#anyway again. i did find my charcoals. :)

[notcatherinemorland]

lmao once upon a time i had 70% of a portfolio and a rather serious discussion about financing an art foundation degree and 7 years on i could not tell you for love nor money where 70% of my art materials have gone. into the fucking void i presume.

[ww2yaoi]

[In honour of Webgott Wednesday, here's the first scene of the other Webgott WIP I have on the go whose working title is too deranged to mention. Anyways, enjoy.]

Spring of 1952. San Francisco, California.

Joe and Web have a tradition.

In the middle of the week, every week, Joe closes up the shop for lunch and meets Web halfway to the Chronicle building in the park across from City Hall. Joe brings sandwiches he buys at the kosher deli next door and they eat and drink coffee and complain about work until their hour is up.

Today is no different. Joe finds Web in their usual spot on a wooden bench by one of the fountains, the afternoon sun beaming down and bathing the pavement in buttery light. Joe loves San Francisco in April. The air is warm and featherlight, the breeze comparatively cool with seaspray, and the soupy summer fog has yet to swallow the Bay whole. Everything feels new after winter’s damp and windy gloom, and Joe is briefly reminded of Austria, of its misty mountains and glass-like lakes. It had been a springtime of rebirth after a long, hard war.

Well, mostly.

Web is always a sight in his well-tailored suits, charcoal gray tweed today, his tie a deep maroon. He’s taken off his jacket and folded it across his knee, the sleeves of his starched white Oxford rolled up to reveal his hirsute forearms. This is his uniform now. The last time Joe saw him in ODs was probably when they disembarked in New York Harbour at the tail end of 1945. He thinks Web might have burned them.

“Hey,” Joe says.

Web beams like they didn’t just see each other this morning. “Hey.”

He hands Joe the cup of coffee that was resting on the bench beside him and Joe sits down in its place. He sets the bag of sandwiches by his feet and grabs Web’s usual order, a pastrami on rye with extra pickles.

“How was the cable car?” Joe asks like he does most weeks, passing Web his sandwich and grabbing his own, corned beef with lots of mustard.

“Swarming with tourists, as per usual,” Web says with a grimace, unwrapping the paper from his sandwich.

Joe smirks. “Y’know, some lifelong San Franciscans would consider you a tourist.”

“Ugh, don’t insult me,” Web says, shooting him a look. He takes a generous bite of his sandwich then talks out of the side of his mouth. “What do they want from me? I’ve lived here for five years.”

“Yeah, but everyone can tell you’re from New York.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you think you’re better than everyone else. The New York wafts off of you like the odour of a finely aged cheese.”

“You did not just compare me to stinky cheese.”

“Hey, I specified ‘finely aged.’ Didn’t I?”

Web rolls his eyes. “Just eat your fucking sandwich.”

Joe snickers, then takes a bite of it, chews and swallows. “How’s the paper?”

Web just shakes his head. “This election is going to be the death of me.”

“It’s seven months away,” Joe says, a pocket of corned beef in his cheek.

“That doesn’t mean the whole office isn’t worked up about it,” Web counters. “Journalists…” He trails off. “My editor is breathing down my goddamn neck.”

Joe wipes mustard from the corner of his mouth and licks it off his finger. “Well, that’s what happens when you miss deadlines, Schatz.”

“Astute observation, Lieb.” Web glowers, but Joe knows he’s just being difficult on purpose. Always the same song and dance with him. “The article isn’t right yet.”

“Which article is this again?” Joe takes a sip of his coffee. “The one about the, uh, the mayor’s daughter’s ballet recital?”

Web smacks Joe in the chest. Joe was expecting as much, and he grins at having gotten a rise out of him.

“Uh, no,” Web says insistently. “I’m writing about the steelworkers union.”

“Right, the steelworkers union.”

Joe takes another bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully. Web had probably told him about it at one point or another, probably after sex. Web has always been too talkative for his own good around Joe, but he’s especially rambly after an orgasm. Joe likely hadn’t been listening. It’s enough to keep up with the virility of a twentysomething in bed, he doesn’t need a fucking dissertation afterwards.

“How’s business at the shop?” Web asks, changing the subject.

“Slow.” Joe picks at his sandwich wrapper. “You’d think people’s hair had stopped growing.”

Web laughs. “Well, hopefully, that’s not the case. We’d probably get evicted. Maybe it’ll pick up this afternoon.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Is Sal still getting on your nerves?”

Joe makes a pft sound. “Does the day of the week end in Y?”

They finish their sandwiches and coffees in companionable silence, watching as people stroll through the park with their dogs or their children who aren’t old enough to be in school yet. A well-dressed housewife walks past them pushing an expensive-looking pram. A little boy in overalls, no older than two, toddles behind her, pulling a toy truck on a string. She smiles politely at them, her eyes shaded by a pair of cat eye sunglasses and her lips a rubious red. A scarf battens down her kempt blonde curls, tied around her head with a neat bow beneath her chin.

Mom, tot, and baby are making their way to the adjacent fountain when a baby blanket hanging out of the bassinet falls to the ground. A soft pink crumple, bleached by the sunlight against the gray pavement. The woman fails to notice and her little boy pays it no mind. They continue on their walk, unaware that anything is amiss.

Before Joe can even say anything, Web is getting up from the bench and jogging over to the abandoned blanket. He scoops it off the ground and approaches the woman, getting her attention by gently tapping her on the elbow. She turns and Web presents the blanket to her like some kind of fairytale fucking prince, eliciting a wide, white smile from the woman, her teeth square and straight like a row of Chiclets. She takes off her sunglasses and places them on top of her head, probably to get a better look at Web. Joe can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

The civilian world isn’t like the Army. In the Army, a pretty face like Web’s might get you relentlessly teased, or cause the men to take you less seriously until you prove otherwise. On the outside though, it’s all anyone seems to care about. People are always accosting Web, asking him for directions or chatting him up in line at the theater or next to him on the train. In the rare instances they go out to the Old Crow or the Black Cat, Joe has to keep a firm grip on him, in case some flit tries to take Web off his hands.

Web and the woman are chatting now, glancing down every so often to look at the baby in the pram. They’re far enough away that Joe can only pick up fragments of their conversation above the rushing of the fountains. Joe catches the words ‘daughter’ and ‘paper’ and ‘sweet.’ He fishes for his cigarettes in the breast pocket of his button-up and lights one, just so he has something to do with his hands. The smoke churns in his chest and the back of his neck prickles.

The little boy is shyly clinging to his mother’s skirt. She bends over and picks him up, balancing him on her hip. Web is smiling even wider now than he was when Joe first greeted him this afternoon. He waves hello to the little boy. Joe takes another sharp drag of his cigarette as Web says his goodbyes and then walks back to the bench where Joe is still sitting.

“Nice family,” Web says, plopping himself down again.

Joe doesn’t say anything. He taps ash from his cigarette onto the ground and tries to look preoccupied. Web checks his watch. He gathers up their sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups and puts them into the paper bag to be thrown away. He’s still faintly smiling to himself as he does it. It’s just enough to make Joe’s anger boil over.

He scoffs. “Jesus, Web. Didn’t know you missed flirting with broads that much.”

Web’s head immediately snaps to the left so he can look at Joe. “What? I wasn’t flirting,” he insists. “I was just trying to be nice, and she was very clearly married.”

“Then what the hell are you smiling about?”

“Her kids! Her kids were cute,” Web says, raising his voice. He promptly lowers it as more parkgoers pass by them. “The little boy, Peter, and the baby, Judy. Christ, Joe. You know I like kids.”

Joe looks at Web. Web looks back at him. His eyes are so goddamn blue. Sometimes Joe thinks if Web were lying to him, he would be able to see it in his eyes, spot the untruth somewhere in that clear crystal blue, like a droplet of blood in water. Right now, however, all he sees is the person he loves most in this world, begging him not to be an asshole for once.

Joe’s jealousy fizzles out, mild embarrassment rushing in to take its place.

“Alright.” He shifts, letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders, and fiddles with his cigarette. “Y’know, I did hear something about you in Holland, depleting the company’s Hershey bar supply by giving chocolate to every sad Dutch kid you saw.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The corners of Web’s mouth turn up ever so slightly in a smirk, and Joe knows his attempt to break the tension has worked. “You know about that? Who told you?”

“I don’t know. Hoobler maybe.”

“Hoobler.” Web repeats the name thoughtfully, like he’s testing it out on his tongue after not saying it for a long time. “Well, in my defense, the Krauts were starving them.”

“Wow, my fuckin’ hero. Where’s your Silver Star, Web? Is it in your sock drawer with your Purple Hearts?”

“Shut up,” Web says, but there’s barely any bite to it. “How has this not come up in the last however many years?”

Joe shrugs. “Maybe we talked about it and forgot.”

The truth is, they don’t reminisce deeply about the war very often. It comes up every now and again. Sometimes they linger on the more lighthearted memories, like a particularly funny joke Luz told or the summer afternoons they spent swimming together in Lake Zell. Anything weightier than that spells trouble for the both of them. Web becomes unspeakably angry when he talks seriously about the war, while Joe feels like he could cry ten years worth of tears.

Half a decade ago, Web had given Joe a rough manuscript of his recollections to read. Joe had barely made it five pages into the thing. He’d quickly realized that if he knew the full extent of Web’s pain, he’d never be able to disentangle himself from his own. Since then, they’ve tried not to reopen the wound, although Joe supposes that implies it closed in the first place.

Web checks his watch again. “Shit, I’m going to be late.”

“Well, then, you better go.”

“Alright.”

Web squeezes Joe’s knee — about all the affection they can get away with in public — and gets to his feet, coolly draping his suit jacket over his right shoulder like he thinks he’s Frank Sinatra or something.

“Thanks for lunch, Joe.”

“You’re welcome, Dave.”

Web turns and smiles at him, walking backwards in the direction of Market Street to catch another cable car.

“Ich liebe dich,” he says in German, in case anyone is listening. “Du bist mein Leben, meine Familie, mein Lieber.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe waves him off. “All the same to you, kid.”

Web laughs, boisterous and beautiful, then finally turns his back to Joe. Joe watches him go, then heads off in the opposite direction.

[This fic is currently at 28k and hopefully I will finish it AT SOME POINT.]

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Halo Pt.2

warnings: less plot, but still plot, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, biting, light blood(play), light hair pulling, body worship, oral(f receiving), light degradation, yandere themes, dub-con, think that's it

summary: in your free time you do freelance writing, doing interviews with people most would consider strand and unusual. when you recognize that one of the regulars in your coffee shop only visits in the evening, you pose the question of where you can interview him, upon his agreement, you realize this is unlike any other interview

a/n: holy shit, i am alive actually. i feel kinda horrible that i last posted in september. life got kinda crazy, i was slammed with uni and work, and had intense writer's block. anyways, i hope those of you who enjoyed the first part enjoy this one even more! i'm not entirely sure how active i'll be this semester, but i'm not going to make any promises lol. as always, i hope you enjoy and have a great day! :D ~nero

word count: 5.4K

Vampire!Seonghwa x female reader

pt.1

Seonghwa looked off to the side, inhaling a calculated breath before he spoke. 

“The nightlife. Where I was before was too prosaic and mundane. It lacked character. But here? There’s a flame that ignites when the sun goes down.” 

You scribbled down his last sentence wanting to maybe use it as the title for the piece when you finished. Looking back up at him, you felt your body relax and suddenly everything felt easy. 

“Where were you before?” 

“Everywhere. I’m a bit of a nomad, you see? I can’t stay chained to one place for too long.” 

“Did you find your last locations to grow boring, or was it something else?” 

“Something else. Rather of my own doing, but needing to keep my needs satiated is a necessity.” 

You paused for a moment and glanced at your notebook littered with questions trying to find the next avenue you’d walk down. You hadn’t been faced with someone so careful in their speech. He was answering your questions, yes, but not in the full detail that you desired. He was making you work. 

“Being a nomad, you must have a flexible job. What do you do for work and what’s your haven for play?” 

A smirk formed on his face, like he knew he was stumping you. Running his fingers through his onyx locks, he went to lick his lips and you noticed the length of one of his canines peeking from behind his upper lip. 

“Ah, yes. For work, I was lucky enough to benefit from years of generational wealth, but I hated the fact of that being my only accolade. So I sought after art. I always rendered an interest in building things so I thought, why not extend that to an artistic field?” 

“What’s your medium?”

“Sculptures and charcoal portraits. I love capturing time in a piece. I don’t know how long this life will grant me so I enjoy partaking in affairs that allow me to immortalize that time. Remind me to show you some of my portraits.” 

Nodding, you remembered the busts you saw when you entered his home, the question crossed your mind if those were his art.

“Those busts that you have in your entryway, did you make those as well?”

“So you really were quite entranced. To answer you, yes, I did create those as well. They’re of my family who have since passed on. I don’t have many left in my life so it aids me in keeping the memory of them alive.” 

Moving your hair out of your face to look at him, you furrowed your brow feeling sorry for him as you processed his statement. 

“Are you all alone out here?”

The concerned look on your face quickly fell to anxiety as you feared you may be prying too much into his personal life. Getting ready to speak again, Seonghwa stopped you with the gentle raise of his hand and smiled. 

“You’re not overstepping any boundaries, my dove. When I agreed to sit with you, pen in hand with the recorder running, I alleviated all forms of privacy for you. You may ask me whatever you feel called to ask. I’m yours for the evening.” 

A soft smile pulled at your lips as you silently acknowledged him, and thanked him for being so tender with you. His velvet voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

“To answer your previous question though, yes, I am all alone. It was lonely at first, but after a while it became comfortable. Perhaps preferred. I did find that recently though, the exigent desire for a partner has been pulling at my heartstrings.” 

“With your interest in the nightlife here, surely it shouldn’t be too hard to find yourself a companion. Not to mention if you’re speaking romantically, I’m sure you’d find yourself plenty of options.” 

You regretted it as soon as it left your mouth, but it was already in the air now and you just had to hope and pray that he’d let it slide.

“What are implying?” 

Of course, he wouldn’t. 

“I’m just saying…that, you know, you are an attractive guy. It seems like you’d have a particularly easy time…weeding through people.” 

“You think I have a lot of suitors?” 

Seonghwa had his arms folded across his chest now, gaining pleasure from making you squirm. 

“I’m saying that I think you’d have a fair amount of people to choose from, not necessarily that they’d be worthy of your time.” 

You brought the pen up to your lips, feeling your anxiety swirl in your body as Seonghwa continued to hanker down on you. You glanced over at your notebook again, seeing what you could ask to divert the subject but before you had the chance to speak, Seonghwa was prying. 

“Worthy of my time?” 

“From first impressions, you seem…difficult to entertain. Not to be impressed by the bare minimum, which if considering this town, there is a lot of.”

Seonghwa leaned forward, smiling without showing his teeth. His aura radiated a slimy smugness that irritated you but also ignited a fire within you. 

“I’d beg to differ. There are a select few I’ve come across. I wouldn’t be so certain in your statement.” 

Your mind was swarmed with questions, most of them centering around who he was entertaining and if you even spared a shot with him. 

“Have you found a lover yet then?”

With Seonghwa still hovering over the desk, he looked so much larger than usual. He commanded even more attention and you couldn’t bear to tear your eyes away from his as he stared you down. When he spoke, he raked his eyes over your form and was begging whatever deity was out there that you’d pick up on his hints. 

“I’ve found who I want to be mine, she just doesn’t know it yet. I’ve been leaving her clues, paltry I know, but I beg that she pick up my scent soon.” 

“Like a secret admirer?”

“You can call it that, yes. What I feel for her though is more than what a secret admirer could possess.” 

You felt your heart drop, not even letting the delusion have time to manifest to let you think that this “she” was you. You nodded your head and looked toward your notebook again scanning over your questions to see where you wanted to take the interview next. As you went to look up at Seonghwa again, you noticed that unabated gloss cast over his eyes again. The other thing you noticed was that his eyes seemed to change color. It was hard to tell for sure in the dim lighting of the study, but you swore you were seeing flecks of red in his irises. 

As you inhaled to speak, you felt your body freeze and an indistinguishable tingle ran rampant through your limbs. Panic registered across your pupils as you tried to move but soon recognized that you were glued to the chair. Your limbs were attached to the wood of the desk as if your skin were made to melt into the surface. Suddenly as you looked at Seonghwa, you realized that you recognized this feeling, the energy that was emanating across from you. It was all too familiar.

It wasn’t sleep paralysis. It was him.

“Ahh, yes it was, my dove. I’m disheartened that it took you this long. Thought the journal would’ve been clue enough.” 

Feeling that static in your fingers trail up your arm and down through your body, you felt control over yourself again. You pressed your back flesh against the chair, a feeble attempt at creating space between you two. Your vision was unfocused for a moment and in the blur created, you understood that the man across you was the figure in the corner of your room last night. Your breath quickened with fear, but something else mixed in with your emotions that you couldn’t quite place yet. 

“Y-you we’re in my room last night?… Why?” 

Seonghwa stood up slowly, his hands planted firmly on the desk. His frame which was at first sleek and inviting was now imposing and ravening. His eyes were boring into you making you feel so minuscule under his gaze. His tone was low, almost near a whisper, but his next words sent a chill down your spine. 

“Because I can’t bear to leave you alone.”

Your eyes blew wide in panic, fear present in your features. You wondered how you could find a way out of this, a way to remedy the situation but you felt completely and utterly trapped. You looked behind you to the door of the study and defeat enveloped you as you came to the conclusion that any attempt you made to escape would prove to be fruitless. As you returned your gaze to Seonghwa, he was shaking his head, a grin cast on his face. 

“How could you even think about leaving so early when we haven’t finished the interview yet, y/n? I’ve looked forward to this all day, I’d hate for it to end so soon.” 

Seonghwa furrowed his features into a pout, persuading you to swallow your fear and sit forward. Maybe, if you indulged in him he’d let you leave. As Seonghwa sat back in his seat, a new wave of questions ran through your brain. Whether or not you’d include this in the posted interview, you needed closure for yourself. Asserting yourself in your spot, you sat taller, your gaze piercing his as he did to you moments before. Your voice carried a dominance that hadn’t been present all evening. 

“How long have you been following me?” 

“Fiesty are we?”

“Hwa, how long have you been on my tail?”

“My dove, I’m disappointed. How could you not realize all those rotten feelings you felt when you stepped out of your car were because of me?” 

His face was sickening, he was enjoying this. The smile that painted his face was sardonic and it made acrimony bubble within you. All those weeks where you felt like you were going brainsick were because of him. 

I can’t believe him right now

“Better start believing y/n. At least you have the comfort of knowing you’re not demented.” 

“Stop doing that!” 

It was freaking you out that nearly every thought you had about him he had a response to. He was inside your head and you couldn’t place how he was doing it. 

“Doing what, darling?” 

“That! Being in my head! How are you doing that?!” 

Your fear was making you hostile and agitated. You felt completely out of control and you hated every second of it. You were in a stranger’s house, agreeing to come based on the hopes that you’d get something out of this and now you were shackled in this room with a stalker. You stared down at your notebook trying to fit the pieces of all of this together. The thought finally dawned on you that he knew where you lived, and it was no mere coincidence that the journal you found at your front door perfectly matched the pen he gave you. Your eyes landed on a bookshelf behind you and you noticed a horrifying similarity between what was sitting on the shelves and what was resting underneath your hands.

“Ask me.” 

Your head whipped to Seonghwa’s voice, not daring to disrespect him for you were fearful of the consequences. 

“Ask you what?” 

“Ask me how I know your thoughts.”

You inhaled a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself for the answer you were about to be given. Sighing you looked straight into his eyes, and that’s when you noticed the color of them changed. A deep carmine colored his irises now. Your eyes squinted, trying to understand his motive now. 

“How do you know what I’m thinking.” 

He inhaled a breath, mocking you. He smiled at you, something sickeningly sweet about it. 

“Vampirism. Vampirism is how I know. Vampirism is also how I’ve been able to stalk you without the thought of me ever crossing your mind. It’s the reason why I was in your bedroom, why I could never leave your thoughts, why you were entranced by me. By design, you were meant to be allured by me and you were. Which is why you’re sitting across from me.” 

You were stunned. You always entertained the idea of supernatural creatures, but never did you think that were actually real. Never in your lifetime did you think that you’d be face to face with a vampire and with that knowledge you were now more fearful of your situation. Your next words flew from your mouth without any chance to filter. 

“What do you feed on?” 

Seonghwa leaned forward and smiled, the tip of one of his fangs peeking out onto his bottom lip. 

“Whatever I can get my hands on. I have to say though, the more fear that exudes from my dinner makes the taste that much more delectable. And you, my sweet y/n, are absolutely intoxicating right now. Almost as sweet as last night. Gods, it took everything in me not to devour you then.” 

You held your composure, but something stirred in your lower stomach. Radiating heat between your thighs. 

Arousal. 

You were feeling aroused by his words, and you were ashamed by it. Here you were, at the mercy of a stranger and yet, you were aroused by the transparency of his truths. You tried to push the feeling to the back of your mind, but something was bringing your innermost fantasies about Seonghwa forward. His eyes were indulging in you in sheer gluttony, looking at you like prey and you couldn’t help but think that he was holding back on what his inner monologue consisted of. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” 

You leaned forward, asserting yourself now that a lustful wave crashed over your body. 

“So that’s what gets you off? Carnal urges, is it?” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“While true, it is what I heard prior to you speaking.” 

Rolling your tongue across your teeth, you were through with the antics. 

“What’s on your mind now, Hwa?” 

He smiled flashing his teeth, his fangs on full display. 

“Truthfully, I’m running through all the ways I want to consume you. To make you mine. And it’s becoming quite painful to ignore.” 

You wanted to call his bluff, to catch him off guard even with the disadvantage of him invading the privacy of your mind. You stood up from the chair, the legs creating a painful scratching sound across the wood. You walked around the edge of the desk and positioned yourself in front of him, gently laying your hand on the table in front of his, your fingertips barely touching. Leaning down, you stared into his piercing garnet eyes damning yourself to cosset in the feelings that were licentious in nature. Wetting your bottom lip with the tip of your tongue, you felt your eyes blow in temptation and you knew he was aware of every second of it. 

“Then do something about it. Live up to this lavish vampiric character you’ve laid out for me.”

With the passing of a second, the roles of power drastically shifted. His body moved with a swiftness that you hadn’t experienced and before you had a chance to register what happened, you were caged underneath his frame with your hips nailed against the side of the desk. His slender hand snaked its way to your neck, wrapping his deft fingers around your face and forcing you to look at him. 

“Careful, pet. I don’t think you understand the gravity of your words.” 

Eyes darkening with lust, you smirked at him feeling a sense of power as you watched him lose control in front of you. Moving your body to sit on top of the desk, you rolled your neck, exposing your most vulnerable space of skin to him.

“You reek of luxuria, have you any shame?” 

“Not any more than you.” 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you trailed your hand up to the nape of his neck, goosebumps forming in its wake. You curled your fingers into the hair resting on his neck feeling fulfilled as you watched his body shiver in unabashed desire for you. His chest heaved heavy breaths as his lust for you was becoming harder to control. Seonghwa let his head fall into the conjunction of where your neck and shoulder met, his breath creating an intense humidity that only aided your arousal. 

Pulling at his hair, you positioned him to look at you head-on. His eyes were blown wide, the red of his irises nearly covered up by the black of his pupils. His breathing was still heavy and you could feel a small bulge prodding at your inner thigh. Rolling your hips into his, you watched his eyes roll to the back of his head, only the white of his sclera showing. As he breathed out, a small whimper was swallowed in his throat. Pulling at his hair, he opened his eyes to look at you. 

“Devour me, Seonghwa.” 

Any suppression of his feelings turned into a zealous carnal display of affection. His lips were on yours in a second, hot and impassioned. His hands roamed over the exposed flesh of your thighs, indenting the skin with his fingers each time he squeezed. Your head was squirming with floating ideas and wrestling with the plain fact that you were getting exactly what you wanted. 

As Seonghwa swiped your bottom lip, silently asking for permission, you parted your mouth just enough to grant your tongues the freedom to fight for dominance. With one roll of your tongue into his mouth, the side of your tongue was swiped by the point of his fang. It sent a chill down your spine but excited you even further. Feeling bold, you closed the space of your lips and bit down on his bottom lip, pulling away from him as you watched him with hooded eyes. 

Letting your hands snake down his torso, you hooked your fingers into his belt loops pulling him closer to your clothed center. Gently rolling your hips, you were thankful that you wore a skirt as your aching cunt ghosted over his jean covered cock. Looking up at him, your eyes were blown and you could feel the sexual adrenaline raging through your body. 

“I want you, Seonghwa. I want you to make me yours.” 

Seonghwa looked down at you, a knowing smirk painting his mouth as he gingerly put his finger under your chin. 

“Aww, how sweet. But darling, you were mine the moment I laid my eyes upon you, don’t you get that? I just needed that sweet invitation to fall from your pretty lips.” 

In the blink of an eye, Seonghwa’s hands found their way underneath the fabric of your shirt. His hands were like ice, but the contrasting temperature soothed the raging heat dancing across your skin. There was an uncontrollable need and you felt like you couldn’t get close enough to him. Your body kept rolling into his and you couldn’t quell the small moan that escaped your throat. 

“Excited, hmm?” 

Your eyes were pleading, needing to feel something other than his hands roaming your body. 

“Do something, please. I’m begging you.” 

Seonghwa brought his face to the side of yours so that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. He was breathing slowly, almost methodically and it made your heartbeat race. When he spoke, your eyebrows furrowed at his lower tone.

“Just something?”

You mewled at him, tired of the teasing, but what he did next was not what you expected. One of his fangs made contact with the sensitive skin of your neck and you moaned out as the tip of it impaled your skin. Seonghwa pulled away, his tongue swiping at the tiny drop of crimson staining his tooth. His eyes darkened as he smirked at you and indulged in your metallic taste. You felt him roll his hips into yours, his cock growing harder as he imagined how it would feel to feed off of your naked body. 

Growing impatient from the wanton ache that settled in your cunt, you pushed Seonghwa away from you and your body off of the desk. Making yourself as big as possible, you guided his body backward until his knees met the lip of the couch in the study. As his form gracefully plopped into the cushions, you tore your top off throwing it on the floor behind you. You straddled Seonghwa’s thighs, grinding your hips down into him as you made contact with his lap. You cupped his face as you let your body control your actions rather than your mind. Pulling him close, your lips danced a dangerous waltz of spit and tongue as he began to feel dizzy from the intensity.

Seonghwa was enjoying this obscene side of you, his nimble fingers gripping at your skin any chance he got. Pulling away from his lips, his mouth chased yours not ready for the kiss to end so soon. Placing your hands on his chest, you allowed yourself the time to admire his form. His perfectly sculpted body that was encased so delicately by the mesh he wore. You sucked your bottom lip behind your teeth as you gripped the fabric into your fist grinding down into his erection. 

His hips rolled up into yours and his breathing quickened as he devoured you with his eyes. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

“More than you know.” You panted out

Seonghwa patted your thigh and nodded his chin behind you. 

“Up.”

You pushed yourself off of him, suddenly hyper-aware of your insecurities. They didn’t have long to manifest as his voice pulled you from your thoughts. He grabbed your hand leading you out of the study, down the hallway, and guided you into his bedroom. 

“Never. Think such dreadful things about yourself, my dove.”

Seonghwa gently placed you down on the edge of his opulent bed, his bedroom far too extravagant for you to fully appreciate right now. Nodding his head behind you, you understood his cue to scoot back and your eyes never left him as he crawled over your body. 

“It’s simply just, if I’m going to ravage you in the ways I’ve dreamt so vividly, it wasn’t going to happen on that vapid couch.” 

He placed gentle kisses on your jawline, nipping slightly at the skin near your earlobe. Seonghwa then dragged his nose down the valley of your breasts and stopped at the hemline of your skirt. The heat and your arousal turn near suffocating under the constraints of your panties. 

“You deserve to be tasted, worshipped. To be given a night of passion. And I, my sweet y/n, am going to give you all of that and more.” 

His voice turned more gruff the more his sentence trailed on. What you failed to realize was that due to the angle he was at, your arousal was like his personal parfum and it was dreadfully intoxicating. He acted with no haste as he dragged your skirt down your legs, taking your underwear with it. You felt embarrassment quickly wash over your body as you felt the stick of your arousal stretch between your needy lips and the ruined cotton. 

Now fully exposed to him, you had nowhere to hide and it excited you. He pressed his nose against your clit, the action sending a savage bolt of lust through your body. Your body shivered as he took a deep inhale of your scent, his tongue following soon behind with a flattened lick across your folds. The moan that left you was covetous and echoed off the walls of his bedroom. 

Seonghwa lapped at your folds like a ravenous dog and your sounds only egged him on. Your hips were riding his face, unable to get enough of him. When your hand found refuge in his inky locks, he moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you to the precipice of your orgasm. With one hand gripping at his hair and the other fisting the sheets, you were moaning like a rapacious whore. 

“Hwa, fuck! Hwa I’m gonna cum!” 

Seonghwa gripped his hands tighter around your hips, shoving your cunt as close as possible to his mouth. Seonghwa focused on your clit, fluttering his tongue against your sensitive bud before sucking your orgasm right out of you. 

“Fuckfuckfuck!” 

Seonghwa didn’t give you a chance to ride out your first orgasm, instead, he continued sucking on your tender rosebud and let the aftershock of your second climax wash over you. Your body shook in intervals of vibrating lust. Chillis littering your body as you relished in the feeling he just bestowed upon you. Lifting himself from between your legs, he hovered over you with a satisfied smirk plastered on his lips. Soon his lips were on yours again and the tangy taste of yourself swept across your tastebuds. Pulling away from you, he began unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You taste even better than what I dreamt of.” 

You couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that he wanted you just as bad and your mouth moved quicker than your mind. 

“Y-you’ve dreamt of me?” 

An airy chuckle left his throat. 

“Darling, if you question my likening for you one more time tonight, I’m going to have to chain you to my bed and fuck any trace of doubt out of you.” 

Your hole squeezed around nothing and courage found itself in you again. Flipping your bodies over, you sat on top of his lap, your arousal spreading all over the top of his jeans. Undoing his belt, the sexual tension was fervid and it was as if you couldn’t move your hands fast enough. His cock was straining against the layers of fabric and you needed it straining against your walls. 

Pulling his jeans down his legs with his underwear, you knelt down, prepared to offer up all your oral skills known to man. Before you could ghost your lips over his tip, Seonghwa’s hand found your chin and titled you to look up at him. 

“There will be plenty of times for you to taste me, tonight though is about our collective ecstasy. To lose ourselves in one another.” 

His hand pulled you closer to him and you straddled your legs over his. His leaky and libertine cock teasing your entrance as you hovered over him. His hair lay disheveled across his face all thanks to your hands and he somehow looked even more desirable than before. With puffy lips and heavy eyes, you needed him in every way imaginable. 

Lowering yourself down onto his cock, you weren’t prepared for how big he’d feel as you took him in inch by inch. He thickened as you reached his base and made you feel so full. As you bottomed out on him, both of you moaned in harmonious synchrony that made you wish you could have it on repeat. 

“Hwa~! You’re so—so big.” 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you squeezed his length inside of your velvety walls. You placed your hands on his shoulders needing something to ground yourself on. Seonghwa’s hands purchased themselves on your hips awaiting your movements. 

“Call me that again.” 

You rolled your hips, your walls fluttering as you looked down at him. 

“Hwa~” 

You let your forehead rest against his as your body began to ride his perfect cock. Your moans creating the quintessential licentious atmosphere. 

“Hwa, baby…you feel so good.” 

Your mind was racing, not really paying attention to the words that left your mouth. But you wished you did. 

In seconds, the use of the pet name rendered you at his mercy. Only for a moment did his cock leave your seraphic cunt as your bodies were flipped once again. Seonghwa entered you with such a force that you could only describe as concupiscent and raw. Your nails immediately dug themselves into his back and the sounds that left him were more obscene. 

“Oh, God!”

“God is nowhere in this room, nor will he ever be, Pet.”

His moans were tantalizing, hypnotizing you even more so under his spell. His thrusts were deep and calculated, abusing your G-spot with every hit. If God wasn’t in this room, all that Seonghwa was making you feel definitely felt like it. You’d never felt euphoria like this before, it was sinful in every sense of the word and made it feel like there truly was a reason for Him to have died for our sins. Feeling a pool of heat begin to settle near the bottom of your stomach, you wrapped your legs around his waist caging him to you. 

“Y/nnn, I can’t hold myself back much longer.” 

As your walls fluttered around him one more time you shook your head, your voice coming out with more air than you anticipated. 

“Me n-neither.” 

You kissed him again, impassioned and frenzied. Panting against his lips, your nails found solace in his back again. His breath was creating humidity in your neck and you enjoyed every second of it. Looking into his eyes, there was more swimming in them than just lust. 

“I want all of you. I want to feel every part of you Hwa. I need you. I need you so bad, H~wa!” 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nails dug deep crescents into his skin. As you begged him for all he had to give he did just that as his mouth snuck its way to your neck and his fangs sunk into your skin. 

The feeling of the puncture was just what you needed to peer over the horizon of your orgasm and crash into the sea of its entirety. Seonghwa was still pumping his hard cock into you and then you felt a familiar warmth flood your walls. Your body squirmed underneath him and slowly your vision began to blur. Before you had the chance to completely lose consciousness, you watched Seonghwa slice his tooth into his wrist and felt the crimson drain over your lips as he pressed his wrist to your mouth. 

“Drink, my sweet dove.” 

His voice was so sweet. Like a siren’s as you drifted into a slumber that was filled with nothing but pleasure. 

~*~

When you awoke, you were still lay in his massive bed, but your body was covered in a black silk nightgown and you smelled faintly of sandalwood and frankincense. You turned your head to the left and then to the right only to find that the bed was empty. 

Where did he go? 

You pushed yourself up to sit in the bed only to be met with the worst headache in your life. It felt like your entire body was pounding in pain and the drumming of it only kept getting louder. Wincing, you heard the handle click open on the bedroom door, revealing Seonghwa with an assortment of food, water, and a glass of red liquid. Wine maybe? 

“I could hear you worrying from across the house. Trust, I’ll never be far from you. Now—I know you’re probably in a decent amount of pain right now, but it’ll soon fade in the next few days. Your body can still take normal food just not in large quantities. Here.” 

His voice trailed off as he tore a piece of the croissant laying on one of the few small plates on the tray. Holding it up, he raised his eyebrows encouraging you to open your mouth. Obliging, you gently took the piece of bread from him, chewing slowly as you tried to make sense of your reality. 

“Did you…did you turn me?” 

“Yes.” 

You nodded. 

“So that means, I’ll be like this forever? Like you?…With you?” 

You saw something like fear flash in his eyes for a moment. Or maybe it was regret?

“Yes. And if you’d like to spend your days with me then it does seem that way my sweet dove. If you feel otherwise I will not hold you back. Although, I will admit I will have a hard time staying away from you.” 

He smiled, almost jokingly in a way that softened your heart. 

This must be who he is behind that mask

“Forever with you doesn’t sound so bad.” 

You blinked up at him, a smile spreading across your own face. 

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

taglist: @blackswann-53098 @tunaasan @bellamuerte1987 @seonghwasstar

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Month 1

Stories around the Breakfast Grill

Part One | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

This idea was sent to me by my good friend @kimahrii and by Anonymous! CW: Some light reader past trauma Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 2.7k

“Thatch!” you yelled, peeking your head inside the kitchen. “Fruit for breakfast again?! Where’s the bacon?”

“Sorry kid,” Thatch apologized, scooping a strange liquid into a bowl. “We’re out of charcoal.”

You scowled. “So make more.”

“We could…but were out of wood, too.”

Your eyes grew wide. “We’re three days from another island!”

“We have food! Just not anything to cook with.”

Ace popped his head in next to you. “You could use me!”

The cooks in the kitchen froze at his words, trying to decide if he was being serious or not. On one hand, the day would be hard without protein. But the last time someone tried to cook food…

You laughed. “Thatch doesn’t let people do that.”

“No,” Marco appeared from the supply closet, clearly digging for his own rations. “Thatch doesn’t let you do that. Since you almost burned down the ship last time.”

You pouted at him, your cheeks turning bright red in remembrance. “I was eleven!”

“And a walking fire hazard,” Marco grumbled and went back to the storage closet. Ace was grinning at you, but he could tell you were embarrassed, so he didn’t want to press the story any further at the moment. 

“So, eggs and bacon?” Ace walked to the cooler area and reached for the eggs and meat. Thatch scowled at him but passed off the paste that he had been preparing to another crewmate, and picked up a frying pan. 

“I’m cooking,” Thatch said, gathering a few ingredients. “I don’t trust you heathens to do it properly.”

“Yay!” you cheered. Thatch always came through for you, in some way or another. You were a lousy cook anyway, even if he had tried to teach you.

Ace wrapped his arm around you and led you out of the kitchen and onto the deck, both of you thrilled with the victory.

“Grab some water buckets!” Thatch called after you. You rolled your eyes but did as you were told.

You and Ace headed up to the secluded part of the deck, buckets in hand. Ace laid down on the deck, giving you a wink and placing his hat atop your head as he spread out. 

“So,” Ace said, bathing in the morning sunlight. “You’re gonna have to tell me about this fire hazard thing, you know.”

Before you could answer, you heard footsteps coming up behind you. 

“She was a fire hazard for years,” Marco griped, sitting down next to you. You groaned, wanting to crawl away and find a hole to hide in. Marco knew it all, and he certainly wouldn’t spare the details. 

A chorus of voices laughed from behind him, and you realized that Ace would now have an audience as he was cooking the food. Surely everyone was coming to see if he would suffer the same humiliation as you had in the past. 

“She burned everything she touched when she was younger,” Marco said. “And oh boy, you couldn’t criticize her at all without getting a flaming rock shot at you. Thankfully her aim wasn’t very good.”

“Really?” Ace was grinning, looking over at you. You tipped his hat lower to avoid making eye contact with him, but you could see him trying to catch your attention.  

You could feel your cheeks starting to burn, and you could hear the sound of your hair around the tips of your ears starting to fry. You could only hope that Ace’s lucky hat wouldn’t have burn marks when you returned it to him. 

Curiel laughed. “She was! How do you think Thatch got that scar around his eye?”

You stared at the ground, knowing you were giving yourself away. Most of the commanders didn’t even notice your embarrassment. They loved making fun of you, even if it was a sensitive subject in your mind. 

“Ah, it’s no biggie.” Thatch gave you a playful wink, sitting down on the other side of you. “I gotta think of a cooler story though. Telling people I was beat up by a seven-year-old doesn’t sound as cool as you think it does.”

The rest of the crew laughed, and you gave a polite smile yourself, trying to bury the shame you felt at that story. You had never meant to hurt Thatch, and seeing that scar made your mind cloud with guilt some days. 

You felt a hand wrap around yours, giving you a light squeeze. You met Ace’s eyes finally, and he gave you a little smile, letting you know it was okay. He wouldn’t judge you. He wouldn’t laugh at you. 

“Let’s get crackin’.” Thatch passed the eggs over to you, along with a bowl and a whisk. “Just scrambled today. Nothing fancy.”

You gave a nod and released Ace’s hand to pick up the eggs and begin preparing breakfast. You had done this a million times before, ever since you could remember. 

When you were little, Thatch pulled up a chair for you to stand on and taught you how to crack an egg. People told him it took you 5 times longer than anyone else in the kitchen, but Thatch made you stick with it, even when you were ready to explode with anger. You had been mad at him then, but now you could crack eggs more skillfully than most of the cooks in the kitchen. 

Thatch began preparing bacon while you cracked the eggs, and Marco began cutting scallions and mushrooms to add to your bowl. 

Thatch looked around nervously. “We’ve got water, right? In case it gets out of hand?”

“Dude,” Ace laughed, looking very nonchalant as he got comfortable on the deck. “Stop freaking out. I can handle it.”

“Heard that before,” Thatch mumbled, shooting a glance your way. “Okay Ace, light it up.”

Ace skillfully created low flames from his torso, keeping them contained but burning hot. Thatch carefully lined the bacon on the pan and then placed it on Ace’s stomach, watching it carefully. The second division commander gave a light chuckle, but kept the flames under control. 

Thatch still didn’t seem convinced, though. He didn’t take his eyes off it, looking for any sign of disaster. 

“Relax, Thatch,” Ace assured him. “You can put the bacon right on me if you want.”

Thatch physically grimaced at the offer. “That would be a major health hazard. When’s the last time you even showered?”

Ace bit his lip, trying to recall. “Do I have to answer that?”

Thatch gagged at his answer, but Marco chuckled to himself as he examined the vegetables, clearly lost in his own world. “Y/N, do you remember that month you dressed up as a scarecrow?”

“Because of the seagulls!” Rakuyo chimed in. “You were…four?”

“Oh,” Ace grinned, looking up at you. You didn’t look as mortified as you had for the previous story, and Ace was dying to hear more about your childhood. “A scarecrow, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rakuyo said. “She thought the seagulls were going to eat our vegetable garden, so every day she dressed up as a scarecrow to keep them away.”

“Too bad she didn’t realize that once we left land, we left the seagulls too!” Vista bellowed, joining in on the fun. “But hey, she was determined to stand there all day. She was convinced that standing there kept the seagulls away!”

“You guys told me it was working!” you blushed, your cheeks glowing from embarrassment.

“Damn straight we did,” Marco said, adding his ingredients to your bowl. “Kept you out of our hair for most of the day.”

You rolled your eyes. “How did I even like you as a kid? You were so mean to me! And you weren’t even a good babysitter!”

“Oh my god!” Jozu yelled, laughing to himself. “Do you guys remember when Marco let Y/N have 3 shots? He got a six-year-old hammered!”

Now it was Marco’s turn to turn red. “Now, now!” Marco defended. “That was not my fault! I turned away for thirty seconds!”

Ace was clearly humored by the story because his flames shot up, increasing the heat level.

“Hey!” Thatch hissed. “Keep it under control.”

You must’ve really scarred that man. In more ways than one. He was paranoid about everything now.

“You know what she told me?” Marco continued. “ ‘It’s in a little glass so it must be for little people.’ Three shots. In thirty seconds. And it was the good stuff, too!”

“I think I recall her claiming it tasted like candy juice,” Thatch chuckled.

“Coconut juice,” you corrected. “But it was sweet like candy.”

“You were drunk off your ass!” Marco yelled. “At six years old! And you were a mean drunk, too!”

“Shouldn’t have let me drink, then,” you shrugged, grinning at him. It was nice for the heat to be on someone else. 

“Why do you think you weren’t allowed at parties until you were 13?!” Marco hissed. “Man, I was in so much trouble that night.”

“If I recall correctly-” Fossa had a grin on his face, showing he definitely did remember correctly. “Marco was put on babysitting duty all night for the drunk kid.”

“God, I didn’t sleep a wink! That was one of the scariest moments of my life. I thought for sure you were going to die. But you didn’t even throw up! You just giggled yourself to sleep and then slept like a rock all night!”

“Even then, you could handle your alcohol,” Thatch chuckled, bumping his shoulder against yours. 

“And then that time you ran away!” Marco groaned. “That was probably the most scared I’ve been in my life, actually. God, I was sure I was Pops was going to kill me for losing you.”

Ace perked up, interested in your rebellion. “Ran away?”

“I was five!” you shouted. “And you weren’t listening to me!”

“We had to go grocery shopping, which you agreed to do!”

“I was bored! I would’ve found my way back!”

“Like hell you would’ve,” Marco shot back. “You would’ve found your way straight to a Naval Base.”

“Oh, I will need this story,” Ace said, instantly intrigued. He tried to turn to face you and Marco, but Thatch smacked him back into place. 

“You have food on you, in case you forgot,” Thatch scolded. “Stay still.”

“She ran from Marco and got picked up by some bounty hunters,” Jozu explained, ignoring the ongoing bickering you and Marco were partaking in. “They were taking her to a Naval Base to turn her in for her bounty.”

Ace raised his eyebrow at you, trying not to laugh. “How’d you get away from them?”

You shrugged. “They ran off. Marco grabbed me and took me back to the ship before they came back.”

“That is not what happened,” Marco cackled. “That is not what happened at all.”

A few others joined in on the laughter, but you didn’t understand. That’s exactly how you remembered it. “What are you talking about?” you asked, looking around. 

“Don’t act modest!” Rakuyo called out, like he was trying to pull out a story that you weren’t aware of. 

“Come on,” Ace begged. “Tell me.”

“I don’t…” you trailed off, looking at Marco for help. You really thought that was the story. You were certain Marco had rescued you.  

Marco watched you closely, trying to see if you were bluffing. “Holy shit,” he mumbled after a few moments.  “Did nobody tell you?”

“When exactly was that supposed to come up?” Thatch replied softly, taking the scrambled eggs and pouring them into the pan. 

“What?” you demanded. “What happened?”

“You killed those guys,” Vista said, chuckling at his own words. “After you ate that fruit, you set off an explosion. Marco went to investigate, and found you at the heart of it all.”

“No.” You laughed nervously, looking around the deck at everyone’s faces. Vista was always making up absurd stories; making fun of how gullible you could be. You refused to fall for it again. “I was five. I couldn’t have done that.”

“You did.” Marco leaned across you and grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate. 

“No,” you reiterated. “I remember you coming and getting me. I remember-”

“The crater you left? The ash? How exhausted you were after?” Marco asked, pressing you to remember. “You told me that those guys were trying to grab you, and then they just disappeared. You think they had time to run away?”

You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to believe him. 

It’s not like it mattered. You had killed plenty of people, both accidentally and intentionally. And those two men weren’t good people. They had wanted you dead. You were just a kid when it happened, too. It was so long ago, the details were fuzzy when you thought back to it. 

But still. How had you not realized that they had died by your hand? Had you chosen to be oblivious for this long? Had a part of you realized what you had done and tried to block it out?

“Badass,” Ace said. He patted your knee gently, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to the present. 

“Yeah.” You gave a weak smile, trying to show that it wasn’t bothering you. 

Thankfully, Thatch finished up his breakfast cooking at just the right time, and everyone immediately forgot what you had been talking about. They were far more interested in food than in embarrassing stories from your childhood. 

Ace extinguished his flames and jumped up to grab food. You watched everyone, trying to force yourself to move, but you couldn’t. You were stuck thinking about those men. 

Thankfully Ace fought the other commanders for double portions and came back with plates for each of you. 

“You okay?” he asked, sitting down next to you. 

“Yeah.” You shook your head a little, trying to clear it and the old memories that had resurfaced. 

“It was nice hearing about your childhood,” Ace said, picking up some bacon. “You sounded cute.”

“They’re going to pay for those stories,” you grumbled, shoving eggs into your mouth. 

“I was told they have some really old bounty posters of you too. I heard you might even be missing a tooth in one of your younger ones.”

You shot him a glare. “You better not go looking for them.”

“Oh darling,” he shot you a mischievous grin. “You know that the first thing I’m going to do after this. And I can’t wait to see them.”

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[quibbs126]

So I got around to redesigning Charcoal Cheese (yet again failing at not doing my designs, but I have been thinking about him and how to change him, so it’s not that bad)

For those that don’t remember the original (because it was almost a year ago), I’ll link it, but also I’ll just put a picture here

I had to redo him because the Golden Cheese update came out and the whole “kingdom being destroyed and everyone dying” thing kind of messed with things. Also he was basically like a gatekeeper for the kingdom, which is literally Burnt Cheese

But his new backstory is that he survived the destruction of the Golden Cheese Kingdom as a child, having been able to successfully flee, but he never returned to the ruins because he was terrified the monsters were still there, and so Golden Cheese thought he died, but couldn’t find his body to upload to the Golden City. Meanwhile Charcoal Cheese got amnesia, either from an injury or just repressed memories, and so he just lives in and wanders around the Parmesan Desert, and he just has a feeling to avoid the Golden Cheese Kingdom ruins. Also in his time he’s learned how to ride the Sand Jelly Worms and successfully avoid them

Meanwhile Dark Cacao has no clue about any of this and has just been assuming that Charcoal Cheese has been living fine with his mother. Yes he’s somewhat concerned that he’s not heard anything from his son since he was a child, but he doesn’t know where Golden Cheese has gone to anyways and is just hoping the best

I was originally gonna make his new backstory that he died but not all of his body parts could be found, so instead he’s just a ghost that wanders both the desert and the Golden City and Golden Cheese has no clue what’s happening. But I was struggling with trying to figure out a design and how his age works, until I got the new idea. Now he’s old

He’s still a bit of a prideful ass, but he also helps travelers avoid the worms and warns them of the ruins. Just don’t stroke his ego

That was quite a bit on backstory, but I have thoughts on him, alright?

Well then on to design. Not explaining the name because I did that in the original

I wanted to keep his little beard because he’s like one of the only ones with facial hair. Maybe I could have made it more though

I also changed his face markings because the original got mistaken for eye bags. Also it’s a purple diamond like his dad

His cloak was originally going to be brown, but I changed it to black because I thought it fit more with charcoal cheddar being mostly black. Also it means cool contrast with the inner part of the cloak (maybe he reverses it based on time of day)

I wasn’t planning on giving him gold stuff, since he’s supposed to be a desert hobo, but I ended up giving him some anyways. I guess it’s the dormant Golden Cheese itch for gold

Also this doesn’t have to do with the design process, but looking at the two designs side by side, you can really see the evolution of my Cookie Run style, and I’m kind of proud of that

But yeah, that’s about it for Charcoal Cheese, I hope you like his new look!

[leoneliterary]

Oh gods, I love and adore the new update! My new grey horse Dust (bc it will leave them in the dust, is grey and unassuming at first glance, but also pure diamond) is already a favorite, even if my MC is slightly afraid of horses and not very good at riding. Aretas offering PRIVATE RIDING LESSONS and MC making not even one dirty joke to Merikh about it shows how serious the tension is, though. The cliffhanger is just mean, bc we don't get to sass big bad brother back. Not even a "you smell better, don't worry about me leaving you for him, wow he looks like a paler imitation of you".... I just imagined letting Desma loose on miserable big bro Labadon, but somehow that feels like bullying. ... Is that on purpose? He feels so arrogant and desperate to put down the bastard child, that it feels a little pitiful and insecure instead of evil, though I of course dislike and disdain him a normal and healthy amount, for his crime of a personality. But back to the important bits, Aretas is being smooth right back and I wasn't sure he'd have it in him. But so worth it, bc I already got a shovel talk from his mom! (a pretty mild one for now, thanks Teacher Alim) Aretas looking pained at Daddy Labadon's grand speech about his father's supposed greatness and aspirations and unsubtle attempt at baiting his king was greatly appreciated and the option that simply says "Blame Merikh" when asked why we couldn't ride? It was so .. tempting, I don't know how anyone can choose another. It's just such an impulse control defying little red button that all imp MCs just HAVE to press. And the reaction did not disappoint in the slightest! I laughed so hard! And then it got better, bc Merikh is just as clueless as you and my MC is learning that omg, he's actually just a grumpy little good boy. You just gotta adopt him. Sorry Sutek, sullen grumpy warrior slots are filling up really fast... I also loved cheering for Sefu and Sefu being so friggin POLITE and well behaved. I love when they show that they can be mature and competent at the same time as being total loving idiots. Desma feeling insecure was really hurting my kokoro, but then it got funny again when she asked "but are they REALLY brothers, how can we ever know?" Never change, best sister girl, my MC will steal horses with you and bury bodies. Their own horse, but probably other people's bodies. I do feel a tiny bit worried about Tamu being alone and trying to find the guild traitor preparing a take over without backup, though. Please let him be ok or at least let Gally have his back a little! This whole update had so much comedy potential with the right choices, it was a delight to read and totally worth staying up till after midnight! I love your writing style, it really hits me in all the best feels! Thank you for persevering, even through difficulties and I will honestly forever love your story! May all the cake, coffee and cookies be with you! As well as muses, time and motivation! I would offer a shoulder massage, but I can't reach through my screen anymore! All my love and adoration!

I always love your in-depth reviews, charcoal!! And thank you for such high praise!

Yeah, Merikh's big brother isn't the most well-adjusted, but whether he's just a pathetic weasel or a real threat, you can be the judge.

I wonder how many of y'all picked the 'blame Merikh' button. I had to give y'all the chance for some petty revenge, lol!

Judging by my asks, most of you chose the grey horse that you got to name.

Sefu really was on his best behavior, but good catch about Tamu. Wonder what he's up to while you're away. Desma is going through it, but she's being so mature and putting it aside to come on this hunting trip...

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed it and had a laugh or two at some of the choices!

[annikin-annotates]

Family Ties Part 2

Hi hello my loves! I'm back with another installment of Family Ties, I hope you enjoy it! But before you continue I would like to take a second to thank everyone who has commented and reblogged, it really brightens my day!

TW: Suicidal ideations, Tav languishing like a Victorian era widow, Astarion being an asshole (again), Ascendant Astarion.

Word Count: 2.7K

The silver moonlight streamed into her chambers as she sat perched at her paper covered  desk, hands covered in charcoal stains. She had been sketching long enough for the candles around her to burn down twice over, one of her husband's ever dutiful spawn were always quick to come and replace them. 

She pulled herself from the trance she had entered to look over the sketches she had produced. She had excelled with art when she was human, and now that she was immortal, she never had to worry about dying before her next muse would come to her. Her muse had been the same for over twenty years now, Juniper.

Each sketch was different in some way, some had Astarions curls and angular face while some had the softness of her cheeks and her smile - what she could remember of it, anyway. The thought tugged painfully at her heart, she couldn’t even remember her own face, much like her lover all those years ago. Though one defining feature remained the same, a patch of silvery white hair nestled in her dark curls.

Would she even recognise her daughter?

Sometimes in the quiet of the night she would find herself with too many thoughts and not enough to keep her occupied. She didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to feel anymore, she had far too much time to do those things - she just wanted peace. But when she drew her sunlight, it all seemed to melt away, for a time there was no anger or anguish, just calmness. 

Peace only came in the form of her daughter, as there was not a day that went by where she did not think about Juniper. About the type of person she grew into, was she all the best parts of them? Was she cunning and kind, did she have her determination and Astarion’s sharp wit?

Or did she grow into her namesake, would she wreak death, destruction and chaos just like her father. Even if she did become the embodiment of death and shadows, who would dare blame her? What chance did she have when she was an unholy amalgamation of a Vampire Demi-God and a Hellspawn? It would only solidify her name in the history books, the daughter of a tyrant and a spineless hero. 

Missing her made her wonder if Juniper missed her too, if she ever yearned for a mother that she never knew. Or if she wondered if her mother didn’t love her, why her mothers hands never picked her up when she fell, kissing her wounds better, or why she was never carried to bed. She hoped that Juniper didn’t think she just passed her onto the first person who would care for her - the thought made her heart ache, she did this because she loved her. She loved her more than she could put into words, she loved her daughter like she loved the ghosts of her past. 

Like she loved him. 

There was some part of her, buried deep down that regrets giving her to Wyll; if she hadn’t perhaps she wouldn’t feel so lonely. She forced the thought down. Juniper was an innocent who didn’t deserve to suffer at the hands of a cruel father and a mother who could not offer her the love and protection that she needed. 

Wherever her sunlight ended up was a much better life than the one she would have had with her, and she deserved that much. She hoped that Juniper grew up knowing only joy and laughter, that her life was a never ending stream of sweetness. She liked to imagine that Wyll had taken her to a grove, far away from civilisation - away from the vampire ascendant's influence.  

A place overflowing with greenery and wild flowers, where the sun always shone and birdsong roused her from her sleep each morning. Where she never had to worry about the dangers that lingered in the shadows, nor the pull of power and all that it promised. Juniper would not repeat the sins of her father.

She remembered the terror she had felt when Astarion had pieced together the reason for Juniper’s disappearance. It hadn’t taken him long, a week at most, but she will always remember the cold sweat that broke out over her body when he opened the doors to their shared chambers, accusations spilling from his lips like poison. 

“You’re the reason for Maitenirr’s disappearance,” it was a declaration, it wouldn’t matter what she said to him, regardless of it being true or not, he had made his decision - she was guilty.

There were two options before her, she could lie and try to placate him with whispered praises and sweet nothings. Or she could tell the truth and suffer the consequences of her actions, it did not matter what happened to her - her child was safe. That’s what mattered. 

Her silence had only proven her guilt in Astarion’s eyes, and he closed the door behind himself, locking it. Her teeth ground against one another, her body screaming for her to run; every fibre was alight with fear, and yet she remained rooted to where she sat on the chaise. “Astarion please, I loved her. How could you think that of me?” she asked, tears beginning to brim her crimson eyes; she didn’t know if they were from fear or sadness. 

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, brows raised in query - a challenge. 

He strode towards her, stopping a few feet from her his arms behind his back, as if he was holding himself back. "I ask again, Tav; who did you give our daughter to?" He asked, voice cold and sharp like a blade, a familiar tingle prickled the back of her neck - he was charming her, compelling her to tell him what happened. 

She tried to fight it, to struggle against the heavy chains that wrapped around her mind; it made her shy away from him and bile rise in her throat, she couldn't fight it. She dropped from the chaise to her knees as the feeling lapped at the edges of her mind as he tried to force the truth from her. Gods why couldn't she fight it? Why wasn't she stronger? It came tumbling out of her all at once "Wyll!! I gave her to Wyll!" She cried, chest heaving as he rescinded the charm.

"There we go, that's a good girl, let it all out,” he cooed. She looked up at him, eyes blurry from the tears, she could feel him smirking down at her, bastard. Astarion crouched before her, snatching her face with his hand, the softness of her cheeks dimpling in his hold. “I will teach you what it means to obey, I will not forget this,” he spat. 

“You are lucky I love you. I have sent spawn into the sunlight for less,” he hissed, letting go of her face. Astarion was right, he had been crueller for far less - she was thankful for his mercy, but this was not love; not anymore. This was something far darker, an inkblot spreading across paper, tainting everything it touched, possession. 

Astarion stood once more, brushing himself off - as if touching her had made him dirty in some way; her stale blood simmered in her veins. “No matter, I can always sire another,” he said flippantly, though she could tell that the conversation was far from over, his tone betrayed by the darkness that his eyes held. 

Rage floods her, how could he say that? How could he carelessly disregard the child that he helped bring into the world - that he made her bring into the world. The anger that had been quietly simmering under her skin for two decades ignited, a small spark that had become something biblical. She could kill him; she was going to kill him, if it was the last thing she did.

She couldn’t stop herself. “You wouldn’t dare,” she spat, standing abruptly from the plush carpet of their shared chambers. Her eyes were alight with all the fury of a woman scorned, of a spurned lover - a threatened animal backed into a corner; of a mother. 

“You do not get a choice in the matter,” he said matter-of-factly as he examined his finger nails, as if the fight was already won, as if there was never really a fight to be fought to begin with. And she supposed there wasn’t; arguing with him would only prolong the inevitable and prolonging the inevitable only ever turned out terribly.   

But she argued anyway, for the sake of her and her daughter’s dignity. Or perhaps he would get frustrated enough to kill her himself - gods know how many times she’s thought about walking into the sunlight just to escape him, to escape this. “How dare you speak about our daughter like that!” she hissed, her whole body was coiled like a viper ready to strike. “She was all that was good in the world, and you disregard her like she is nothing!” she continued, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. 

Rage flashed in his eyes as a viscous smile tugged at his lips  “It would do you well to remember what happens to people who overstep their station. You may be Consort, but you still answer to me,” he replied, his voice chilling her to the bone. “She is nothing, merely a complication to the larger plan, I have eternity to create another,” he was threatening her now, to see how eager she was to bite the hand that feeds.

She was more eager than most.

“Are we resorting to threats now, Astarion?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest as she stood, her velvet dress sleeves catching slightly as she did so. She could feel herself trembling but she was steadfast in her stance; she would not bow to him, not this time, not when he speaks of her daughter. 

He chuckled darkly, closing the space between them, his thumb and forefinger tilting her chin; he was inches from her face, “It was a promise.” A chill danced down her spine as he pulled away, smoothing out his doublet before continuing as if nothing ever happened. “We will discuss this later, I have a dinner to plan. You are not to leave this room until I call for you.” 

She grimaced at the unspoken connotation of the statement, both an order and an omen. 

—

Fear. Fear and loathing. 

It wasn’t enough for Astarion to take the stab, but he had to twist the proverbial knife and then salt the wound when he was done. By bringing Wyll into The Crimson Palace, he has not only spat in her face, but opened Wyll up to immense danger, which he no doubt knew and was most likely the purpose of doing so. And while she did not doubt the Blade of Frontiers, he wasn’t a Warlock anymore; he was an ageing mortal man. 

A mortal man in a den of vipers.

Once again, she had nobody to blame but herself. She scoffed, just more innocent blood on her hands she supposed - gods she was tired of this. Tired of the fighting, the clawing and biting and clinging, clinging to the shell of a man who sat at the head of the table, clinging to the idea that there was still good in him. That there was still a man capable of kindness. She closed her eyes - Astarion wasn’t capable of anything but brutality, just like his predecessor. And all it took was a spark to light the flame.

Her heart began to thrum in her chest, starting a new painful rhythm as it slammed in her rib cage, bruising her lungs. The evening had begun rather calmly, it almost felt like a dinner party between friends, but it had been so much more than that. No matter how well Wyll had hid his weariness beneath that charming diplomatic mask of his, she could smell the fear, and there was no doubt that Astarion could too. 

They were completely and utterly fucked, to say the least. All she could try to do was keep the peace, and if he was to strike someone - she hoped it was her. After years being subject to his ever changing moods, she knew that she could take it; she hoped for one night that Wyll would set down his chivalry and just survive this dinner. But Astarion wasn’t going to make this easy for either of them; he would push boundaries and prod sore spots, like he always has. 

She wasn’t entirely sure how it escalated to this, Astarion had slammed his fist on the sturdy mahogany table, rattling the silverware and crockery as she mindlessly pushed the food in front of her around the plate. She had jumped at the sudden noise, her brain and body reconnecting once more. “If I wanted a child at the dinner table, I would have requested our daughter,” he hissed, that vicious glint in his eyes catching the candle light. 

She gritted her teeth, knowing better than to rise to his provocation, “My apologies, my love. I was leagues away,” she replied, clearing her throat and reaching for the glass of wine before her. Her eyes caught Wyll’s gaze; he had, for the most part, aged quite gracefully. His braided hair was speckled with grey, he had crows feet and laughter lines, it made her happy that at least one of her companions had gone off to lead a happy life. 

That was all it took for the spark to catch, like a match to turpentine, viciously clawing at anything in its way. His eyes flicking between the both of them, “Clear the room,” he ordered, watching as the spawn who were lingering in the shadows filtered out of the room. She shifted, readying to leave her seat as Astarions gaze snapped to her. “Not you,” his charm forcing her back into her seat. 

Fear licked at the base of her spine; she knew what was coming, deep down she knew all along. This was either going to end in spilled blood or with her giving into his whims once again, she would not have Wyll’s blood stain her hands nor conscience. He stood from his seat at the head of the table; she cringed as it scraped across the marble floor, the sound reverberating off the walls. Astarion always knew how to hold people’s attention.

He raised his glass to the both of them, a smirk toying at the edges of his lips, as if there was a joke that the two of them weren’t privy to. Perhaps that was the joke, maybe he would kill them both, drain their blood and leave them to rot in the dungeons with the rest of the corpses; simple and painless, all she would have to do is let go. Then, as he began to speak, it dawned on her that her death was going to be anything but simple, or painless. No, he intended to take her from this world, kicking and screaming. 

“Tonight I have chosen to surround myself with the finest company in all of Baldur’s Gate,” he began, tipping his glass to both of them. Her fingers gripped the arms of her chair, knuckles turning white as she looked towards Wyll, who was sitting ramrod straight in his seat. “I would like to congratulate my Darling Dark Consort for being a truly duplicitous woman. You put even me to shame,” he grinned, wanting to take his time indulging in his theatrics. 

“And to you, my dear travelling companion, for playing your part in her plan so faithfully. Let us drink to your best laid schemes,” he finished, raising his glass. Astarion’s eyes narrowed as neither of them moved. “I said; drink,” he repeated, as both their bodies began moving of their own accord. The wine burned her throat as she took one gulp, and then another before draining her glass entirely, she watched Wyll do the same, grimacing as he set the glass down on the table.

The silence between the three of them was deafening, punctuated only by the gaudy grandfather clock ticking in the parlour across the hall. What exactly did Astarion want from them? He already had her admission of guilt and proof of Wyll’s assistance. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, stomach twisting at the realisation; he planned to interrogate Wyll, to glean information on the whereabouts of her daughter. 

Halsin, Juniper was with Halsin. 

----

Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to comment or reblog my work, it brightens my day and makes sure other people see it!

Beta read by the lovely: @arcielee and @amiraisgoingthruit

[lily-lilou]

My breef thoughts on TDP Season 6, not at all in order (also, spoilers so watch out!)

So, main thought? Ouch

Prepare tissues, I needed so much it's unbelievable

Remember we learned, with "Through the Moon" that Rayla's flower sank in the Silvergrove? Well, I don’t wanna imagine what Ethari will feel when he’ll see his big cat come back, have maybe an omnious feeling, and then see Rayla’s flower sink again a few days later... Then both flowers go back and the poor guy will have so many heart attack I ache for him.

Glad to see that frozen ship (hehe) finally move

about said frozen ship, I hope Rayla's "if you have to chose between me and the greater good, do the right thing. make the sacrifice” won't come bite her back because knowing Callum... well, usually he wouldn't, he’s proven time and again that he will always choose her and his loved ones above the greater good. But, you know... never say never...

one last star diamond, one last miracle maker stone. Wonder on what it will be used? (my bet: something about Leola)

Leola is the cuetest cutie ever.

I was all "Cutie Pie! I've know you for like five seconds but if anything happens to you I'll kill everyone and then myself"

But apparently Aaravos called dibs on that plan...

Tissues, guys. Tissues. Your body won't have enough water for all the tears you'll shed.

Lain and Tiadrin : re - ouch. (and ouch for their total screen time since S1...)

Mini Baits

Soren OMG

Viren's backstory (or more like his relationship with Soren's backstory) : prepare tissues.

CLAUDIA!!!!

And Terry, he's the best boi ever with Callum

SO!!!! MY THEORY ABOUT LOVE BEING MAGIC WAS RIGHT?! Though, from what I can see so far, it's not exactly a magic on its own in the same way the others are, but it's a glue in between, what makes the scale tips in the right direction. Interesting, hmmm? :D

oh yeah, the Cosmic Order. I hate them. I've always been prompt to give everyone some leeway in this show, even Sol Regem because I could bet all of them had "ReAsoNs" to act the way they did, no matter how horrible. The cosmic order, though?

they didn’t just kill a kid, they did it out of fear despite being the most powerful out there. My little theory (how long ago was the last one XD) is all about their view of things : destiny, fate, everything should be as is should. Except humans are unpredictable, and that scares them.  Which is why, apparently, showing them magic is a crime.

But hey, if Kung fu panda taught me one thing, it’s that it’s on the path where you hope avoiding it, that you meet your fate. And in killing the kid, they just ensured that destruction they feared so much (now, how they managed to not see that coming? Easy! When you’re emotionally stunt enough to think allowing a father to die with his daughter is a mercy, you’re just destined to die.)

Speaking of mercy. Mrs Merciful One! You’ll excuse my foul language, you all, but I’ll say it anyway : Fuck you! Never have I hated someone more in this whole show that this one. And if I find the damn idiot who called that elf “the merciful one”, I’ll roast them slowly and painfully (Aaravos probably already did, but hey, I'm sure resurecting people can be a thing...)

oh yeah, a very tiny but so crucial point: Runnan is back =)

And Katolis is a big chunk of charcoal...

Ok that's all for now

Have a nice day everyone! I'll come back from time to time. Now, I'm gonna try to cope with all of this, because this is gonna give me some kind of PTSD I'm sure T.T

[thedarkmistress16]

Happy spoopy month!👻Here's a sus tones wip that I did not plan on expanding but it happened anyway 🤷

Yandere!Tony Stark x Reader- The Little Things (Fluff, Romantic relationship, Pet names/Endearments, Physical affection, Bonding, Yandere quirks, Nondescript reader, Early Iron Man era like 1 or 2, Watch out he may be OOC again AHhh) (Fic Warning- Short Oneshot)

gifs used not mine as always. Couldn't find a source for the second gif, tho.

Striding into the lab where your partner is with exasperated purpose, you huff impatiently. “Tony, I can’t get this stupid thing off. The clasp has been slipping out of my hand for the past twelve minutes.”

“You were counting?” Tony quips in his rolling chair, closing out the live feed of the living area you just stepped out of. He spins himself around to properly face you and sighs dreamily, silently drinking you in as you continue to distractedly tug at the bracelet.

"I swear this thing went on no problem this morning…" You add as an afterthought, recalling how flawlessly you were able to latch it onto your arm in comparison. You don't remember jewelry being this finicky before.

"Really, now?" The man drawls, not moving an inch as he observes the locked bracelet plummeting back down to drape over your wrist for what feels to be the hundredth time at this point. “Need any help?” He innocently asks, wiggling his eyebrows playfully at you.

You stubbornly refuse to meet his mirthful gaze even as you approach him and thrust your arm out. Tony chuckles before guiding you over to a clean table you can lean on while he fiddles with the delicate piece of jewelry.

You take in his appearance as the brunette busies himself with the metal chain, noticing his casual approach to the day- the circular illumination of his arc reactor being the most prominent sight over his charcoal tee of a rock band, and sporting some very faded denim underneath. You then look around the lab and spot a mug branded with his company’s logo where he was originally sitting, and you briefly wonder if your intrusion kept him from anything important. Judging from the haphazard state of the room, whatever he was doing didn't seem construction related, and his A.I. would’ve warned you otherwise, you supposed. You're about to voice this when you turn your focus back to the inventor in question, but the thought quickly leaves your mind when your eyes land upon the bracelet again.

“Why did you get me this anyway?” You ponder aloud, assessing the profile of your boyfriend’s knitted expression as he concentrates himself on his task. Even after four months, you still couldn't figure him out.

“Do you not like it?” Tony stops short, his head shooting up to look at you with concern already blossoming on his features. You’re quick to correct yourself with equally widened eyes, taken aback by his reaction.

“No! It’s lovely and easy to match with! I just-" you falter, averting your gaze. "It’s… too much work to put on all the time…”

It sounded stupid when you said it out loud, even if it was true. The clasp was having an infuriating tendency to lock up at the worst times as of late, but it's never been so egregiously problematic until this afternoon. You were planning on snapping the entire thing off with a pair of Tony's cutters if he wasn't in the lab today.

The brunette visibly calms, his features softening. “I’ll always help you out with anything you need.” He sounds casual yet resolute about it, but you can't help but find it unnecessary. “I thought you knew that by now. Dating a genius, billionaire, philanthropist superhero has its perks, y’know. You won’t see me judging you for enjoying yourself.”

You sheepishly look back, a weary smile painted across your lips. “I don’t want to inconvenience you-” He adamantly shakes his head, and the soured expression he dons has the rest of your words fizzle out on your tongue.

“Never,” he spits out fiercely, his attention dropping to the bracelet again, “you’re never an inconvenience.” You fall silent, unsure of what words to respond with, electing to watch him meticulously work instead.

Soon, with an almost practiced touch, the chain falls away as if he broke a magic spell. You're about to take your hand back, but Tony engulfs it in both of his. He meets your curious eyes with his own, expressing an unusual and calmed seriousness in his brows that gives you pause.

“Darling, I love your visits, and you look good in anything. Preferably, not at all.” He comments good-naturedly, flipping your wrist over to place a kiss on a protruding vein, and you try to hold back a blush at how intimate it felt. The gentle touch he exudes startles you, but not nearly as much as when he moves those caresses down to the reddened pads of your fingers. There, the calloused digits rub circles exactly where you ran the skin ragged multiple times over.

His gaze drifts over to the discarded accessory that tormented you, critically looking it over. "I can make some adjustments- some good, ol' Stark ingenuity and it'll be fresh out of the box." He contemplates the idea before quickly shaking his head. "On second thought, I'll whip you up a new one instead. How's that sound? Something with more style- I want you to dazzle the world, baby." He winks up at you and you can’t help but laugh as he continues at a louder volume, turning his attention to the rest of the lab. "Jarvis, buddy- make a note of this, yeah?"

"New note titled: ‘This, yeah?’ Done, sir."

Tony glares at the monitor across the space that just dinged to life with a new notification. "We'll talk about this later, young man." The overly authoritative way that Tony counters back has you trying to muffle most of your reaction at the banter.

"Duly noted, sir." The voice drones back unflinchingly.

"Ah-ah-ah, shush!" The brunette exclaims suddenly, "no more notes! You're in timeout, Jarvis. Mute." You had a feeling the A.I. would've had a comeback otherwise. Tony pivots back to look at you, his expression shifting the mood into something more sincere that quells the rest of your amusement. “I don't do this just for anyone, so don’t think you don���t deserve to be pampered. Whatever you need, I'm there. Even if it's for a silly little trinket.”

You mull the words over and nod, watching his goatee lift around his growing smile. Tony's other hand moves up your arm, creating goosebumps in their wake. He wordlessly pulls you closer to him, beckoning and waiting. You can’t find any reason to deny him, so you surrender yourself to his affections.

As you let yourself cuddle into the arms of your caring partner, the billionaire's attention falls back onto the table where your bracelet lies. The single, white-colored faceted gem engraved with designs that mimic his arc reactor starts flashing blue. Tony's quick to quietly snatch it up and pocket it in his jeans in one fluid motion without alerting you. The ever-whirring gears in his mind contemplate employing a more genuine metal this time, one that would prevent the device from chaffing your skin and deteriorating as rapidly as before. Maybe implementing a different locking mechanism as well, just in case. If he gets the blueprints done fast enough, it can be your half-year anniversary present.

[pineapplefulfillseveryneed]

The Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth - O2 Academy Bristol (November 27, 2013) by Adam Gasson

After 11 years of not finding a single photo from this show, I found these yesterday! I can not begin to express what this means to me, I nearly cried and I couldn't sleep last night. I was still a rather new fan and this was my first time going to a show in the UK, the first show I went to see with a friend, and my first time meeting that friend, too. And these above photos are SO GOOD! Not much was preserved from this show at all, there was no recording allowed (no charcoal drawings either), and to my knowledge not even the full setlist for this specific show was preserved anywhere. So better late than never, but here's what I remember (with some help from these photos!) and the things I've puzzled back together:

If there was opening music or an opening act, i don't recall, but Russell entered the stage alone. It was dramatic and impactful, and it went quiet as he gave an intense stare into the audience and did a drawn out "ahhh" into the microphone. After a little moment of quiet, it turned out the microphone had been connected to a sequencer which now started repeating "ah ah ah ah ah ah". Suspense, excitement. Russell added: "Hold, hold, hold, hold". (...I was definitely freaking out.) While that started looping on top of the ah ah ah sequence, he made stop signs with his hand as we all listened. A few repeats passed. "I'm getting mixed signals, mixed signals - mixed, mixed, mixed signals".

^ the only seconds of this show I recorded as I didn't yet know it wasn't allowed - security signed at me and I put the camera away. It was fine. (Here's a recording of it made during the US tour later that year - recording seemed to be less frowned upon at that point.)

I don't recall when Ron entered the stage at this show, whether it was during the song or after, but what a way to open! And what an amazing song choice!

The performance that left the biggest impression on me at this show though was Nicotina. It was a choice I didn't see coming, but also the way Russell sang it! Falsetto heaven. (Sadly not a single video is to be found of Nicotina from this tour. But for your falsetto heaven needs, I hope you can find a video of Here In Heaven that they also performed on this tour, because that will also kill you.)

As everyone here probably knows I am quite big on Bergman, which at the time was heavily promoted during the tours, and, the excerpts they played on this tour were different from what they played during Two Hands One Mouth! They played "I Am Ingmar Bergman", The Studio Commissary (my favourite song on Bergman), Limo Driver (but sang by Russell, and HOW!) and "Oh My God". (Here's a video of it from one of the American shows. It's extremely good. People who've been around for a while have seen me lose it over this video many times.)

The most unexpected song choice was probably Katherine Hepburn. Me and my friend had been joking for absolute months that we were going to see Sparks and they'd play Katherine Hepburn (as if that would ever happen, we were obsessed with that song though!). And here we were, and they were playing Katherine Hepburn right in front of our eyes. (What is reality.)

Falling In Love With Myself Again had me losing it over the organ sounds, always a fan of Ron on organ, and I LOVE that song. Russell sang a line in my direction (I died), and he managed to throw another line at me during Those Mysteries ...I died a few times that night. As you might expect. That was kind of the whole THOM/TROTHOM experience anyway. Lots of dying. But the variety of dying where you end up in heaven. (You're at a Sparks show after all.)

They wrote a song especially for this tour, which was not released but only ever played live: Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth. What a thing to experience! A very dark song, but wonderful. (REVENGE! REVENGE REVENGE!)

At the end of the show Ron took a photo of Russell with the audience. I don't really remember that happening, but the photo exists and it really was not a thing they did often back then. We had been a good audience :)

Here's all the songs that were probably played that night in random order:

Your Call's Very Important To Us. Please Hold., B.C., Good Morning, Here In Heaven, Academy Award Performance, Those Mysteries, Falling In Love With Myself Again, Big Boy, Nicotina, Popularity, This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both Of Us, excerpts from The Seduction Of Ingmar Bergman, Tryouts For The Human Race, Katherine Hepburn, Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth. They likely also played The Number One Song in Heaven, When Do I Get To Sing 'My Way' and Suburban Homeboy. (I see mentions of How Are You Getting Home? and How Do I Get To Carnegie Hall? in setlists for this tour as well, which they very well might have played but I very sadly have zero memory of ever hearing those songs live.)

This tour had a real air of mystery, possibly even more so than Two Hands One Mouth, as the lack of existing footage definitely adds to it. But luckily some of it *is* out there, and I am so grateful for these photos :) On top of the songs I especially mentioned above, I would also advise people to look for recordings of Tryouts For The Human Race and Popularity from this tour, because the arrangements are probably not going to be the way you expect them to be. And as you might expect: B.C. is stunning live. (I could start a whole rant about Good Morning and Suburban Homeboy live but I think I sufficiently screamed about both in my personal notes on THOM the year prior.) Final note: I know Russell had some sort of dance move for Big Boy because me and another friend couldn't stop talking about it for months. I don't remember what he did, but both THOM and TROTHOM were wonderful for Russell dances <3

[fermentedfanfics]

a little wine and charcoal.

hello welcome to my first writing that wasn’t a rewrite in a while. i hope you guys enjoy this ?? i randomly thought of this idea at like three in the morning and wanted to write it so bad– so forgive me if this is a little all over the place or written badly because i finished writing this at like six am and wanted to post it immediately. i might make a sequel to this, i kinda wanna write some smut for them. please know that this fic is explicit and for 18+ audiences only, minors dni.

summary: you enjoy taking figure drawing classes at your local college a few times throughout the year– this month you take up figure drawing again and find you’ve caught the model’s eye. (model!loki x artist!f!reader)

warnings: (possible smut for future sequel) fem!reader, make out sesh, reader is a little drunk, more than a little she’s a lightweight like me, light praise kink, kind of dry humping, orgasm denial, slight dom/sub dynamic (reader calls loki sir,) no usage of y/n. i’ll add more if i think of anything. word count: 3.2k

You are keenly aware of a pair of eyes on you, and you’re almost afraid to lift your gaze off the newsprint paper in front of you.

For a moment you wonder if you’re the only person who feels uncomfortable, but when you drag your gaze across the room you find everyone hard at work– focused on properly taking in the form of the man in front of you. Was he really a man though?

His ivory skin is chiseled like a marbled statue, and his thick, pitch-black hair was pulled back tucked behind his ears at the start of the class but has loosened and fallen into his face now. It’s given him a disheveled look and you’re rattled by how attractive he is. You’ve barely drawn anything, but you’re glad he’s not fully nude. Well– he is, but the way he’s posed has completely covered himself. You aren’t sure how you’d hold up if you were able to see him completely.

These figure drawing classes were supposed to be a source of relief for you. Twenty-five dollars and three hours of drawing live figures in silence with a couple of cups of wine was such a steal, and you’d truly enjoyed the last few times you’ve been– but the recent model has stolen that comfort from you.

At first you didn’t want to be conceded, clearly he was not staring at you directly. But the entirety of this month, each time you’d come and sit in that stuffy little classroom and painfully tried to draw the most beautiful being you’ve ever laid your eyes on, you could always feel him staring. It’s intensified by the wine you sip on throughout the class, your skin humming with the warmth of the alcohol and hot just from his mossy shaded eyes watching your every move.

Your hands delicately slip around the epicure of the glass next to you, it’s red and stinks of cheap wine but you drink it anyways to break the edge. Finally taking your eyes from the paper in front if you to the model, you swallow thickly when your eyes meet. You didn’t mean to look directly at his face, but curiosity got the best of you. Gripping the piece of charcoal in your hand, you begin to sketch.

You avert your stare from his face and to his body, and your mind wanders as your hand moves. Does he like your gaze? Observing every curve and rocky edge to his sculpted form– does it turn him on as much as it does you? You’d probably notice if it did. Each sip of the wine has your mind cloudy, and fills you with a kind of confidence you know isn’t good for you. Sneaking a peek to his face, you instantly regret it. His stare is intense, and the shine on his lips indicate he’s wet them with his tongue sometime between you taking your time studying every part of him and the last time you looked him in the eyes. You shiver.

The class wraps up faster than you expected. The conductor of the class brings the model a robe, and when he leaves the room bursts with conversation. “My god he was sexy, I couldn’t focus the entire time!” One of the women next to you boasts. Each class has a set of people who've never tried it before, or you’re simply just not lucky enough to get paired with anyone you’ve drawn with before. You feel seasoned among those around you, but you would be lying if you said the model hadn’t affected you in the same way.

You swallow the rest of the wine from your last glass, setting it down on the nearby tray it sat on. Trying to drown out the chattering and clattering of the class putting themselves together to leave, you try to pull an image of the model from your brain. You’ve seen him three or four times now, you didn’t keep count– each time you try to engrave him into your mind. You think this drawing is the closest you’ve ever gotten, fingers stained with charcoal. You decide to take this drawing home instead of leaving it like that last time.

By the time the room is empty, you’ve finished gathering your things. You take your time, knowing you have to call an uber since you finished about three cups of wine and you were a lightweight. Taking one last look at your drawing, you begin to take it down from the isle you used.

“I think yours is my favourite out of the bunch.”

His voice completely startles you, causing you to tear the top of the paper for a split second. You quickly stop yourself, letting go of your drawing allowing it to float helplessly to the ground so you wouldn’t completely destroy it. Instantly annoyed, your hazy, drunk gaze looks over your shoulder. It’s then you realize the class model is speaking to you.

He’s fully dressed, the first time you’ve seen it. It seems more intimate, you feel yourself burn hot at his voice as he apologizes, bending over and picking up your drawing. Smooth, sultry, and thickly accented– he’s rendered you speechless. “I always like the ones you draw– you’re very good.” He offers the paper to you.

“Thank you..”

You barely whisper your thanks, carefully taking the drawing from him. The rip doesn’t reach the art, thankfully. All your words are caught in your throat, he’s openly staring at you this time and you think he knows the effect he has on you. Swallowing your spit, you visibly relax ever so slightly as you begin to roll it up ready to leave.

“Do you come here often? I’ve seen you before.”

“Couple times a month.”

“Mr. Kilmyer let me keep some of yours of me, they’re hanging in my home. You’re incredibly talented– is this your profession?”

You’re trying to be respectful and listen to him, but you can’t. Your skin is boiling and the way the stupid cashmere turtleneck he wears fits him so perfectly that you can practically see his sculpted form beneath it is driving you up the wall. Though, that’s probably because you’ve seen him naked before and want to see it again. It’s fresh in your mind, and every time you blink you get a flash of his intense gaze. Wine plus him does not mix well.

“No.” You breathe out. He’s stepped closer, you’re in a full blown conversation with him now and you can see the quality of his face better. He has beautiful high cheekbones and strong brows giving him an intoxicating expression. His lips are thin and pink, you see he’s put chapstick on now. You wonder what it tastes like.

“It’s just a hobby. Um, thank you– I’m glad you like them.”

He cracks a smile, and your heart leaps so far into your throat you’re sure you can taste it. He seems to realize he hasn’t introduced himself, and offers you his hand. You’re delighted. “I am Loki, it’s a pleasure.” Your hand slips into his easily, a friendly shake sending electrifying shocks across your sensitive skin. You’re too drunk for this.

A little smile curls onto your lips, finally he thinks. You tell him your name, and he tastes it on his tongue for a moment, repeating it back to you.

He catches the slow blink of your eyelids, it’s late. You’re tired, and drunk– he can tell. He pulls his hand away and tucks a strand of his own hair behind his ear, drawing you in more. Does he know how sexy he is? You think he does. “I apologize, you must be tired. I don’t mean to take up your time, it’s just amazing to me how you’re able to master the human form in such a beautiful way.” His compliments give you a dopamine rush, your brain is fuzzy like the sizzling of a firecracker.

“I have to order an uber, so it’s okay..I have time.” You simply respond, he watched you drink those three glasses of wine.

Loki opens his mouth to say something, closing it as a thought come across his face. He sucks his lip in ever so slightly, biting it. He thinks for a moment, finger coming to his chin to caress it. His skin looks so soft and you’re instantly jealous of his own hand. Everytime you see him your mind floats away. Every single time he models, he’s fueled the bank in your mind to use late at night when you’re feeling lonely. You feel guilty a lot of the time, using a stranger to pleasure yourself– but you simply think of it as a one night stand. (That you keep going back to.)

You’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss his pretty lips, how it would feel and taste. You think he tastes like some kind of bourbon, and maybe caramel. A delicious mix. You especially enjoy remenecing on how he’d look at you while you drew him, how his mossy eyes bore deep into your soul and ignited a sexual flame in you faster than anyone ever had.

“Those can get quite pricey, hm?” He pauses, drawing your mind back to your conversation and away from your intrusively nasty thoughts about him. Loki rubs the side of his neck slightly, almost as if he’s embarrassed. “Well, I know we only just officially met– but I could drive you home if you’d rather save the money?”

His offer lingers in the air for a moment, before a surprised oh leaves you and your brows raise. Free ride from the pretty model that eats you up with his stare every single time you see him? Yes please!

“I would hate to bother you..”

“It’d be my pleasure, truly! I do feel a bit honoured talking with someone who views me in such a lovely perspective.”

You don’t fight again after that, a sheepish grin taking hold of your lips– you giggle. It’s heaven to his ears. “Sure.”

The walk to his car was short, but he continued to ask you questions– egging you to socialize with him. You wanted to just stare and eat up his features, engrave as much as you could of him into your brain because you’re sure this is the last time you’ll see him. You’re able to muster up questions to ask him, so you’re not such a boring chatting partner. He is giving you a ride home after all. Loki does not model often, but he did get roped into it after his brother suggested him. It’s relaxing for him, because he’s able to mentally check out for a few hours and not worry about anything– it’s nice.

You realize he may have just been spacing out in your direction and you’re deeply embarrassed that you came to the conclusion that he was equally staring at you. Loki opens the door of the passenger side for you, it’s amusing to your intoxicated little brain and you can’t help but laugh as you get into the car. “It feels like you walked out of a fairytale.”  You murmur.

“Never had a gentleman open the car door for you? Such a shame.” He tuts at whatever past relationships you’ve had, and you can feel your standards raising.

Your drunk limbs find immediate comfort in the seat of his car, relaxing and laying your head back. The car ride is peaceful, and he lets you roll your window down so you can feel the cold wintery air on your skin. I’m a fan of the cold. Loki simply stated when you worried over him becoming too chilled. The cold air feels good on your warm skin, you know you’re in for a good night sleep.

Loki comfortably chats with you the entire car ride to your home, giving him weak directions as you try not to drift to sleep. Is it weird you feel completely at ease, and safe, with a complete stranger? Yes. But so far, he hasn’t given you any reason to feel any other way. In reality you wanted to fall asleep in his arms, but his car would have to do.

Thankfully you’re able to keep yourself awake, and when he pulls into your driveway you raise your arms above your head to stretch. It’s a damn good stretch, a euphoric feeling rushing through your body as you feel your muscles contract. Loki delightfully takes in the rise of your shirt, the sliver of skin showing your belly before you plop your arms back into your lap. You’re eternally thankful to him.

Looking back over to Loki to thank him for the ride home, you’re unsettled by his deep stare on you. It makes your chest and head thump once more. “Thank you for driving me home, Mr. Loki..” You try to be respectful, but you’re only turning him on.

“Of course,” He hums, not sure if he wants to let you leave just yet.

You don’t think your night will go much further with Loki, your hopes are not high. But when you grab for the handle to open your car door, his warm hand is wrapping around your free one. “Y/N..” He starts, and the way Loki says your name is magical. It’s the first time, and you’re a little worried at how much of an effect it has on you. You shiver once more, gulping thickly. “Yes, sir?” Your voice wavers for a moment, and you can’t help your usage of sir. You do wish to be respectful to him afterall. Your usage of sir seems to break him, make him snap– Loki is quickly leaning over the console and caressing your face with his hands.

“May I kiss you, Y/N?”

“Yes, please.” Your response is quick, and his lips crashing into yours is quicker.

Your stomach explodes like fireworks feeling his lips on you, and the desperation that follows only makes the heat rising in your core burn brighter. His lips are much softer than you were expecting, coating your own in that chapstick you can now taste is strawberry. You moan after tasting it, and Loki takes this free time to work his tongue towards yours. His lips are sweet like strawberries, but his tongue and mouth is minty and the stark contrast makes your head spin.

Loki’s left hand is wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you closer while his right hand cradles your face like you’d simply disappear if he let you go. The desperation in his kisses make your stomach twist in the familiar sense of need, want. Your hands have found his biceps to hold onto, fingers digging into the fabric of his pine-green cashmere turtleneck. “You taste so divine.” He breathes into you, devouring the whimpers and moans that float from your throat with every kiss.

Each compliment he spews is another match thrown into the fire thats on your skin. Your head is indescribably fuzzy, and you feel like you’re going to pass out. But it’s good. It’s so, so good. You might doubt this to be a dream later on.

The hand on your face is exploring you now, and it doubles all of what your feeling. His hand slides to your hip, rubbing circles into the fabric of your shirt. It’s overstimulating at best, and turning you on even more. You instinctively rub his biceps, feeling his muscles underneath. Loki drags his hand down your thigh, rubbing and caressing just the same as you are to his biceps. It’s stimulating the heat growing in your pants but it’s not enough and when you buck your hips ever so slightly all thoughts are thrown out the window.

Loki’s hand palms your clothed cunt, ripping a ragged groan from the back of your throat. He hasn’t even moved yet and you feel like you’re about to melt, about to cum. Please, please, please, please. Your tortured voice peeps into his mouth as he bites your lip. You spur him on without even trying too hard. Slowly, but with pressure, Loki begins to rub his fingers and thumb up and down the length of your cunt.

You hiss, and before you can moan out his kisses are occupying you once more. His tongue barrages your crevices once again, exploring your tongue, teeth, roof of your mouth– anything he can. “So good for me, good girl.” He moans praises, and you echo his vocal pleasure with your own. Thank you Mr. Loki, please! Feels so good, sir.. Your groan hitches when his thumb glides over your clit through your jeans and panties– he’s instantly dragging his thumb across the area. It shocks you like a voltage, your body tensing in utter glee as it begins to climb for it’s release.

Please, sir! You gasp as his simple drags of up and down have turned into calculated wiggles and zigzags that have you keening. Your skin is burning, and you’re so close. So, so close. He can tell by your breathing, your gasping between kisses– it’s so cute. Just as you’re about to reach your climax, just as your about to cum Loki seamlessly removes his hand from your warm, wet clothed cunt and grabs the side of your face in a deep kiss.

You finally tap his biceps, and he releases you from the passionate, breath-stealing kiss he pulled you into. You’re gasping for air, trying to ignore the wetness of your panties and dull ache coming from your hole. 

Loki catches you slightly as you slump, head far too heavy for you to hold up now. He remembers you’re drunk, and a giddy smile comes to his features. “Oh dear, I ‘ought to get you inside, yes?” He’s so sweet again, like he hadn’t just stolen your soul and heart with those kisses. If you weren’t so drunk you’d be pissed.

Scratch that– you are pissed. Your body is screaming for release, and you know you’re going to be too tired to rub one out once you’re inside your home. But Loki looks so mesmerized by you, so encaptured.

A small line of drool has dripped from the corner of your mouth, and tears have streaked your cheeks– your eyes still welling from lack of release. “Oh, princess..” He murmurs, kissing your cheeks where your tears roll down from.

Without another word, Loki gently releases you to rest against your car seat before exiting the car and making his way around. He opens the door for you, and helps you get out of the car. Your legs are wobbling, like a new-born deer. You want to throw yourself against him, beg him to come inside and finish what he started but you’re too tired. You’re too exhausted, and it’s hard keeping your eyes open. Perhaps it’s best the two of you stopped here.

He escorts you to the front door of your house, and places a loving kiss on your forehead and lips. He watches you fumble to open your door and get inside, bidding you a goodnight before heading back to his car.

You’re still buzzing with excitement by the time you crawl in bed, your bag and rolled up drawing laying haphazardly on your desk. You want to cry, weep even. You’re unbelievably horny and he simply just left you like that– although you want to keep thinking about how much he screwed you over and how much you’re going to pounce him the next time you see him, sleep has taken over.

You fall asleep with Loki on your mind, and a determined mind for next time.

Next time.

[mjart12699]

Decided to post a fic I wrote a while ago on here since I have been too busy lately to write anything else anyway enjoy some Muriel’s not the Step Father He’s The Father Who Stepped up content

Woodcutters

I’ve always liked the woods. It’s always been calm, but not silent. There are little noises I can pay attention to and identify as I walk the path, feeling the dirt beneath my shoes.

It’s different now though. The woods are filled with the noise of people, scared people who came here out of fear of the city and settled right in the yard of my zio’s oldest friend.

The friend who is now my ma’s boyfriend, it seems.

Muriel seems nice, and from what Asra has told me he’s a good person. I feel calm around him, and so do the chickens and other animals that live here, so I suppose I can trust him. What’s weird is seeing how my ma is around him.

My ma was not very trustworthy of other people before she got sick, and she still had a lot of social anxiety after she woke up again. She’s been working on it. According to Asra and Finn, I’ve been a big help since we’re really similar. She got a lot better after we found Wojtek, a puppy that grew into a bear-like dog a few months after she was okay again. To see her so relaxed around someone, let alone Muriel, is a bit weird.

“Hey, Sawyer.” Finn’s deep voice pulls me back from my thoughts, and the scratch of my pen on the paper I grabbed comes to a halt. “Did you hear what I said?” He sits down next to me, and I feel his eyes on the paper more than see them. I shake my head in response, tracing imaginary lines in my mind across his dark hands as he fiddles with a foraging bag. “The adults are having another meeting, so your mama is going to be busy again for a little bit. I figured we could go look for some more of those honeysuckle flowers that you like, maybe practice some illusions?” I think on it for a moment before nodding, packing up my art supplies in my bag and standing up.

“I have to put my stuff away.” I sign to Finn before running off to my tent. It’s near ma’s and Muriels, towards the back of the hut and away from the people. Ma made a few jokes about how the three of us have that in common, the need to be away from the noise.

I open the flaps of the tent as I undo the locking spell, walking on my knees to avoid letting my dirty shoes touch the floor of the tent. I know it will get dirty anyway, but I don’t like the feeling of dirt touching my skin when I sleep. I tuck my art supplies under my pillow, shaking out my bag to make sure I didn’t miss anything and then repacking what I will need to take with me. My stuffed mammoth, my mini sketchbook, a piece of charcoal, gloves, extra socks in case the ones I’m wearing get wet, a sweater, and some candy so I don’t chew the inside of my cheek. Once that’s packed, I wiggle back out of the tent, closing the flaps and redoing the protection spell. I nearly fall back when I stand up and turn around to see Muriel, kneeling down to pet Wojtek right outside my tent.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He doesn’t stand up, which I’m okay with. The man is ridiculously tall, my earliest memory of him being when Asra took me out here, I think I was a toddler. He had been wearing his chains, and his hair had been a lot longer. I also remember he didn’t seem as soft as he does now, a feeling I can’t really explain. “Your mom and I have to meet with everyone again, to talk about what’s going to happen. We- I mean, she wanted you to know where she was in case you’d need anything.”

I nod in response, feeling my hair brush against my neck and slapping it away when it itches. Muriel’s face changes when I do that, the same way that other adults do when I do anything considered weird. “It’s itchy.” Is all I sign before I walk away, finding Finn and his cat, Annette, on the outskirts of the settlement and taking one of the more wild paths with him.

I practice my magic a bit as we walk, summoning small gusts of wind in my hands and holding up leaves or flowers in midair with it as we walk, and sometimes coming up with small illusions. Finn’s job when we are not hiding from a bloodthirsty monster and his band of mercenaries is to dig up old bones and study them, paleontology. I went on a lot of his digs with him the year that we left Vesuvia while mama was sick. He had always kept me in the shade, putting big hats on my head and making sure I was wearing enough sun cream to “keep the people who make it from ever going out of business”. He talks about the bones he’s found as we walk, telling me what he thinks they might have looked like and asking me to summon the description in my hands, then summoning his own to compare. It’s a fun game we play, something that keeps my mind from wandering to the bad stuff.

By the time we find the grove where the honeysuckle is, the sun has started to head more into the evening, and a chill blows through. I pull my sweater out of my bag, the soft purple yarn smelling a little bit old and in need of a wash, but comforting.

“I admit that I brought you out here with another ulterior motive.” Finn’s large hands pluck several of the white and yellow flowers at a time before he deposits them in his bag. “You’ve been looking a little sad, and it’s easy to see why.” I turn away as he talks, knowing that he knows I am still listening. “It was nice and calm for a while, then the Countess hired your mama for a weird job. A week later she has to go down south with a scary lady and the best friend of your uncle, who looks and seems like the exact opposite.” Annette climbs some of the branches, her soft fur shining a warm brown in the dappled sun, her golden eyes watching me knowingly. “ Then she comes back after months of being away, right before the biggest party of the year, dating said guy.” He’s right about that, it was weird to see them together. Asra seemed really happy about it, and tried to tell me stories of him and Muriel when they were growing up while he and my ma were down south, but it still felt strange. “Next thing you know we are all running away from the city and into the woods and we have to set up camp around a bunch of other people, some of which have obviously not learned about camping etiquette.” This makes me laugh a little, because it’s true. Not a day goes by out here where someone doesn’t start an argument with another person about something stupid. I feel Finn’s hand on my shoulder, and look up to see that he also finds it funny. He kneels down to my level picking some of the flowers on the forest floor as he does, all ones we can use for medicine or food. “The point is, you’ve been holding in a lot, and it’s okay to miss your ma. I know you think that because you’re one of The Big Kids out here that you have to act brave and happy all the time, but you need to remember that you are nine years old. It’s okay to have all of the bad feelings.” I don’t like that he’s able to read right through me, but that’s what happens when you spend most of your life around someone.

My throat feels sore and wet, and the area behind my eyes hurts. I know it’s a sign that I’m going to cry, but I still don’t like it. Finn pulls me down, leaning against the small tree the honeysuckle had been growing around and letting me sit against his side. I rock back and forth against the tree, not able to do anything else to calm myself down. Finn fishes my stuffed mammoth out in response, tucking it into my arms and rubbing his hand up and down my back as I hide my face in my knees. Annette comes down from the tree, purring as she wiggles her way into my lap and kneading her paws in order to get me to release my legs from my grip, preventing marks that I would normally scratch into my skin. It feels like forever has passed before I stop crying, and it still feels stupid to cry over something like this when I’m done.

My legs feel heavy when we decide to go back, so Finn hoists me up so that he’s giving me a piggy-back ride. If I weren’t so tired from today I would protest, especially since I’ve been getting a bit too big for that, but Finn doesn’t seem to mind, and carries me easily all the way back to camp.

I’m nearly asleep when we do get back, but I’m awake enough to help Finn and Mazelinka, Zio Julian and Zia Portia’s kinda-grandma, with making dinner. Mazelinka tells stories as we make the soup, her time at sea and the antics Portia and Julian would get into when they were younger. Everyone who was at the meeting, the Satrinava’s, Asra, Muriel and Ma come and eat with us when the sun starts to set even more.

The soup is good, and it makes me feel nice and warm despite the temperature drop outside. Finn sits between Ma and I, chatting with her about what happened in the meeting as we eat. He’s always felt like a nice protective bubble for when I don’t want to talk, but I know from experience that Ma will ask me what’s wrong soon. She has a weird sixth sense for it. By the time I’m done with my dinner some of the adults have gotten out drinks, some dancing around controlled fires and others laughing loudly with each other.

I don’t like it.

Ma see’s that easily enough, and when Finn begins to dance with Asra and Julian she scoots closer to me.

“Time for bed?” I nod, leaning against her and breathing in the smoky scent that lingers on her clothes from the fires around us. Wojtek follows us when we stand up, yawning and stretching before sending a deep bark out into the woods, earning a howl in return. “We’re going to head off to bed, you gonna be okay?” I already know she’s talking to Muriel. I hear him hum in response before she takes hold of my hand and we walk back to the tents together.

It gets cold pretty quick once we leave the community fires, but even then I am slow to get into my tent and into my pajamas. Ma gets hers on from her own tent, tapping the outside of mine in silent question. I open the flaps to let her and Wojtek in, which makes the tent really cramped pretty quick.

“So, today was pretty long, huh.” Neither of us are good at small talk, or starting conversations, but it’s surprisingly nice that she’s trying to ease into what she wants to talk about. I nod, grabbing my quilt and wrapping it around my shoulders before leaning into her, nearly melting when she wraps her arms around me and pulls me down onto the pile of furs that make a bed for now. “I’m so sorry baby. I haven’t had a lot of time with you lately, and when I do there’s always other people around so it’s never just you.” I tell myself that I’m listening, even as she runs her tattooed fingers through my hair and the thump of her heart tries to sing me into sleep. “I can’t promise to spend tomorrow with you, but after all of this is over, we’ll do whatever you want. Day and dinner, does that sound nice?” I nod as I hum in response, and it doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep after she brushes my hair out of my face and Wojtek curls around me.

The snow is up to my knees out here, and my breath freezes as it leaves my mouth. There are structures that surround me, old and worn so much that it would be impossible to fix them up again.

Suddenly, the red sky no longer weeps little white flakes. Instead, they’re gray, and it smells awful. The ash nearly chokes me as I try to run through the snow, but I’m not paying attention, so I fall through the ice and the cold water seeps through my bones as sharks swim in protective circles. I don’t have the time to scream. I try to kick my way back to the surface, I should know how to swim, but it feels like something is holding me back.

I don’t look down to see what it is.

I can’t.

But I can feel her bones, and hear her soft voice.

I’m on the shore again, but the scene is different. It’s an island this time, and there’s no snow. Only ash. I wonder if it’s the same ash from before as I push aside the dry branches to walk through it, the feeling of dread in my chest doing just as much damage as the ash in the air.

I come to a building, brick and mortar and on fire. Ash piles out from it and I can’t tell if those who were once inside are still screaming or if it’s just the flames and coals. Something touches my shoulders, the same thing from earlier, and when I turn to see what it is my screams die in my throat.

The specter doesn’t have any defining features, just embers within shadows. Empty eyes see right through mine, and their hand reaches for my shoulders again. The touch is gentle, and filled with so much sorrow that it’s overwhelming.

I nearly vault out from my blankets, any sound dying in my throat when I throw up next to my bed. Wojtek is gone, and the tent flaps are open. I barely process that Ma comes in when I throw up again. She rubs my back and holds my hair away from my face for a few more minutes to make sure there’s nothing left in my stomach. I think she asks if I want to go to bed with her. I think I nod. Muriel is standing outside the tent, not enough space for him to come inside. I think I hear her say something about cleaning up, and then I’m passed to him.

He smells nice.

We go into his and Ma’s tent, where he gets water and a rag and sits me down near the bed. There’s a small orb of light, just enough that we can see but not too much to hurt our eyes in the late hours. He helps me clean my face, rearranging the furs in the tent so they’re more spread out before sitting me down in the middle. He leaves the tent for a few minutes, I think, and when he comes back Ma is with him. She gets me to drink some water, running her hands through my hair and pulling me close. I think I hear her and Muriel talking to each other, asking out loud if I might be sick. I shake my head, but I’m too tired to explain. I just want to sleep.

Ma lays down first, pulling me with her so that I can use her arm as a pillow. Muriel is the one that pulls the blankets over all of us, his thick arm wrapping around both her and I. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m here, and the little nagging voice that tells me I’m in the way nearly shuts up when he pulls us both closer.

I’m confused when I wake up, and feel like I’ve been boxed in by a million blankets. It takes a few seconds longer than I’d like to admit for me to remember what happened last night, and another few for me to process that the reason I’m so squished is because I am surrounded on all sides. Wojtek managed to lay on top of me in the night, further boxing me in between Ma and Muriel. It was nice last night when it was nearly freezing outside, but right now, under a thick quilt and the sun beginning to rise once again, it is not.

I resign to my fate, however, when I remember that Wojtek is nearly twice my size, and even if he wasn’t here on top of me I don’t want to wake Ma and Muriel. I take a deep breath and settle back in, tracing imaginary lines on Muriel’s face while he sleeps.

I like studying peoples faces, it’s something I’ve always done as far as I’m aware. I’m not very good at telling how someone is feeling just by their face, and I have difficulty recognizing people whenever there is a slight difference in appearance, like when they change their hair, makeup or even the metal of their jewelry.

I’ve never really studied his face before. He wasn’t around enough to warrant interest, but now he’s around all the time. He doesn’t seem to like it when people stare, though, and after Finn explained why I just avoided looking at him in general. He has a scar on his cheek and brow. I mentally trace the scar on his cheek, and look at how there isn’t hair growing close to it like there is on the rest of his face. I wonder if the hair can no longer grow there.

I’ve gotten bored of tracing his face by the time Wojtek yawns and gets up, somehow managing to not not step on any of us as he leaves the tent for the morning. The change still wakes Muriel up, while Ma still holds on to a few more minutes of sleep. I had closed my eyes and pretended I was still asleep when Wojtek left, and I turned over when Muriel got up to get ready for the day. He’s still wearing most of the Masquerade outfit that the Countess gave him, although he took off the cape part, leaving only the shirt, pants and boots. Everyone else had managed to find their normal clothes after the fact, except for him.

He’s weird.

Ma finally wakes up after a few minutes, brushing my hair out of my face again before getting up. I wiggle back under the covers, knowing that it’s time to get up but not wanting to leave the cozy nest. I don’t know if they know that I can hear their hushed voices.

“Do you want me to stay while you talk to him?” Muriel’s deep voice is easy to identify on any day, even with the failing enchantment The Hermit gave him.

“If you want to, I won’t pressure you, but it has been a few weeks since we’ve been out here, gah, I don’t know how to talk about this…”

“It’s fine, I think I get what you’re trying to say… and you’re right, I shouldn’t just avoid being around him… I’m not sure how to explain why I have been either.”

“It’s okay, it’s understandable. You don’t have to explain right now, but I do think it’d be good for him if you were here while we talked.”

He hums in response, and I feel Ma’s footsteps come closer before she kneels down and gently shakes my shoulder.

Despite being awake before them, I still feel groggy. I turn over to see that she’s already pulled half of her hair back, although a lot of it still frames her rosy face. I sit up, still pulling my blanket around my shoulders and groaning when my stomach growls.

“Buon giorno piccolo, ti senti meglio?” She rests her hand on my forehead while she talks, pulling it away after a few seconds and scooting over a little closer when Muriel comes to sit down, a cup of water in his hand. “Do you still feel sick?” I think for a minute to see if my stomach still feels all twisted up, and nod when the thought of eating makes the nausea worse. Muriel hands the cup to me, his brows knitted together making the scar on his forehead move slightly. A little voice in the back of my mind wonders if it still hurts.

“Bad dreams?” I hadn’t expected him to speak, and everything feels slow before I am able to nod, doing my best to drink the water and get rid of the bad taste in my mouth.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Ma rubs her hand up and down my back, sending shivers through my brain and down my spine. “We’re pretty good at listening.”

My head throbs when I think about it too much, but I do my best to tell her anyway. “The sky was red, and I fell through the ice. There were sharks, and something was pulling me down.” Wojtek comes back into the tent, sitting down across Muriel’s lap and extending his paws into mine. “Then I was back on a beach, and I went through the woods to the building. It was on fire, and the thing that pulled me down just stared at me.”

By the time I’m finished with what I could recall from the dream I can hear Vesuvia waking up for the day as well, mixed conversation muffled from the tent. Ma pulls me closer, nearly into her lap and continues to rub my back, using her other hand to comb through my hair. Muriel looks at the floor, his hands busy petting Wojtek.

“Maybe drawing the thing in your dream will help a little, we used to do that all the time.” Ma’s idea normally works. Most of my memories of her from before she got sick are of us drawing together, her showing me how to mix paints to get the color I want and the way different brushes would have different strokes. We haven’t done it in a while. I nod against her shoulder, the movement making me skull throb, before standing up and going to my tent to get ready for the day.

We have breakfast just outside our tents, the first one in a while that’s at least a little quiet. Muriel had the idea in the first place, and Ma went to the campsite to tell Asra we’d be having breakfast alone.

I’m so used to someone trying to squeeze by me for something or bumping into me that it’s a little bit weird that we get to make breakfast and eat in silence.

I pull my hood up over my head, hiding the tangled mess my curls had become overnight and sitting down a few feet away from Muriel, close to the fire. I watch as he shakes the frying pan with the eggs, thinking of the paint colors I would need to get the right shade of yellow for the yolk.

“Do you want to try?” Muriel’s voice breaks my thought, and I look to see he’s holding a spatula out to me. I scoot closer, looking at him before grabbing it and trying to flip one of the eggs. The yolk ends up breaking, but when I try to give his spatula back to him he just scoots closer, putting his hand over mine to hold the spatula and flip one of the other eggs. That one doesn’t break. I still give the spatula back to him, preferring to watch and not fail at something so early in the morning. By the time ma is back from talking with Asra everything is cooked and served on three plates.

“Sorry that took longer than anticipated, Finn wanted to know if you were doing okay and then Nadia heard and yada yada yada…”

“It’s fine, Sawyer helped me with the eggs.” Muriel hands her the plate and gets the kettle off of the fire, pouring the hot water into three cups before settling back and getting his own plate.

“Did he now?” She has a weird look on her face, even as she stirs more cinnamon into her tea and crosses her legs to balance her plate, it’s like she’s hoping for something.

They chatter back and forth as we eat, mostly about the battle plans and safety measures taken in the forest. Everyone’s talked about those types of things so much that I’ve learned to tune it out, but it also means that I tend to tune out important stuff.

Like when ma asks me a question.

I look up from my plate, ma has her head tilted the way a cat does when they’re curious about something, as though it makes more sense at an angle. “Repeat?” I have to use both hands to sign most of the time, so I just set my plate to the side.

“We were talking about the things we could do today. I think we all need at least a little bit of a break before tomorrow.” She looks between both Muriel and I as she talks, taking a sip of her tea in between. “Got any ideas besides painting?” I stir the eggs and mushrooms on my plate as I think, tidying them into their own piles so they’re not touching.

Of all the things we can do out here, I’ve done most of them. I’m not saying that I would be bored with anything I’ve already done, I’m just worried that none of them would result in anything useful.

Muriel leans over to ma, whispering something in her ear that makes her nod, her smile changing to the one she wears when she’s about to beat Asra at cards, a rare occurrence. He turns to me, his plate almost cleared of the mushrooms. “Maybe you could help me with renewing the charms around the camp? The forest has had more traffic than it’s seen in centuries and the protective spells we’ve had up are nearly burnt out.”

Well, I have needed to work on my charms… I nod, resuming my breakfast with a set plan for the day.

“That’s great! I do have some stuff I need to work out with the Countess, so you two will be alone in that endeavor, but I’ll come back to paint sometime after lunch.” Wait, us two? “I’ll see you later.” She kisses Muriel and then kisses my forehead, standing up with her dishes seemingly without any thought.

I help Muriel clean up around the fire pit after we’ve finished eating, washing the dishes and putting them away. Wojtek helped with the dishes too, licking off any remaining food from mine and then following me around while I did my morning chores.

When everything’s all done and put away I go back to my tent to get my bag, making sure that nothing was misplaced before putting it on and stepping out.

I haven’t gotten to do much with charms quite yet when it comes to practicing magic. Asra focused a lot on water types and illusions at first, teaching both Finn and I the simple stuff. Ma always taught me about hedge magic, and after she woke up we all learned about various magics from Asra, but we haven’t really focused that much on charms for a while.

Wojtek bumps his snout into my hand, indicating that he wants me to rest it on my head while he leads me somewhere. It’s how we walk through the markets on a normal day, and at the moment he’s leading me towards Muriel. His head nearly reaches one of the lower branches, and the fur cloak he wears makes him look a lot bigger.

“Most of the charms were made by Asra, but some of them are mine.” I’m surprised I don’t have to walk very fast to keep up with him, his pace being slower than Julian’s, who practically leaps everywhere. “We actually started making them when we were a lot younger, when we first moved out here. Some of them had to be replaced over time, mostly from weathering, but others have held on for longer.” We stop walking when we reach one of the trees, huge and covered in moss. “Like this one.” Muriel gets something out of his pockets, long strips of cloth that he wraps around his hands and ties off at his wrists.

I have to wave to get his attention before signing. “What are those for?” He pauses wrapping his other hand before continuing with an answer.

“They’re to keep my hands safe, and these,” he pauses before pulling out two smaller strips, “are to keep your hands safe.” Wojtek sniffs the fabrics before sitting down at the base of the tree, taking a deep breath like he’d just run a mile. Inanna seems content to sit with him.

“We’re climbing?” I might as well ask all of my questions before I can’t ask them.

“Mhm, can I see your hands?” Muriel kneels down in front of me, showing how to wrap the cloth the right way so that it actually stays.

It feels weird.

“I’ll help you up to the higher branches, but most of them are pretty close together, so you won’t have to worry.” He leads me to the base of the tree after standing up again, eyeing the branch for a moment before looking back at me. “I’m going to have to pick you up for this one, will you be alright with that?” Looking at the tree, I don’t think I’d get up there any other way, so I allow it. Muriel puts me on his back, the same way Finn does, and jumps to grab onto the branch. I have to squeeze my legs to avoid falling off, but he pulls us up to balance quickly.

I get back down, holding on to Muriel’s arm without thinking about it so I can balance myself. I’m not really used to climbing trees this big.

“I can show you the branches to grab before you climb, and then I’ll follow.” Muriel looks around at the branches above us, pointing to a thick one I can reach. “You might have to jump a little for that one, but you can push your legs against the tree. I’ll be right behind you.” He’s right, even at the base of the branch I have to jump a little, pushing my legs against the tree for leverage and clinging to it once I’m secure. It takes a lot longer for me to get upright than Muriel did, but he doesn’t seem to react, he just climbs up after me and shows me the next branch and the next one and so on.

It feels like forever has passed once we reach the top, where a small, worn out charm dangles from a branch on a piece of twine. Stones and seashells decorate the center with twigs woven around them to create a rune. The closer I am to it, the safer I feel, but it’s a different safety than Asra’s magic.

Asra’s protective spells feel like tempered glass around you, watching the ocean from inside and hearing the echo of the things that pass. Muriel’s feels like diving into a nest of blankets and furs in front of a fire when there’s a howling blizzard outside.

I sit on the branch as close to the tree as I can get, looking over the trees and across the horizon. I can pinpoint the camp from here due to the smoke that rises from some of the trees in the distance, and behind me I can see a few of the small mountains, which ma likes to call glorified hills.

Muriel shows me the process to recharge the charm, which seems to make it age backwards somehow. His hands take on a slight green and bronze glow as he focuses on the spell for the first half, but then he stops.

“Hold out your hands, and concentrate on the rune and what it means to you,” I do as he says, watching as my hands develop a dim bronze and orange light washes over them. It flickers even as I try to focus, giving way to the green and bronze light from Muriel’s hands. “For a first try you did well. It took me several to even make this work in the first place. Then there was getting them all put up.”

I have questions.

I wait until we’re done with the charm, watching as Muriel hangs it back up on the same branch, which makes it rewind in its age within a few seconds. Once he’s done with that he looks below us, eyes bouncing from branch to branch and plotting a route back down. Before he can move to get down I tap his arm, making sure I have his attention before signing.

“How old were you when you moved out here?” He makes a weird face, his eyebrows raising and eyes widening, an expression that Asra says means someone is shocked. He almost says something a few times, but then decides not to.

“How about we talk when we’re on the ground again.” He doesn’t seem to want to answer at the moment, maybe it’s because we’re so high up.

I follow him down, sometimes having to hold on to him while he gets us to the branches that are further apart, much safer than jumping down.

Wojtek and Inanna are still waiting for us at the bottom, and their tails start to wag once they can see us. Wojtek runs in a circle at the base of the tree until we get down, wiggling in place in front of me while I pet him. We get back on the path to the next charm after catching our breath.

“My childhood…” Muriel’s voice is quiet, a deep rumble in the distance. “Wasn’t very pleasant. I had Asra, and they had me, but that was it. I had thought for years that my parents had abandoned me because they couldn’t feed me, and I grew up avoiding being a burden at all costs.” The brush is thicker back here, and I have to raise my arms to get through. “The people of Vesuvia were hardly ever kind to the children of the docks, and Lucio’s rule made their wariness of us even worse, especially when he began to collect us for dirty work.” The next tree is shorter, and we go through the same routine as we go up. Muriel pauses to talk in between branches, explaining that his parents had not abandoned him, but he just didn’t know what had happened to them. He explains how he met Asra, and their eventual decision to go to the forest. “I had watched and helped some people build their houses at the outskirts of the city when I was a little older than you are, and once I thought I knew enough we went to the woods to build the hut. It took most of the spring and summer. I had to fix a few things as we got older, like the fireplace and the roof, but it was worth it to escape the city.” When we get down again I don’t even recognize that my legs feel sore, too many questions going through my head to even think about it.

I ask a few more questions as we walk, most of them just verification of Asra’s retelling of their childhoods together. Those seem to make him a bit less nervous, and I get to hear some of the stories that Asra never told, like the fact that when they first met my ma was because Faust had tried to climb in through her window at the shop.

“First time I actually met your mother was at the shop as well, and she was still pregnant with you.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. Your ma and her aunt were celebrating the solstice, and Matty had invited Asra and I. I hadn’t gone to the coliseum yet so I wasn’t as nervous about going somewhere like that if it had been a few months ago.”

“Did you like her then?”

“Hm?” The next charm is on top of a big rock that we’re approaching, so Muriel gets that one by himself pretty fast. It’s quiet for a minute before he answers. “I don’t really know. At the time I knew that she was someone who’d befriended someone I cared about, and I was really just making sure they were safe there.” He hits the ground with a thud, dusting his hands off and sitting down against the rock. I sit down with him and watch Wojtek try to play with Inanna. “I remember that she was more focused on making sure we all ate than making an impression, and that she enjoyed playing the banjo your aunt gave her. She fell asleep before everyone else though. I carried her up the stairs.”

“And me.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did. Don’t tell her I said that though. She won’t let me live it down.” I think he might be joking since he laughs after he says that, but I still won’t tell ma. “Let me know when you’re ready to go to the next one, we’ll take a rest for now.”

Inanna watches as Wojtek races around her, sighing when he starts to slow down a bit and walking off into the forest when she’s done entertaining him.

The clouds in the sky begin to gather, and the air begins to smell like it’s going to rain. I stand up immediately, but Muriel just kinda relaxes into the rock.

“We need to go back.” I jump up and down in front of him, pulling my sweater out of my bag and over my head to avoid any droplets. He takes a minute to stand up, dusting off his hands and unwrapping the cloth from them.

I try to make a run for it, keeping my sweater over my head and ignoring how my bag thumps against my legs. Wojtek runs ahead of me, his ears flopping and his fur getting soaked within a few seconds once the rain turns from a sprinkle to a downpour.

I’m not a fan.

I love the rain… when I am inside. However, when I am outside, it becomes difficult to enjoy. The water is cold and makes me shiver, making my clothes feel weird and stick to my skin. My hair gets frizzy and tickles my ears and touches my neck in a way that I just can’t stand.

Heavy footsteps follow behind me, getting closer and closer until I feel heavy furs wrapped around me and my body lifted up over someone’s shoulder.

Muriel gets us back to the camp faster that way, and I don’t think he breaks a sweat the entire time despite all the climbing that we did.

The magicians in the camp work to make shields over the fires to keep them from going out and the people huddled around them dry. Almost everyone else has resigned to staying in their tents.

The tent ma and Muriel stay in is filled with light, and ma opens the flap before we can. “No entry until you’re dry, come here.” She laughs as she lifts her hands, filled with a warm light that sends away all the water from our clothes and prevents any more from getting on. “Leave your shoes too, they’re caked in mud.” I don’t even wiggle around much before I feel her take my shoes from me, and Muriel sets me inside the tent. I’m still wrapped up in the cloak so I lose my balance and fall to the ground, and judging by the laugh I hear from outside ma definitely saw.

Untangling myself from the cloak takes a minute, and once I’m out of that I can see that ma has Muriel sitting on the ground while she dries his hair with a fluffy towel. He reminds me of when we have to dry off Wojtek with towels, the rare smile on his face proof that he might be enjoying it.

I always feel like I’m intruding whenever I see them like this. It’s weird, I know. I don’t know how to explain. I’m not jealous, I know that. However, I’ve never really witnessed openly romantic relationships up close. Zia Matty tells me about herself and Husain, the archeologist she’s married to. I’ve seen people on dates or strolls throughout the city, but I’ve never seen anything besides that.

Thunder claps outside of the tent, and lightning follows soon after, making the darkness of the forest outside not as heavy.

“It seems we’re in for some worse weather than we thought, huh?” Ma pulls out her bag, embroidered with bees and violets on the cloth, setting it on the ground and pulling out paint brushes, paint and paper. “Good thing we had plans for stuff that we can do inside, but first!” She turns to me, pulling another towel from the makeshift clean laundry pile in a corner of the tent. “Devo farti i capelli, sembri un piccolo leone.”

I don’t have to scoot very far to be close enough that she can do my hair, but it is funny to watch Muriel’s face as he tries to piece together what she said with context clues.

Ma talks to the both of us as she does my hair, stuff about her morning and how the meetings went. I can tell she’s leaving a few details out since I’m here, but I’m not sure I would want to know anyway.

The feeling of the brush in my hair is a familiar one, bringing up both pleasant and bad memories. I hated having my hair brushed when I was little, and would run away from anyone who tried to do my hair in the first place. Asra said that it took a while for ma, Finn and them to find a hairbrush that I wouldn’t scream at, and we still use the same one years later. She rubs one of the oils we managed to get from the shop in her hands, rosemary and mint, another familiar scent that almost immediately makes me relax a bit more. She always puts it on my scalp, massaging it in and combing whatever’s left on her hands through the rest of my hair. Asra likes to joke that it’s why my hair grows so fast. The longest I’ve grown it was down to my waist, but that was before ma got sick, and when she woke up most of her hair had been cut off.

That was the only haircut that I ever asked for.

Muriel tells her about how our morning went, finding a few of his own things within the tidy piles of stuff we have in the tent. He uses a knife to carve into a block of wood, the chips curling when they fall to the floor. It’s nice to watch, and I nearly fall asleep before ma’s done braiding my hair away from my face and down my spine. It’s still a little damp when she’s done, and it will probably stay like that until tomorrow because of the weather and just how much hair there is.

Even with the storm raging outside, it’s nice and cozy inside of the tent. The spells were put on all the tents when we first got out here to prevent leaking and damage still intact thanks to daily check-ins.

We sit around the lantern, each person focused on their own tasks and almost completely silent. It’s not awkward, for once. If anything, it feels right.

The paintbrush in my hand glides on the paper, leaving streaks of color over white that will soon longer show through. My favorite things to paint are mammoths, an animal that I’ve always loved. A majority of my books back home are about them, and I’m pretty sure Zia Matty and Asra are to blame. Matty liked to show off her illusions before bed, something she did with my ma and her brother when they were little, and with me before she fled from the plague. Her favorite one’s to do were often about ice-age animals, talking about the theories about them and what we know so far. Asra likes to say that they encouraged my interest in them after they crocheted my stuffed mammoth for me. Finn helped me gather my collection of books about them due to his job, even making a cast of a mammoth's tooth as a gift for my birthday one year.

I hope none of it has been destroyed by the raiders.

While the rain continues to pour outside, it’s warm and dry inside of the tent. The fabric of the tent is a deep blue, a little taller than most of the other tents around the camp so that Muriel can stand up in it for the most part. Furs cover the floor, keeping it warm compared to the cool ground. More furs are piled on one side of the tent, the makeshift bed ma and Muriel have been using. A chest of clothes and useful things from home is next to the bed, flowers painted all over it adding color to the space without looking odd.

Most of the noise from inside the tent comes from the sounds of Muriel’s knife scraping against the wood block, or ma’s erratic sketching on her paper. I look over and see that ma is painting a field of rolling hills with tiny blue flowers. Mine is almost finished, since I painted what I had seen in my dreams last night. It’s not as good as ma’s painting, but she’s an artist for a living and an adult so she would be better anyway. I scoot closer to ma and show her the painting I did. She takes it from my hands carefully, blowing on the paper to help dry it while looking at it. Her brows furrow while she looks at the paper. We spend a few minutes like that, just looking at the painting. It makes my heart beat faster and my throat feel tight because I’m worried I did something wrong, but she pulls me close again and sets the paper down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I shake my head, and scoot back to my spot to grab more paper and my paint brushes again. I can see out of the corner of my eye that Muriel moves his head so that he can see the painting, and moves closer to ma to whisper something in her ear before going back to his carving.

I’m painting mammoths again. The field they walk in is covered in frost and small patches of vegetation, just like Zio Finn said they would. I like to paint them with bright colors though, using purples and blues and greens with the normal brown paints instead of just shades of brown. Ma is still working on her flower painting, adding small details with a thin brush and a careful hand. She’s used to tattooing skin and taking her time with it, so her paintings normally have a lot of tiny details that most people don’t notice in them. Muriel’s carving is starting to take shape too, and I’m starting to notice that he’s looking at my stuffie a lot in order to carve the mammoth.

The rain refuses to clear up, pouring harder with each hour that passes. The thunder and lightning doesn’t slow down either, and I wonder if we’re at risk of flooding. Muriel makes me think that he can read minds sometimes because right after I thought of that he told us that he built the hut here because it hardly ever floods, and if it does he has charms and protective spells around his hut to prevent leaks. He and ma enforce the charms on the tent for the same reason, checking the storm protecting thingy on top and drying themselves off when they come back inside. Muriel has me help him make more protective charms to put up directly outside of the camp and when we’re done with that I get out one of the books I managed to take with me and read while ma and Muriel do… whatever it is they do.

It was stupid to think we’d have a peaceful day.

The raiders attack when the sky is at its darkest, sending shouts through the camp and startling all of us in the tent. Ma tells me to stay put while she and Muriel go and help everyone, putting on her boots and cloak and leaving me alone in the tent.

I fiddle with the necklace my dad gave me and hold my stuffie while I wait for them to get back, rocking back and forth on the blankets and looking around the tent to keep myself busy. It’s hard to do anything else when I’m worried about my ma getting hurt or worse, and it feels like time moves slower while they’re gone.

It takes a while for them to get back, and when they do Muriel has a cut on his leg. Ma cleans it up and heals it, but falls asleep right after so he helps her into the furs and removes her shoes and cloak. I’ve seen her fall asleep after using a lot of magic, but never just from a healing spell.

“She fought pretty hard… no wonder she’s exhausted.” Muriel stacks the furs on top of her, brushing her hair out of her face and taking off the green bandana she has over her hair. “Are you alright?” I nod, finger combing the fur of my stuffie and rocking back and forth. “I… there has been a lot going on lately and if you need to talk to someone… I don’t mind.” I set my stuffie down to sign, my head tilted to the side.

“I’m okay.” I don’t actually know if I’m okay or not, but I tell him I am anyway. He sits with my ma for a few more minutes, not really doing anything when he grabs his carving stuff again. I watch as the wood curls when he pushes the knife against it, the pile on the floor slowly growing.

“Do you want to try?” He’s already carved out a rough shape for it, and he’s started working on details. “I’m not sure if your mom would be okay with you handling knives, but I started learning when I was about your age, and I’ll be right next to you.” I think his logic makes sense, so I move to sit cross legged on the cushions next to him and watch him carve the wood. He explains a few things while he does, and then hands the wood and knife to me. He shows me how to hold my thumb against the knife to guide it and how to keep my fingers away from the knife's path.

Muriel has taken over carving the wood by dinner time again, but he’s given me one of his older pieces to paint. It’s a carving of a bear, but I paint it green and blue with tiny flowers all over it.

Ma sits up and rubs her eyes, looking at us and at the top of the tent. “What time is it?”

“It’s close to sundown, if I had to guess.” Muriel puts his things away, looking at my ma when he’s done.

“I’m going to guess you two waited to eat until I was awake again?” I nod, bouncing my leg and still painting. “Well we should get started on that then…”

“You should rest, MJ.” Muriel tries standing, but while his leg is healed it must still hurt because he hisses through his teeth when he stands.

“You should too, but alas we are both adults here who need to eat and I’ve gotta feed this one here too.” She says all of this with a smile, standing up and ruffling my hair. Both of them end up working together to make something, ma heading out to the camp to check up on Asra once we had everything started. Dinner is okay, but I miss being able to cook on the stove back home. Even the fireplace in Muriel’s hut would be better, but he’s lent it to the Satrinava’s and Mazelinka uses it to cook for a lot of people at once most of the time. I show ma the carving Muriel let me paint after we’re done cleaning up, and I start to head to bed. Wojtek still isn’t back, but he’d be soaked anyway, so I start to get ready to go to sleep.

When I start to open the flaps of the tent, Muriel stands up, the carving he’d been working on in his hands. “Put this next to your pillow… it should help.” He hands it to me, and when I look closer at it I realize he’d carved runes into the back and the belly of the mammoth. I can see ma watching from the bed where she’s rearranging the furs and pillows before bed. She’s not very discreet.

“Thank you.” I sign to Muriel before heading to bed, doing a small spell to keep the rain from touching me before I get inside my tent.

I think the carving works, because I don’t have scary dreams that night.

[exhaustedpirate]

the fruit of my labors

for anyone who doesn't know, I made a post about Baelfire's drawings on his cave and how Killian didn't react enough to it, so I decided to fix that a bit! beta'd by the wonderfully helpful @jonesfandomfanatic !

rated G | 1360 words also on ao3

The path through the dense, hot forest was one Killian was acquainted with. A right turn at the twisted tree, a sharp left turn at the rock lion, straight ahead through the berry patch. If you run into the rock that looks like the crescent moon you’ve gone too far.

Killian had followed him through the woods many times after their separation, no, Baelfire’s abandonment. Had wanted to make sure Bae was safe, that he was alive. He didn’t approach, memorized the way to Bae's little cave and kept it in his heart but never broached the gaping abyss he’d created between them. First out of bitterness, then out of shame. 

Baelfire wouldn’t welcome his presence anyway.

He found out about Bae’s departure from Neverland from Pan himself; the demon’s anger leaving a bitter taste. And, after Baelfire was gone, Killian would make his way to his hovel many times, standing in front of the large rock and the dangling vine for hours at times. He had only entered once, had found the torch on the wall and lit it with an easy flick of the flint in his hook. 

But it had been too much. Killian had seen the spartan home the boy had created for himself, had seen his small bed and, at the sight of the marks near it, counting his days on the island, left. He'd not made the trek again, as he couldn't bare setting foot in that cave again.

---

Now Baelfire was gone. Dead. And Killian’s back on the blasted island he had wanted to escape from more than anything.

There were differences now, of course. Baelfire had been Neal. He'd grown into a man, a man that had a darker path than Killian had hoped for - than Milah had hoped for. And Killian had joined the heroes, hopefully on his way to becoming one, or at least a version of himself that Liam would be proud of. That Baelfire would be proud of.

So, despite his wishes, Killian was going into Baelfire’s home for the first time in a century.

He still remembered the path - right turn at the twisted tree, sharp left turn at the rock lion and straight ahead through the berry patch. He didn’t see the crescent moon rock.

There was another difference. He wasn’t alone this time. He couldn’t turn around and go back to camp because there were people who needed to go into the cave, find out how Bae escaped Neverland so they could too. He had to go in.

Despite his smirk and his uncontrollable need to share personal space with the Savior, Killian was pleased to not walk into the cave first. Was glad to hide behind the need for light, behind explanations, and to focus on Emma instead of the scratched on drawings on the wall.

“He got it from his mother,” he found himself saying. 

Explanations. 

He couldn’t focus on the way Milah’s hair would fall unacknowledged on her face whenever she was focused on a drawing, or the way Baelfire’s did the same. Couldn’t focus on the many times he’d had to clean charcoal from Milah’s face when she fell asleep over a piece of parchment, or the way he had teared up when the same had happened to Bae. Couldn’t focus on the shame and regret he felt after when their drawings had turned to ash in a fit of tearful rage. Couldn’t focus on the fact that he had fooled himself into thinking he’d purged them from his heart by burning their art. Couldn’t focus on the several more drawings he had locked away in his safe to keep himself from burning them too. 

“Home.” 

As he looks up at the moving stars from Emma’s less than static grip, Killian forces himself to remain in the present. Urges himself not to remember the enthusiastic way Baelfire had stood next to him by the wheel while he told him about the constellations in Neverland’s permanent night sky. Tries not to remember Baelfire’s beaming smile, so much like Milah’s, when Killian praised him for naming all the constellations correctly. 

“Which means the only person who can read it is dead.” He’s almost grateful for Emma’s quick exit with the way he is barely able to control his tears. 

Baelfire, Neal, whatever he wanted to be called, is dead. Milah’s child is gone.

Still, Killian is painfully aware of the Queen’s presence in the room. Her annoyed energy unable to be ignored, giving him no space to mourn, giving him no space to remember the boy that had thrived on his ship, that had become more than just a means for his revenge.

There are memories on the wall, the port and starboard under a perfect replica of the Jolly Roger’s bow. A lesson in navigation comes unbidden to his brain, the feel of Baelfire’s hair in his hand and the proud smile on the boy’s face. He wanted to stay in that memory forever.

“Seems like you left an impression, Hook.” Regina’s lips curved in a cruel smirk as she tapped the wall he had been looking at, her pointer finger on the depiction of his hook in what he assumed was his area of the wall. He didn’t bite the bait.

Killian remembered instead how the boy had been mystified by it, the way it worked, how he used it - he had been too scared to tell him the truth of how he got it, unwilling to shatter the perfect life they were living. But shatter it still did.

He sees the Darlings over a drawing of what Bae told him was the Great Ben - he still wasn’t sure what was Great about this Ben but he still remembered the loud giggles the boy let out when he got the name wrong. Killian knew of the parents who had accepted a boy into their family as if he was their own. Bae talked fondly of them and the boys, Michael and John, and affectionately of Wendy, talked about how he had felt part of a family before the Shadow tore them apart. His heart had ached for the boy who had wanted a family and his shame worsened when he realized he had done the same as Pan’s evil entity.

Killian’s almost thankful for Emma’s reentrance, her shoulders set and determined frown on her face. She looks magnificent like that and he welcomes the distraction. But then she gets that look again, the same one he saw when they were climbing the beanstalk and he remembers seeing it on Baelfire, knows that he sees it in the mirror too. 

“I too know what it feels like to lose hope,” Killian starts to say to Emma. 

And he reads it plainly in her face that she doesn’t want to believe him, that she is looking for a reason to distrust him. That she’s not ready to open up about this. He wants to turn away, leave it at that, leave it up to her but he never knew how to give up.

“I too know what it feels like to lose,” he continues and she lets out a sigh, a deep sigh expelling her anger and frustration, her shoulders slumping down. And then she nods and he gives her a smile, not a smirk, not a grin, just a smile and, while hers might be even smaller than his, it’s still a smile and he considers himself lucky. He tries not to wonder if he’s worthy of that luck. 

“We need to go.”

It’s easy to put on his bravado, his cocky smirk for David’s comments, no matter how likely they are, deflect the way Emma already means more than he thought she ever would.

What isn’t easy is saying goodbye to the memory infested walls of the cave, Baelfire’s last mark on the world. It isn’t easy to say goodbye to the memory of the boy who could have been his family, who could have loved him back, who he could have not betrayed.

But he does.

There is another boy who needs to be saved. And this time, he will.

[spiritofhyena]

Black salt / witches' salt

WARNING: do NOT mix it up with the edible black salt for kitchen use. They are both called “black salt” but one is salt with activated charcoal or salt from a volcanic area that can be used in cooking, the other is a mix of salt, ashes, and other non-edible things used as a protection or banishing spell. I personally use it as a halfway between warding/protection and banishing as I add things usually associated with banishing.

I tried to search up the origin of the “witches’ salt” but I didn’t find anything solid (but also I made only a couple of quick searches on google because I was crunching time as I did this either before/after work or sometimes during slow moments at work) so, my best guess would be that its origin might be derived from the use of salt in many folkloric traditions as a protection or to purify, mixed a bit with a concept similar to the "witches' bottle", but I digress.

Disclaimer again: I wrote most of this during work time and edited it afterwards so I can't guarantee the form and grammar used.

I first made black salt after a couple of quick searches for protection and banishing spells that could help me in my practice, as I first started I was a bit of an idiot (to quote Set) and didn't keep anything to protect myself around when doing divination and other things.

With time I noticed that it's a good all-around protection and also, with a couple of tweaks, could be perfect to also banish in a "bounce back to sender" way.

There are different recipes on the Internet and among witchy communities but they mostly differ for some ingredients added (or not added) and I believe all would work… but surely, IMHO, if you tailor them to your needs it would be more effective.

This is what I made for myself, and I'll also include the "return to sender" version.

Tools you’ll need:

a jar with a lid to store it

mortar & pestle (not mandatory: I don’t have one so I use a tiny ceramic casserole and one of those wooden pestles for cocktails bc that’s what I had at home… use whatever could do the job)

a candle in the colour you associate with protection and warding

Ingredients:

salt (duh-)

ashes (either incense ashes, firepit ashes/charcoal, soot or you could also use activated charcoal)

eggshells powder

black pepper

rosemary

bay leaves

sage (kitchen kind is perfect!)

whatever herb you associate with protection

Process:

Honestly, you should do this however it feels right for you. You could cast a circle, call the elements or whatever. I don’t do that because it’s not part of my practice. You don’t even need to cleanse or anything if you don’t feel it’s necessary: it’ll work anyway.

Light the candle (ofc if you think it’s needed) and put the ingredients in the mortar, a little bit at a time, to grind them a bit and most importantly mix all of them. Focus on your intention, if you feel you need to recite something to enchant it then do it. Mix all the ingredients, I usually start with salt, add eggshell powder, all the other ingredients and then another bit of salt at the end to “close” everything.

If you want to give it a little “boost” you could write on a bay leaf “I am protected” or the like and then burn it (do it in a fireproof container! bay leaves are nasty burners and like to pop a lot!) to “activate” it and mix it to the rest of the ingredients.

When everything is all mixed, then you can pour it into the jar and close it. It’s up to you if you want to seal the lid with some wax or not. I do not do it because if I decide to redo it I can open it and clean the jar more easily before preparing the new black salt.

Again, it’s up to you if you want to charge it under the moonlight/sunlight or in some other way: do what you feel that's right to do.

And that’s it! Congrats you made black salt that will protect your space!

For the return-to-sender version:

add more pepper

slap also some paprika or better some chilli pepper powder

also put there some garlic

you can add other ingredients you associate with banishing

add a bay leaf (or also a piece of paper) with the intention written on it like “the harm/malicious intent is returned to who cast it” or whatever you feel right

complete!

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I know your prompts are closed, but I have to ask your thoughts on just out of the ice Steve struggling to fall asleep, because he just can't shake the fear that if he does, the next time he opens his eyes another ten, twenty, seventy, a hundred, years have passed, and he's even more out of time. So he looks desperately for solutions, medication won't work, a new place makes him feel too unsafe, white noise does as well, he doesn't like not being able to hear. ASMR doesn't work, at least, not at first. He hates the soft talking, the squishing and crunching of slimes. The taps and pops are to sudden, reminding him of the sharp cracks of gunshots in an otherwise quiet night. But then he finds a video of someone sketching, and the quiet rasp of the pencil and charcoal over the paper puts him to sleep almost before he realizes what's happened. -🐍

First, I have to tell you that you said ASMR, and immediately I was like, hold on, hold on, hold on--didn't I write something about Steve and ASMR? Did I just imagine that?

Because, exactly! I've always had the thought in my head of Steve not enjoying ASMR because of his super hearing. It feels like rather than giving him tingles, I would be grating and sharp to his ears, at least, especially out of the ice when he's so vulnerable and raw.

So... I had to take a minute to look through my masterlists. What I was thinking of was this drabble about Steve being touch-starved. So, that's something that might be something you're interested in, but also two other drabbles:

Steve and Natasha and their bad dreams while on the run

Steve and Bucky and sleepless nights

Based on those three drabbles, though, you can probably already tell what my thoughts are on Steve and sleep. And it's pain. Just painful. I am so here for angst, but really, I just can't see much otherwise for him, fresh out of the ice.

The thought of Steve finding unedited, real-time videos of people drawing traditionally--graphite on paper--and using those lengthy videos to find relaxation and eventually sleep is so tender, though. So thoughtful. It would be the perfect lull for him.

Which makes me think of this ask, also. Specifically, the idea that, "[Steve] said once that he's pretty sure he's had his fill of sleep after 70 years of it, but that was a lie. He's tired. Has he always been this tired? He's tired, exhausted, all the way down to his bones."

**This got a little darker than I thought it would. Please tread carefully if you're sensitive to thoughts surrounding suicidal ideation and descriptions of the symptoms of depression!**

Steve's been gone for seventy years. Unconscious. Not exactly asleep, not exactly dead. Just. Gone. He's missed seventy fucking years of the world turning and turning and turning. Yet... it's the same, too. When he plunged into the biting cold water--his body stinging with the temperature, painful and chilling to the depths of his soul and also a sensation of nothing at all as his mind simply stopped working, too much sensory imput to the point that he was wiped out, wiped clean with nothing left--he was fighting. Then, when he was here again, no longer gone, surrounded by purely new individuals and new expectations and a new reputation, larger than life, he's still fighting. He isn't even told to fight. No. He's expected to fight. No one ever slows down enough to ask him if he wants to fight still.

Does Steve still want to fight?

Is... is it okay if he doesn't want to fight?

What is he fighting for anyway? He doesn't know anything about what life is anymore. Life in the country he represented once alongside life anywhere. He's so disconnected, so out of place. And... how can he connect? He doesn't know. He doesn't know if he can connect. He doesn't know if he wants to connect again. Connecting, restarting his life in an alien world where everyone already knows about his old life, sounds exhausting. Steve's so exhausted already. He doesn't know if he has the energy to connect. He doesn't know if he has the energy to keep living. He doesn't know.

He feels so slow all the time. He feels, once more, like he's half-starved and wrecked by the last dregs of a fever, a battle with another round with another illness, shaky, his brain fogged and nonfunctional. He wanders through the fog. He's cold. He's unsteady. He can't sleep.

He wants to sleep so badly, he's so tired. Exhausted. But. He can't sleep. Every time he lays down, his mind is suddenly clear and functioning--over-functioning. Overthinking. Taking a nosedive into a downward spiral. Consumed and torn apart by fear. If he closes his eyes now, when will he open them next? How long will it be? How long will it be until he can move and live and breathe again? (Is Steve breathing now? How does he know he's alive? How does he know he can move at all? Now that he's on his back, his limbs feel leaden. He's rooted to the bed, rotting into the cold sheets and firm mattress, his arms by his sides, his legs straight, formation for survival in the tight, coffin-like spaces of the barracks.) How long will it be until he wakes up with his throat already raw from the screams, drowning in nightmares? Nightmares about war. Nightmares about death. Nightmares about the nebulous, unreal passage of time. Nightmares that combine all of that and show him in a whirlwind all the faces of everyone he's ever loved--

All of them gone.

Steve wants to sleep. Steve wants to sleep so desperately, too tired to even cry, that he just wants to be gone. He doesn't think sleep can fix this. He just wants to be gone.

Please.

Why can't the earth open up and swallow him whole. Return him to the ice. Steve almost wishes they never found him. He wishes they had left him in the ice. If he hadn't come back, he would never have known he was gone.

He wants to be gone.

[shivunin]

At the Dead Drop

A letter in an elegant, curling hand which seems to have met with some incident in its sending; it is dotted with water spots and features several crossed-out sections:

16 Guardian, 9:37 Dragon

Carver, 

Checking in, as always. Will leave this letter in the usual manner; let me know if this is no longer the acceptable way to pass messages on. Or—flames—let me know anything at all. It’s been months since I’ve heard from you. Your big sister worries. 

The manor is fine. It’s held up against the snow after the repairs, and there was minor damage, really. None of your things were ruined, and Mother’s room remains in the same state. As for my own bedroom—a little water damage means little. All the important things are downstairs, after all. We did find an unused corner of the wine cellar, though—sold off the really fine stuff after I let the others peruse it for their choices. I’ve plenty of ideas for what to do with the money. 

I suppose there is one thing that I needed   that you should   Flames, I’ll just say it. Fenris and I are together. For good this time.

I am not seeking your approval. I know what you’re going to say. I know how many letters I sent you three years ago, and I know how much of a mess I was then. But—stop making that face right now—this is different. 

I’m not looking for your approval. But—I would like to have it anyway, Carver. You’re my only family left except for—Andraste’s elbow, I haven’t told you—Gamlen and his daughter. Yes; Charade is her name, if you can believe it. Entirely beside the point. I know you hardly ever get these letters, and then it’s all at once, so I’ll write another letter about that when I’m done with this one. 

Things are bad in Kirkwall at the moment. I know you can tell already from other things I’ve said. But Fenris is…he is the only good thing I can count on without reservation. Everyone else has other concerns and other loves. They aren’t wrong to—of course they aren’t. But I need someone who wants me, and not what I can do for them and who will choose me first.

Perhaps that’s selfish of me, or unfair to say. I cannot say I don’t know that. But Carver, maybe it’s time for me to be a little bit selfish. Selflessness didn’t save Bethany, and it didn’t save Mother either. I can carry them with me forever, along with the whole of Kirkwall, or I can live. I know now that I can’t do both.

Maker, how maudlin this is. Oh, well. I’ve heard that you Wardens love a good melodrama, or—maybe just the Ferelden ones. I hope this finds you well, regardless. 

Write back soon. I mean it. 

Your beloved, clever, self-absorbed sister, 

—Maria

A scrap of paper torn from a larger piece; there is writing on one side and what appears to be a section of schematics on the other:

M—

Since when have I given two figs about your relationship drama? You want my approval, you have it. Do what you want, M, you're a big girl and you don't owe anyone shit. Just don’t come crying to me if it goes tits-up again. I’m busy. 

—Carver

P.S. Charade? Say you’re joking.

Another scrap of paper; the drawing on the other side lines up with the schematic on the first:

Fenris, 

If you break my sister’s heart again, I’ll kill you myself. Fair warning.

—Carver

A crisp-edged and carefully folded square of parchment, sealed thickly with charcoal-colored wax. The handwriting is meticulously neat:

Carver:

If I break your sister’s heart, I will let you.

—Fenris

(For day 8 of @14daysdalovers: Approval.)