三浦按针

🎬 + parent / guardian

🎬 + family (blood or chosen)

🎬 + friend

🎬 + partner (platonic or romantic)

🎬 + rival

🎬 + teacher / mentor

🎬 + associate / coworker / teammate

🎬 + boss / reporting officer

🎬 + enemy

🎬 + sender's choice (specify a second character for the scene to involve!)

“Please, you don’t understand. I’m Mal, you know I am —“

“Oh, cut the act.” Mal interjected, rolling his eyes with an exasperated sneer of his own. “I don’t know what the fuck you are, but William knows you’re not me.”

But even then, a hint of uncertainty flickered across his expression as he glanced up at the shiftling and wondered for all of a fleeting moment if he actually did — he hadn’t noticed before, had he?

    A sneeze beats it out, followed by snotty, lung-wrenching coughing. Leaning on his knee with one hand, hacking into his other elbow, two things occur to the Shiftling.

    This is worse than a head cold.

    And he doesn't know which Mal is which.

    In the maelstrom that engulfed the dance floor, there's no telling what fae trickery took place. The Mals could've swapped clothes. Swapped skins. And that's if this is fae at all. William could think of a dozen other monstrosities that would use his partner like an anglerfish lure. A phony light of love dangling before ice pick teeth.

    If he could focus on anything besides breathing.

His laugh scattered her thoughts like a bowling ball crashing into already-jumbled pins, and the ghost sat bolt upright, gaping at him in pure shock. Holy cow. She’d never imagined in her wildest dreams to hear that sound from him. Something bright and fizzy bubbled within her, and a slow grin spread across Cassie’s face, bright with thrill and pride.

A single laugh from the most sullen guy she’d ever met and suddenly the ghost felt more alive than she’d felt in years. William looked like he felt the same, and relief filled Cassie as well. She hadn’t liked seeing him even more miserable than usual.

Were they serving breakfast? She blinked, still dazed, then cleared her throat and grinned wider. “Uhh, kinda? Hope you like vending machine stuff.”

- ✧ -

Frankly, she saw the off-limits sign more as a suggestion than a warning. A challenge, even. Who could stop a ghost from trespassing?

The cave looked awesome. Excitement brimming within her, she leapt off the motorcycle before it had rumbled to a full stop and nearly vibrated with eagerness as she waited for William to speak.

    At times, Saoirse says, As always, I shall warn you.

    Thank you, William thinks. Maybe he should shave. Rolling his eyes, he pockets the motorcycle key. "Let's go."

    The tour guide is a bubbly, twenty-something intern in khaki shorts and a Stetson. Hands clasped together in barely restrained excitement, she addresses the two dozen gathered crowd with the enthusiasm of an evangelist. "Welcome to Pilgrim's Cave! My name is Julie, and I'll be taking you into one of the largest caves in Missouri! Some rules for safety before we begin--"

Eyes widened as a punch was thrown, one which fortunately didn’t seem to bother William in truth, but before he could interject (either to break things up or ask who the fuck throws a punch over a spilled drink, he hadn’t decided yet) the florist glimpsed the blue glow of eyes in the darkened lenses of the assailants sunglasses.

Oh, fuck.

As chaos became all-out, panic-fuelled disaster Mal caught a flicker of reddish hair in his periphery, floundering as he glanced between William and his double, who was currently trying to fight the tide of fleeing revellers, ducking beneath arms and hastily retreating. “Oh, no you don’t.” He muttered beneath the din, surging after him — for as tempting as it was to grab hold of a muscled arm and cling on for dear life, there was no way he was going to let Not-Mal vanish into the night, never to be seen again. Shoving through the throngs of people flooding out of the nightclub with gritted teeth, he heaved a breath of triumph as he closed his fingers around a jingling wrist. It was like fighting ocean currents as he dragged him, desperately trying to cling on and ensure he didn’t slip away again, though Mal’s gaze brightened as he spotted familiar golden antennae gleaming just across the room.

    Looking up as coughing spasms cease, William's relief is short-lived. He's sick, sure. Not ill enough to see double. Aintín--

    Saoirse surges to life over his shoulder, raises her arms. The ceiling sprinklers fizzle on. Lamps and lights spark and sputter as water coaxed by fae hands finds its way into bulbs and wires. She takes a small breath as the club sinks into the green gloom of emergency exit signs. Perhaps there will be time for dancing later.

    As his eyes adjust to the dark, a thought occurs to Adams, unable to be ignored in its absurdity: when the DJ told everyone to get their bodies on the floor, he likely didn't mean this. William, Mal, and the doppelganger are the only uprights in a puddle of groaning partygoers. His heart goes out to them, and in another situation he'd be helping the injured.

    Not now. Not when Mal is touching that thing.

    A shame there wasn't a katana around. In a fishnet shirt and jeans full of holes, William feels nude without a blade.

His gaze switched between the two, but inspect as he might, he couldn't find any clues. They certainly had a very deep bond... a familial one, he wasn't so sure. Uta would have nothing to compare it to, anyway.

    Saoirse hides her laughter behind her hand, fins and feathers glowing. If nothing else, the joy William feels shining through their bond makes the whole bathhouse trip worth it. Talk about a spa treatment.

above: portrait sketches 35usd / below: with airbrushed colors 55usd