ㅤㅤ✦           *     @malpractising sent:  [hold]  your  muse  holds  my  muse’s  hands. ( v sorry Eden is a hand holder, gotta be able to seeㅤㅤㅤ╲╲ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ accepting ♡

𝐋𝐀𝐖  𝐇𝐀𝐃  𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆  𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄  𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑  𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇  𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃.  Not  the  kind  that  bit  at  skin  or  stiffened  fingers—those  were  familiar  enough,  and  easier  to  fight.  He  meant  the  colder  kind.  The  kind  that  seeped  in  when  people  left,  when  wounds  didn't  heal,  when  silence  stretched  too  long  after  you’ve  asked  someone  to  stay.

But  this  —  This  was  different.  It  wasn’t  often  someone  touched  the  surgeon  without  warning.  Even  less  often  that  he  allowed  it.  So  when  cold  fingers  slid  against  his  palm  ,  tentative,  like  a  question  made  flesh—he  didn’t  pull  away  right  away,  but  his  breath  hitched,  caught  between  instinct  and  reason.   how  his  lashes  stilled,  how  his  thumb  twitched  as  if  caught  between  pulling  away  and  not  wanting  to  break  the  contact  just  yet. 

It  wasn’t  warm.   The  skin  was  cooler  than  expected  That’s  what  struck  him  first,  and  more  deeply  than  he  wanted  to  admit.  Eden’s  hand  was  cold——not  in  the  way  corpses  were  cold,  exactly.  Law  had  held  enough  of  those  to  know  the  difference.  No,  this  was  living  cold.  The  kind  that  somehow  pulsed  with  purpose,  as  if  the  chill  was  tethered  to  something  ancient  and  unfinished.   Not  of  this  world.  Like  if  you're  pressing  your  bare  flesh  into  snow.  And  yet  the  touch  was  deliberate.  Eden’s  fingers  curled  into  his  as  though  he  needed  this  to  see—to  anchor  himself,  was  it  to  perhaps   confirm  that  Law  was  really  there?   He  noticed  it  the  moment  Eden’s  fingers  closed  around  his.  A  touch  too  deliberate  to  be  accidental,  too  gentle  to  be  threatening.  For  a  few  moments,  Law  said  nothing.  He  let  his  gaze  drift  from  Eden’s  face—that  permanent  pallor  of  someone  who  had  died  long  before  he’d  had  the  chance  to  live—to  their  joined  hands.

His  thumb  twitched,  not  pulling  away,  but  neither  gripping  back.  He  felt  the  difference  in  temperature.  The  lack  of  pulse.  The  steadiness  that  wasn’t  human.  Eden  felt  like  something  borrowed  from  the  other  side.  Something  that  should  not  still  be  here,  and  yet…  here  he  was. 

he  noted  how  eden  was  quiet,  always  quiet,  as  if  sound  cost  him  something.  And  Law,  for  all  his  sharpened  edges,  hadn’t  yet  figured  out  if  Eden’s  silence  meant  peace  or  agony.  he   didn’t  say  anything.  He  didn’t  pull  away.  He  was  a  surgeon.  He  understood  touch  intimately—the  weight  of  it,  the  meaning  of  it,  how  much  it  could  give  away.  Eden's  hand  wasn't  desperate.  It  wasn't  trembling.  It  simply  was.  A  tether.   It  was…  focused.  As  if  his  fingers  were  reading  something  beneath  Law’s  skin.  Tracing  stories  in  bone  and  tendon  and  veins.

Here

Here

Here

Age: dead

Do you like to cuddle?: yes dont tell anybody

Can we make-out?: if you want to do that ?

A night in or dinner out?: night in unless you want to go on an adventure : > ill carry you if you get tired

Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: i cant

What makes you a good Valentine?: i dont know ive never been one but i love you

Would you cook for me?: yes if you promise not to freak out

Would you let me cook for you?: i cant eat but i will hold whatever you make ?

"What if I send you a glossy image of a .jpg for the food... Wait..." Did it make him a bad boyfriend that he occasionally forgot Eden was blind, " ... Maybe candles? They make candles that smell like food. " There had to be a way to make sure Eden could enjoy the food as much as he did...

" If I ate the strawberry and then described it to you... would that be better or worse? " Somewhere, as he had a tendency to do, was getting so caught up in the smaller details, he was missing the larger question being asked.

Here | and referencing

He had no idea who had put it up- or why they thought it was a good idea to put up in a public space. Strangers generally weren't inclined to kiss each other, regardless of whether or not it was tradition. And especially less so when they were being goaded into it by a room half-full of drunks. It was more irritating than anything.

The comment about them being parasitic was already known- he was fairly certain that something back in his home made them... Sort of sentient on top of that. It was also entirely possible the thing back home was an entirely different plant, mimicking the appearance of mistletoe. He wasn't really a plants guy. (And exploring the forests outside the borders was damn near suicidal, regardless.)

"I won't make you," after the quiet explanation of the time of year, his attention flicking back down after casting glares around the room. He would have been content with simply pressing a kiss against the top of the mask, despite whatever mild dismay the room might express at such a conclusion to the awkward standoff- But the sound of buckles suggested the other was okay with the prospect. That was certainly an interesting turn of events. "I haven't either." As if that made the situation any better. It might, in all honesty. He wasn't exactly a people person either.

　❝ is that not a common saying among humans? ❞

　there he goes again, obstinately continuing to insist that he wasn't also one with mankind. ❝ i'm presuming you were once, and not some inanimate object given life like the tsukumogami of wano. ❞

when doflamingo's generous offer to buy the ghoul from those pirates was oh so rudely rejected, he barely had a few days to dwell on that frustration before said ghoul all but delivered himself to his throne room anyway.

a bit unceremonious in his execution - not only showing up unannounced and with no stated purpose, but pushing his way through every staff & family member that tried to impede him until he reached his destination - but doflamingo would take it. not to say his ego was that bruised by the rejection (business deals fell through all the time, after all) but the knowledge that, despite his captain's rejection, the object of his interest still couldn't resist the offer, still wanted to be here - well, that certainly was an ego booster, wasn't it?

but then eden started to talk, and that giddiness gave way to an ever creeping urge to give into violent intrusive thoughts. oh, so this is the kind of person he was? sanctimonious & defiant with the stench of sentimentality and respect for 'the resilience of the common man' lacing every word? it was familiar in a way that doflamingo decidedly wasn't a fan of. he fantasized about taking eden by the scruff of his neck and driving his face through one of the stained glass windows opposite of the throne.

　❝ spoken like a true, lost soul in need of guidance. ❞ luckily for eden, doflamingo specialized in such cases.

　❝ you know, when i first laid eyes on you, although your physical body looks as if it died young, i was curious about how many lifetimes you've lived and what your mental age would be - but i see now that you clearly haven't been roaming the earth as you are for very long if this is how you think the world works. ❞

doflamingo sighed, comically loud, when he realized his increasingly slouched posture & dour expression wasn't enough to convey his boredom, standing and instead walking circles absentmindedly around his guest. not as an intimidation gesture necessarily (his facial injuries seemed to be a promising sign that the intel he gathered about the boy being fully blind was correct, so would such a thing even work?) just that, like any collector, he preferred to examine his things up close.

❝ let me explain something to you - yes, and no. those with strength define their own purpose. the weak are given purpose. this is how it's always been - and you, little ghost, seem to believe you are in one category when you belong to the other.