, I guess, he will just have to stay.” Bahorel said, hugging the small child back. Considering how many younger brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews he had helped raise or rather spoil, he was hoping that one pirate rebel would be easy enough to show the ropes. Relatively.

“We did say we were working on gathering a new crew.” Prouvaire pointed out holding his flower pot in his hand and contemplating the small petals it had sprouted even in space.

“And there are a lot of unsavoury privateers along many spaceports.”

They watched the child the next couple of weeks, Marvelous as he called himself dart and run across the ship’s length, never more at home that when on the deck of their Corinthe, taking flight everywhere; he had even made up with the cook and now they seemed to be on good terms. He had managed to make purser bend to his will. He was boisterous, helping the boatswain with the checking of the knots, or the navigator to spy on the open darkness that lasted as far as the eye could observe. The Navigator had warned him from looking at the stars with the telescope when they were close to them.

His sense of justice Bahorel had noted, was pretty strongly tilted against the Zangack due to circumstances, he had seen so much earlier in his life and in favour of the wretched and the planets that had been destroyed or colonised across the galaxy.

He had seen Marvelous fight because he didn’t like how a poor family was being treated and knocked around by space authorities, when they made port to pick up a few supplies and had quickly intervened on his behalf along with Prouvaire who loved the thrill of the fight and who even now in his ghost like state was smashing street lamps wherever he found them- more out of old habit.

Slowly Marvelous was opening up, he had never been to school, he told Bahorel. He had never seen the necessity of it. School had been spending time with his family and their crew and the crew's children who were all treated equally as him.

School had been learning how to navigate using the spacefarer’s songs and melodies. Bahorel felt a sense of pride at how much he knew about navigating ships and he ruffled the kid’s hair. Marvelous for his part loved spending time with Bahorel.

Bahorel took him and his concerns seriously and did not dismiss them for coming from a child. Bahorel had given Marvelous lessons too. His sabre handling wasn’t nearly as sharp and clean as his pistol shots and Bahorel showed him the right way to hold his sword, the footwork he should use, the thrusts and parries that should be part of his arsenal when he was planning to attack a Zangyack.

Prouvaire amused Marvelous with his many eccentricities and his recitations on board the ship. “I am memorable at least.” He murmured one day, sitting on the bow of the ship casually. The boy climbed up to follow him.

“What are you doing, Marvelous, you scamp?” the quartermaster yelled, but the kid focused his attention on the narrow edge of the bow and kept walking, his balance precise and calculated. He made it to the edge to observe the comet that Prouvaire wanted to show him, its icy green tail causing him to become mesmerised for a while.

After some moments he jumped down.

“I have jumped onto the masts before too, to raise and lower sails,” he grinned as he reassured the quartermaster who shook his head and went inside his cabin, where half the crew were playing cards and drinking rum.

An off-tune melody was struck and Marvelous too joined, his boyish voice mixing in well with the rest of the crew’s baritone, bass and tenor voices. Marvelous was wearing the vest and several more necklaces and rings that Prouvaire had lent him. He smiled at the Captain and Bahorel ruffled his hair a little again, while Marvelous with his cat like grin leaned against Bahorel's large coat, watching the card game till he fell asleep with the rocking movements of their spaceship.

#happy birthday dear friend #yes this will probably get more sequels because a lot of characters need to be introduced slowly #and also I have promised whump which I need to deliver #this is after a certain movie and precanon lmao because I love missing scenes #feeling weird about posting but also don't care #I wrote it for Autumn and other people may or may not read or like I wrote it for us<3 #space pirate blorbos well one blorbo the rest to be revealed later and poetry smash

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a-la-rascasse · 2 years

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Wishing a happy birthday to the lovely @jimclarkposting!!!!!!

Just a little green

Like the color when the spring is born

#HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOY!!!!!!!!!!! 💜💚💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚💜💚#I'm sending you the biggest hug ever my dear friend!!#hope your day will be great and that you'll have time to celebrate!!!#I'm so so glad we are friends 💚#despite you being a yellow enthusiast lmao <3 jk #classic f1 #jim clark #joni mitchell #_bdays

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haledamage · 2 years

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Lady’s Luncheon

for my dearest @queen-scribbles HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAIT!!! 💖💖💖 continuing my theme from previous years, here’s two ladies sharing a meal and a chat ;) though Xaeryn and Iorwen are both a bit more reticent to talk about their infatuations than AJ and Kira were.

1920′s AU tLBT-verse, after they briefly run into each other in chapter 4! Xaeryn is Cait’s and Iorwen is mine and both are our MC’s from @shepherds-of-haven 💖

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“Well, well, well. Detective Xaeryn Shrike.”

Iorwen called out the name as soon as she spotted the lady detective, and Xaeryn looked up from perusing a small notebook to stand and greet her.

Without the pressure of work and without Trick and Trouble’s pistols pointed at her, it was easy to recognize Ryn as the girl she’d known in school. They’d never been especially close, but they had both been part of Red’s circle of friends, so they’d at least been familiar.

Then again, it was rare to find anyone who wasn’t part of Red’s circle. He could charm the bark off a tree, if he had half a mind to.

In fact, he was the reason they were meeting here, too. Once it had finally clicked why she recognized Xaeryn, Wen had called Red to find out if he knew how to get in contact with her. It wasn’t surprising that he did; the two of them had always been stuck on each other, even if they’d never acted on it. Or noticed.

One thing had led to another, and now here they were, at a tidy, quiet little cafe that Wen had never heard of. It was certainly much nicer than the jazz halls and speakeasies Trouble liked to drag her to.

“Iorwen,” Ryn greeted with a smile, taking her hand in a warm, firm handshake. “It’s just ‘Miss’ Shrike. And should I call you ‘Captain’ Emroth?”

Wen shook her head as she slid into the seat across from her. “Only when I’m on duty. Otherwise, it’s technically ‘Doctor’. But just Iorwen to you, please.”

“You find time to practice medicine while hunting cultists?” Xaeryn slipped the little pad of paper into her bag as she asked the question.

“More like hunting cultists is why I practice medicine,” Iorwen replied with an easy laugh. “Keeping the Shepherds patched up is a full time job in itself.”

A waitress came by with drinks before they could say more. They waited until she was well out of earshot before continuing; apparently, being a detective made one just as paranoid as the Shepherds did. Or maybe it stemmed from being Mages.

“How’s your thief hunt going?”

“Still in progress.” Ryn’s lips pursed in frustration, eyes going distant with thought. Iorwen could almost see the gears turning in her head, rereading that notebook of hers from memory. It made sense that she was a detective; she had never met a mystery she could let lie.

“I don’t know how much help I can be, officially speaking,” Iorwen said slowly, making sure she had the other woman’s full attention before she continued. “But off the books, I have a few contacts I can ask to keep a look out. Discreetly.”

“And how much would this ‘off the books’ help cost?” Ryn asked carefully.

Wen waved off the idea. She wasn’t going to make an old friend pay her to essentially trick Trinaeste into being helpful. “Remind your bo to answer the damn phone once in a while and we’ll call it even. I’m tired of making the drive to Capra every time I need to consult with him.”

Xaeryn suddenly found the table runner fascinating, smoothing a hand over it to flatten out the creases before doing the same to her already immaculate skirt. “I’m afraid you have the wrong idea.”

Oh, Liefred, you sap. Iorwen barely stifled a sigh. He was so effortlessly charming, except when it counted. What a mug. “My apologies. The way he talks about you, I just assumed…”

That got the detective’s attention, though she still didn’t ask about it. Apparently Red wasn’t the only one who didn’t know how to get the words out. Wen let her have her secrets, for now, and pushed the subject back into shallower waters.

They let the conversation meander wherever it wanted to. It revolved around work, mostly; being a workaholic was clearly a trait the two of them shared. They talked about the Shepherds and Ryn’s work as a detective, about Haven, about Solhadur and their travels since leaving the academy.

“Where’s the farthest a job has ever taken you?” Iorwen asked, swirling her drink in her glass. The ice had long since melted and it was more water than anything else now.

“Hmm.” Xaeryn tapped a finger against her chin in thought. “Heth Macoll. The son of a well-to-do local family had gone missing. His mother thought he’d been kidnapped, but it turns out he’d run away and eloped.”

“Lack of communication is the real culprit once again. Those are always the best outcomes. And the worst.” Wen knocked back the last of her drink and dropped the glass to the table. “I bet Dearest Mother didn’t give you jack.”

“That’s why you always get payment up front,” Ryn laughed. She sat forward in her seat, elbows on the edge. “What about you? The Shepherds must send you all over Blest.”

“I went to The Reach a few months ago. Endarkened-born plague. Ugly business.” She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying more. That wasn’t the kind of talk for a nice joint like this. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. Someplace a little less... ritzy.”

Xaeryn was clearly getting antsy too. She did a good job of hiding it, but she kept reaching for her bag, patting it like she was making sure it was still there. Her mystery called to her again, begging to be solved.

“I should prob’ly get going. Blade will start to worry if I don’t check in soon.” It wasn’t entirely the truth - if only because Blade was definitely already worrying, with her off on her own while there was a known cult presence in town. But Ryn was too polite to leave first, so Wen gave her an out.

They paid their meals and donned their hats and gloves, stepping outside together. Instead of a farewell handshake, they gave each other a quick, friendly hug.

“We should do this again sometime,” Xaeryn offered. Despite the call of work, she still hesitated to leave.

“Bet on it. Here,” Iorwen dug in the pocket of her jacket to find a card. She didn’t use them often, but always kept a few on her just in case. “If you need a doctor’s slant on a case, or if you just want to grab a drink. Give me a ring.”

The card joined the notebook in her bag, alongside gods-only-knew what else. “I will. Thank you, Dr. Emroth.”

“Anytime, Detective.”

She watched Xaeryn walk away, waiting until the steady click of her heels on pavement faded before lighting a stick of charch and heading off in the opposite direction. Time to hunt down a grifter and see if she could convince him to help look for a different one.

#happy birthday my dear 💖 hope it's a fantastic one!#iorwen emroth #xaeryn shrike #this is a little shorter than I wanted it to be #but it was either this or they were going to have a whole novel involving a murder mystery #where ryn brings in wen to consult on the cause of death #(that may still happen but that's a mystery for AFTER the solimer's torch is found)#I had a bunch of ideas that I was working on but after their brief run-in I KNEW it had to be ryn and wen #so I've been waiting to reblog that because I didn't want to give this away :3 #they give me very miss fisher and mac vibes #the lady detective and her doctor friend #also iorwen being like HEY DO YOU LIKE RED but saying NOTHING about her own complicated romantic entanglements is very in character for her #(shhhh yes I know xaeryn has already run into chase but iorwen doesn't know that okay let her flirt with her thief)

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cityandking · 2 years

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smallest hours

Her phone reads 3:34 and the bed is cold. [middy/eniko. roommates au. 1.2k. middy belongs to @darlingicarus]

my good god, it’s been an age. originally this was for the insomnia prompt for an old whumptober challenge. now (as always) it is for @forcekenobi. I can’t hug you, but these two can hug each other (ish) and that’s what counts. happy birthday my dear!

She can’t say what wakes her. It’s not even waking, not really, just the vague notion of consciousness plucking the edge of her mind like harp strings. She mumbles something indecipherable and reaches through the tangle of blankets and nest of pillows for Enikö, and finds the bed cold.

That wakes her properly. She blinks a little, blearily turning over to check the time. Her phone reads 3:34, blazing white numbers across her lock screen, half a dozen faces grinning back at her. She blinks again, vision clearing, and peers back at the far side of the bed as if to be sure, even though she already is, even though she was before she was even awake to be sure.

It isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last.

She yawns and nestles herself deeper into her nest. It hadn’t been like this the first time she’d stayed the night, everything crisp with tight corners, more than a little alien. At some point that had changed, bit by bit, piece by piece. He hadn’t said anything of it, and she had let him keep his silence, but now, with her blankets and her pillows—

Well, there’s still something missing. She sighs and stretches, squinting around the room. There’s no sign of him, nothing but the faint shine of light under the bedroom door, thoughtfully closed. She considers it for a mullish moment—it’s so late, and she’s so cozy—but her decision was made as soon as she woke. Before she woke.

She drags one of the blankets along with her, holding tight to the warmth as she pads across the hardwood and out the door. It swing silently open onto the wide, high-ceiling living room. The softness of their— his— the bed hasn’t crept in so far here, corners still sharp, furniture still squared-off and sleek, taking up as little space as possible. They don’t talk about that either, but she understands it too, the need to move. One of the windows is cracked open, even though the night is frigid. He doesn’t say, but she thinks it helps him breathe.

For his part, he sits on the couch, stark under a single lit lamp, frowning down at the tablet in his lap. Middy leans against the door frame, watching. He gives no sign he’s seen her, no sign that anything is off at all, even at half three in the morning, even sitting in the chill breeze in his sweatpants and bare skin.

There’s certainly something to be said for the unobstructed view.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he says without looking up. “I had something to take care of.”

“This late?”

He doesn’t so much as twitch, so whatever’s going through that ridiculous head of his certainly isn’t work. But she knew that when she woke up to a cold bed.

“Nikö—”

“Only a little longer.”

She huffs and pulls her blanket tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill and trudges across the room. It’s a little strange. The first time she’d seen it she’d found the apartment bare, impersonal. Now the lack of barriers between her and her destination is a comfort. She can reach him like this, at least.

She perches on the couch near him, not quite touching but invitational, and after a moment he places the tablet on the coffee table, screen down.

“You do not need to wait up for me,” he says mostly to the table in front of him, a measured dismissal.

“Okay,” she says. She tucks her feet up under her where they’ll keep warm and closes her eyes and waits. After a long, silent minute he sighs.

“Middy.”

“Not waiting,” she says. “See? Eyes are closed.”

That doesn’t even win her a sigh. After a minute, she cracks an eyelid. He’s not looking at her, not really. His eyes trace the apartment. The thin, cold breeze cards through his hair, loose in his eyes for once. He looks so much more his age like this.

“You should go back to bed,” he says quietly. “It’s cold out here. You should sleep.”

“Shouldn’t you?” she returns, and something in him slumps, shoulders falling, tight-wound poise loosening.

“I,” he says, and stops. “I do not think I will be sleeping tonight.”

It’s more of an admittance than she expects. More than she usually gets, more than she would push for on a night like tonight, when he is loose and bare and sitting in the cold. She opens her other eye and frowns at him, tucking her chin over her knees, picking up one of the couch cushions to hold onto. It’s a warm, musty orange. Not a great softness, but softness nevertheless.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His fingers, smoothing over the creases of his pants, go still.

“No,” he says, snorting, like this is funny. Maybe it is, a little, the two of them on the couch and him lying so poorly he’s given up entirely. It isn’t the word she would use. “Just— old ghosts.”

“Okay.” She’s proud of him, she thinks, for saying it. That certainly isn’t something he’d like to hear right now, so she tucks it into her chest with all the other things she’s waiting to say to him. Maybe she takes too much on faith in thinking that she’ll have the chance one day, but she’d rather the hope than the doubt. She deserves her hope, hard-earned at each turn, and he has few people in his life to hope for him.

And she has little pieces of softness, blankets and pillows and hair loose in his eyes, to promise that the waiting will be worth it, tonight and many nights from now too.

Quietly, she says, “Is it alright if I stay?”

He looks at her finally, brow furrowed. She itches to smooth it out. “You should sleep—”

“I can sleep here,” she says. She can sleep anywhere. “I even brought my own blanket. But is it okay?”

His mouth twists, like he means to smile and can’t remember how, or like he doesn’t mean to and can’t help himself. It eases some of her concern.

“You are more than welcome to stay,” he says, one of those strange, earnest truths he offers up when she least expects it. She swallows, momentarily overwhelmed, and then a wide, jaw-cracking yawn distracts her from the fluttering in her stomach. His smiles softens into something small but true, and that feels like a mark she has left too.

“Good,” she says—and it is, because she would have anyway, likely as not. She tips herself over where she sits, still curled around her pillow, still wrapped up in her blanket. Like this, the top of her head almost touches his thigh, and she wiggles herself deeper into the couch until she can press up against him, seeking warmth. Her eyes close. “You can leave the light on. I don’t mind.”

His hand settles against her head, fingers carding through her hair. She hums, turning into the touch.

“I won’t be much longer,” he says, and this time she believes him.

Quieter, he says, “Thank you.”

Middy hums, breathing in the cool night air and the smell of his apartment and the smell of him, sinking back into that quiet, warm place between sleep and waking. At some point there’s motion, gentle and slow, not enough to stir her. The chill lessens. The room goes dark.

By the time he joins her on the couch, wrapped up together in the wide, vaulted hollow of his austere apartment, she’s asleep.

#happy BIRTHDAY MY DEAR #time zones are a little *wiggles hand* but it's still your birthday here and I have this for you because I love you #r: m.a.e.#mine; writing #mine; eniko #eniko #friend ocs #writing; eniko #wow I don't remember any of my tags ANYWAY #the point is!!!!!!#happy birthday!!!#you make me happy you make my life better you are my little softness in the small hours of the morning #I love when it's your birthday because I think of you every time I see the date <3

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