#handmade paper carry bag

[rainintheevening]

They all three left books behind.

Susan fished them out of the bundle of detritus returned to her from the police, from the morgue.

There was a small, thin hardback, just the right size for a pocket, almost seeming handmade, The Hound of Heaven painted across the cover in old English lettering. Its red and brown fabric was bent and smeared with something black. Inside the cover, in neat curving print: Lucy Pevensie. There was a ribbon marking a place, but Susan did not look further.

Ed's bag held three books.

His Bible, leather cover worn and cracked, inscribed inside on the thin page in slanting, quick cursive: June 1943 To Edmund, my brother, my friend, my king. Psalm 89:14-15

A well-worn copy of the Book of Common Prayer, with their father's name written above Ed’s in the back.

And a fresh, new book, though already cracked in the spine, carrying the title The Return of the King. A fantasy novel, with Peter's name written inside the cover. The last in a trilogy it seemed, and she vaguely recognized the author's name. They must have been sharing it, she thought. Sitting on the train, reading, probably excited for the end of a long story.

This one she opened to the place marked, found a paper with a list on it, Peter's handwriting again: bread, milk, cherry jam, 2 shirts, 3 socks, boots to cobblers, Augustine for Lucy... and several long titles that must have been medical texts.

She closed the book with shaking hands.

Lucy and Ed's books went in the box she never opened. Peter's went on the shelf with the other two, and the rest of his library that she kept.

She wasn't even thinking about it, when she read The Lord of the Rings aloud years later, little Helen stretched on the hearth-rug, the twins huddled close at her feet all eyes and ears, and Fred at his easel, his brush following the rhythm of her voice.

But then the chapter ended and she turned the page, and a paper fluttered to the floor, Peter's list, his last list, the things he needed to buy for his next term at medical school, which he had never finished.

She managed not to cry, though Pete and Tom wondered aloud over the scrap of paper, even as they handed it back. Her hands shook, but this time... she did not close the book.

Peter and Edmund had been reading this book in the train. They hadn’t finished it. They hadn’t read the ending. But she would.

She thought later, that that might have been when it began. That might have been when the path turned in a direction she had avoided for so long.

Ed's Bible eventually ended up on the table by her chair in the living room. The Prayer book came into Helen's possession. She put her name under her uncle's and her grandfather's in the back.

Susan read Lucy's book last, all beat up, and still smelling faintly smoky.

And in that Hound, Susan Pevensie found a Lion.

[curiositydooropened]

Christmas Eve

Some soft holiday moments with family.

This fic runs in the same Universe as My Whole Life, Too and Better Off

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Wordcount: 1393

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Steve is baby crazy, no plot to speak of, Merry Christmas, everyone! xoxo

Navigation • Masterlist

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The house smelled warm, like the logs burning in the stove and the caramel melted into cocoa and cognac. You felt warm too, that heat that licked at your throat and itched the collar of your pale pink sweater, but not an unkind warmth. You were full, a handmade meal well-earned and welcomed, with spiced wassail and topped with all of the pie and cookies you’d spent the week painstakingly preparing. 

Dad left after dessert and before the liquor cabinet had been opened and the cocktails had been poured. He bid you adieu with a kiss to your temple, and you tucked a paper bag full of tin foiled leftovers into his hand. You’d bring him more in the morning.

Argyle was called an hour into drinks. He was on his way to Mass, and you all laughed as the kids screamed and argued to say hello first. 

Nancy was first to crash. Her sweet little face, normally wound in some form of tension or another, was soft and smiling as she tucked herself into your warm throw pillows. Her hands were draped in her lap, a lavender baby blanket slung over one shoulder, just in case. As soon as Robin noticed, you’d all hushed your giggles and tiptoed back to the kitchen to make cocoa and steal from the cookie tins. 

Nancy needn’t worry about her baby though, because Bea hadn’t left Steve’s arms since the little family of three walked over your threshold. Your fiancé (the term gave you butterflies even now, months later) carted the little angel all over your cottage, her soft cheek pressed to the breadth of his chest. He did let Nancy feed her twice, and he gave the other guests five minutes each with her before promptly taking her back. 

You’d handed her over at three and a half minutes, unable to contain the tingling warmth that spread through you at the glossy sheen over Steve’s eyes to see you holding the little bundle of joy.

Jonathan didn’t seem to mind the possessiveness over his daughter, dark circles and loopy smile indicative of two months with a needy newborn and her stubborn mother. He seemed more than grateful for the break and for the Scotch you’d slipped between his fingers as you leaned on his shoulders and breathed in the smell of city on your best friend.

Robin crashed second, still jet-lagged, back from France. She fell asleep on the kitchen counter, arms tucked beneath her, butt straight in the air. You and Jonathan carried her, through protestations, down the hall to the guest room, and before you left, she grasped your wrist and told you, blearily, how much she loves you, in French.

Jonathan and Nancy left soon after. He’d lifted her gently from the couch with soft mutters and kisses. She roused and the wrinkle creased between her brow again as she forced Steve to unhand her little baby, stirring up a mess of cries and hiccups as Bea was strapped into her carseat. The three of them left with hugs and plans for New Years. 

They backed down the driveway, and you waved, your breath fogging under soft porch light. 

“C’mere, you,” Steve grumbled, tucking you into his chest. 

“You smell like another girl,” you chuckled, accepting the dip of his lips to capture yours in a kiss. 

He groaned, nuzzling your nose with his, and sighed. “What if we tell them they forgot something so they have to bring her back?” 

You snorted and swatted at his chest. “You can wait one week to get your baby fix.” 

“I wouldn’t have to wait a week if…” He growled into your ear, hands pulling your waist close, one broad palm grabbing at your ass. 

You yelped and shoved him away, running back into the warmth of your little cottage.

You could hear the weight of him behind you, the familiar thrill of a chase catching in your chest, and you cackled and squirmed as his hands caught you and pulled you off your feet to spin around. 

“Come on,” he smiled, tossing you onto the couch, still warm from Nancy’s rest. 

You tried to catch your breath, but he knelt at your feet and wedged himself between your legs. 

“I saw the way you were looking at me.” He leaned in to press a wet kiss to the shell of your throat.

“I saw the way you were looking at me,” you argued, grabbing the collar of his shirt beneath his sweater. You weren’t sure if you wanted to hold him at bay or pull him closer. “Besides, you don’t love the kids we have.”

“They’re all grown,” he argued, warm fingers finding their way up your sweater along your ribcage.

“Jesus Christ, you two,” the clear of a throat startled the two of you apart, and you warmed at the sight of Eddie smirking in the threshold. “I was talking to Wayne for what? Fifteen minutes?”

“How was Wayne?” You adjusted your sweater and pulled yourself upright. 

Steve, still on his knees, trailed his fingertips up the inside of your thigh, tracing a ladder in your tights, and you returned his smirk with a warning look before you stepped around him to start clearing mugs and saucers from the coffee table. 

“Wayne’s good. He’s got a friend from the plant who invited him for Christmas dinner tomorrow, so he won’t be alone. His name’s Dale.” Eddie explained, crossing to help you clean up. He held a hand out for Steve, and the other man took it, and the two rough-housed for a moment until Steve ended up beneath his former roommate’s arm in a headlock. 

You rolled your eyes. “I hope for Wayne’s sake, Dale doesn’t have any kids. Your uncle deserves a holiday off.” 

The two men protested your claims, but you couldn’t hear them as you swung back into the kitchen to dump your haul carefully into a surprisingly empty sink. You glanced sideways at the dishwasher to find it full from your dinner, and you tutted as you rinsed the caramel from the bottom of mugs and tipped them upside down onto the top rack.

“Eddie, did you do the dishes?”

“Can’t sit still when I’m on the phone,” he grinned, beating Steve to the tile. 

“Kiss ass,” Steve flicked his forehead.

“Steve,” you failed to suppress a yawn, the sleeves of your sweater slumping back down your forearms, and you felt a soft pair of lips to your forehead. 

“Yes, dear?” 

“Make Eddie’s bed up for me?” 

“Yes, dear. Come on, dickhead.” Steve smacked Eddie’s chest, and the two of them trailed back to the living room to pull the couch out into a functioning bed for your second houseguest. 

You made about consolidating cookies into one tin and sweeping crumbs from the countertop and floors, warmth from the house bringing the heaviness of exhaustion to your shoulders, your eyelids. 

You smiled as you thought of your friends, the little family you’d grown over the years, those of you that came together to celebrate and cheers and regale your months apart. You thought of Bea, of her sweet little face squished into your fiancé’s chest, the spitting image of her father, and this amazing support system she’s going to grow up into. That thought sprung a well of emotion to your eyes. 

“You okay?” Steve toed into sight, worry creased on his brow. 

You nodded and sniffled, burying your face into the warmth of his chest.

His hands trailed up and down your spine, warm, welcome. “You know you’re enough, right?” 

You hummed into his chest and pulled your face away to catch the glint of gold in his eyes. 

“All of this,” he gestured around to the little kitchen. “Our friends, their babies, your dad. I don’t need anything else to be happy. Christmas came early for me.” He flashed a grin, and you noticed the Scotch on his breath, the loopy smile, the slow sway of both of you on your feet. 

“Alright, you two! I’m putting earplugs in now!” Eddie called from the living room. “Goodnight. I love you. Don’t make a mess!” 

You snorted, and yelped again as Steve hauled you over one shoulder and stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hall to your bedroom, flicking off the lights as he went. 

---

[A/N: Just got the urge, you know? Can't stop imagining Steve with a little baby pressed to his chest. I'm in love, damnit. In love. Thank you all for a magical year. Looking forward to posting chapter one of Late Checkout soon. But until then, happy holidays! xoxo]

[crystallinestars]

Happy Birthday, Kaveh!

Kaveh birthday scenario because I love this man a ridiculous amount. Happy Birthday to one of my favorite Genshin boys!!!

Once again, this is self indulgent and also not proofread, so excuse any spelling/grammar errors.

Contains: Modern AU. Pure fluff and lots of physical affection

Once the clock struck twelve, you carefully lit up the candles on the red velvet cake you had made a couple days prior and lifted the tray to carry it to Kaveh’s office.

Cracking open the door, you spot him sitting hunched over his desk, blueprints and drawing tools scattered haphazardly all around him. A lone lamp lights up the room in a dim, yellow glow, casting long shadows on the walls.

Kaveh scratches his head with a groan, mussing up his pretty hairstyle as he discards another blueprint aside.

Deciding to intervene before the architect loses himself in another sketch for the next few hours, you clear your throat to get his attention.

Kaveh lifts his head and looks in your direction, carmine eyes zeroing in on the cake in your hands.

“Y/N?”

“Happy Birthday, Kaveh!” you say with a smile and present your handmade cake to him. It was a simply but tastefully decorated cake, with the words ‘Happy Birthday Kaveh!’ written in red icing and topped with fresh fruit. Several small candles were arranged in a circle, their flames flickering softly.

Kaveh’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Birthday…?” Kaveh blinked and glanced at the clock. “Oh. Oh! I completely forgot!” he chuckled and shook his head.

“I figured you lost track of time again, which is why I’m here to be the first one to celebrate your birthday with you, and to get you to take a break,” you say with a wry smile.

The blond stood up and made his way over to you, looking sheepish.

“You’re right. I got so lost in my work that I completely lost track of time. I just can’t get the design for this commission right,” he sighed and followed after you towards the kitchen.

“Take a break. Maybe you’ll get better results with a fresher mind,” you coax him to sit on the couch.

Kaveh complies, and his eyes light up when you place the cake in front of him on the coffee table.

“Why don’t you make a wish and blow out the candles? Maybe it will come true.” Smiling, you take a seat next to him.

Kaveh chuckles but does as you say, and closes his eyes to make a wish before blowing out the candles.

“Happy Birthday!” you say again and clap. “Do you want to have some cake now or later?”

“Now, actually. I’m pretty hungry, and I think the boost of sugar will help me get those sketches done,” Kaveh replies.

You take a knife and cut a slice of the red velvet cake before plating it and sliding it over to him. Kaveh gratefully accepts the slice and digs in.

“Mmm, this is so good! Did you make this?”

“Yeah. I made it while you were away for a business meeting with a client. It took a lot of work to keep it a secret,” you say and break off a small piece of his slice, spearing it on a fork. You hold the fork up to Kaveh’s mouth, indicating you want to feed him.

Kaveh blushes and shoots you a look. “I can feed myself, you know.”

“I know. I just want to pamper you on your special day,” you smile at him.

Kaveh is unable to resist your adorable smile, so he caves in and lets you feed him the cake. He grumbles a bit and looks flustered, but ultimately can’t deny that having you feed him warmed his heart. Your care and affection were just what he needed after a grueling day of work.

After feeding him the slice of cake, you clean up the plate and bring over a gift bag that you had prepared earlier for this specific occasion.

“I got some gifts for you, as well. Would you like to open them now?”

Kaveh glances at the bag in your hand curiously.

“You got me gifts too? You didn’t have to, really. But thank you.” He takes the bag from your hands. He lowers his hand into it and fishes out a rectangular object wrapped in red and gold wrapping paper.

“What’s this?” he asks. The architect carefully unwraps the gift, revealing a prettily decorated scrapbook. His fingers trace over the intricate golden patterns hand-drawn on the front cover that remind him of the patterns on the protractor he uses when drawing his architectural designs. The front cover was also decorated with red, green, and gold gems as well as turquoise feathers that matched the earrings and feather he usually wore.

“Did you make this?” he asks in awe.

“Ah, yeah. I had some help from your friends in making it. I know my artistic skills pale in comparison to yours, but I still hope you like it,” you chuckle, feeling nervous about whether he likes the design of the scrapbook or not. You spent a lot of time trying to make it look nice, and you hoped it was satisfactory for your artistic boyfriend’s tastes.

“Don’t worry, it looks beautiful. I love it,” Kaveh grins and eases your concerns.

He carefully opens the book and feels his breath hitch. Inside are photos of him and the people he loves framed by colorful paper flowers, ribbons, and multicolored gems. Every page he flips to has a photo of himself or someone he’s close with, captioned with what the photo is depicting and when it was taken.

There’s a photo of Kaveh grinning cheerfully while raising a glass of wine as if celebrating something. Kaveh remembers that this was taken when he was celebrating moving out of Alhaitham’s house because he found a place to live in together with you.

Another photo was of Cyno doing another one of his dramatic poses while holding some TCG cards, engaged in a TCG battle against Kaveh. One photo was taken when he and Faruzan were tinkering on a gadget for a contest, and he smiles as the image reminds him of how he and his professor won first place because of their invention. Some photos on the following page were of Tighnari teaching Collei about botany, and Alhaitham reading in the library, seemingly not noticing his picture being taken, or pretending not to.

There were many photos of him and his friends in the scrapbook, ranging from pretty to silly, but each and every one made Kaveh smile at the happy memories they conjured up.

Flipping towards the end of the book, Kaveh found pictures of you and him together. There was one taken by Collei while the two of you were slow dancing at the tavern, and another you took as a selfie where you had suddenly kissed his cheek, effectively capturing his surprised face. He swore you looked ethereal in every one of the photos, and his heart raced as he remembered each of the romantic moments shared between you captured on these photographs.

“Y/N… this is the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received. Thank you, I love this so much. I promise I’ll treasure it for the rest of my life,” he said as he pressed the book to his heart, indicating he truly did cherish your gift.

You smile, pleased that he liked the scrapbook you spent at least two months working on.

“I’m glad you like it. There’s one more gift for you in bag.”

As if just remembering about the bag, Kaveh sets the scrapbook aside before taking out the second gift. It was a clear glass jar topped with a cork and a golden ribbon. Inside it seemed to be multicolored paper slips that filled the whole jar to the brim in a pretty pastel rainbow. You feel your heart rate grow faster as nerves set in. You put your whole heart into this gift, and you really hoped Kaveh would like it.

Kaveh inspects the content of the jar, noticing that the paper slips were folded into small squares, and guesses that they must contain some kind of message or drawing. He uncorks the jar and takes out a random slip before unfolding it. Inside it was a neatly written message:

You have the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. It never fails to brighten up my day and make my heart skip a beat for you.

Kaveh blinks in surprise, not quite sure what to think of the message, but it undoubtedly filled him with happiness. He fished out another slip and opened it.

I love how creative you are. Your mind comes up with so many unique and wonderful ideas, and you have the determination and talent to turn them into reality. I admire you for that. All your creations are so beautiful— just like you.

Kaveh felt his eyes water as he read the message but blinked away the tears. He realized that these messages were your heartfelt thoughts and feelings about him, and it made his breath hitch. Swallowing thickly, he took a deep breath before opening another colored paper.

I love you with my whole heart, and I will never stop loving you. I will be there for you through all the good and bad times, I promise.

You hear Kaveh sniffle and notice his shoulders shake as he tried to control his overwhelming emotions. This gift touched his heart deeply, and he felt so loved and appreciated that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Y/N…” he croaks out, and you gently wrap him up in an embrace.

“Thank you. I love you. I love you so much,” he whispered as he returned the hug and buried his face in your shoulder.

“I love you too, Kaveh. I always will,” you whisper back just as softly and kiss his temple. Kaveh tightens his arms around you and exhales a shuddering breath. After a few moments he pulls away and wipes at his reddened eyes, but he otherwise looks composed.

“Sorry for this. I just… I’ve never felt so loved before. This gift… it means more to me than you will ever know,” he says softly, a tender yet sad look in his eye as he glances down at the jar.

“I’m glad you like it. I wrote down all my thoughts and feelings about you on those slips with the intention of having you look at a few of them whenever you feel down. I know you go through a lot of struggles, so I wanted to give you something that would hopefully cheer you up. Even if you feel like the world is against you, know that I will always be there for you,” you say with a smile.

“Truly, I can’t thank you enough. Your gifts are so thoughtful and touching. I promise to treasure them forever. And if I thought I loved you before, I now admit that you somehow managed to make me fall for you all over again,” Kaveh says and pulls you into another hug before giving you a kiss and resting his forehead against yours.

You giggle and smile at him warmly. “Good. I’m glad I still have that effect on you,” you tease, causing both of you to laugh.

The architect presses his lips to your face, peppering kisses to your cheeks, nose, and forehead, saying words of thanks and love before taking a moment to just hold you in his arms.

You smile, feeling your heart grow warm from his affections, and let yourself relax in his embrace. You hold him tightly in return, basking in his warmth and pleasant scent.

“Happy Birthday, Kaveh. I hope all your wishes come true,” you say quietly.

Kaveh lets out a soft hum and kisses your temple before resting his cheek on the top of your head. He has many wishes. Dealing with his debt, wanting to see his parents again and have a whole family, for art and artists to be given the due importance and respect that they deserve… the list goes on.

However, one of his wishes did come true. It was right here in his arms, giving him all the love and comfort he desperately needed. The guiding light in this dark world that saved him in more ways than he can recount.

It was you, his darling love.

[violet-hearth]

Devotional Art and Art Magic!

Happy Friday!

Visual art is such an underutilised tool, especially by beginner and younger practitioners. I understand that we all start off excited by spell bags and witch bottles and potions, but as a queer person, so many of us express ourselves through our art and expression can be as big a part of spells as the ingredients (for me expression and intention go hand in hand).

Art has been used both in devotion and in blessings. Displaying art of house blessings was a means to bless the home permanently (Judaism), icons of saints were used as a form of veneration and in prayer (Catholic), and there are several articles and books that dive into art as prayer (mostly Christian).

Sigils + Vision Boards:

Sigils are a visual representation of intent and desire in spellwork and can be incorporated into art through large paintings, sewing patches onto your coat, buttons and badges, painted onto stones, vases, embroidery etc.

Like sigils, a collage can be used as a visual representation of your desire or intent - they can also be an art form of their own and be made as a form of devotional art. 

Fashion:

Fashion and style witchcraft are about coordinating your look into your goals and intentions. Whether this is through charmed jewellery, symbols, sigils, colour associations or flagging. Queer aesthetics is a huge thing for identifying ourselves and the community, and as a queer witch I love charming my carabiner, wearing queer jewellery, and playing with gender. 

The aesthetics of the DIY movement and the aesthetics of queer culture are almost interchangeable. The appeal comes from the look and the fuck-the-man attitude itself, but also from the connection of having handmade, community-focused things by your side. (Queering Your Craft) 

Masks:

Masks can be a great way of incorporating sympathetic and symbolic magic into a larger ritual. Masks can be used to represent archetypes of characters or energies.

In worship of Dionysus, the communicants’ attempt to impersonate the deity by donning goatskins and by imbibing wine and wear a disguise or white linen mask to enable the leaders of the ceremony to make the god manifest. (Britannica)

Masks have been sued in mystery plays, comedia dell’arte, opera, Noh, Dance of the Red Tiger Devil - for both sacred and entertainment productions.

Creating Queer Devotional Art

To protect/enchant the hearts and voices of activists - This spell is meant to protect our hearts and souls, but can be used to honour our queer cultural ancestors, friends, and adapted for honouring deities.

You need:

Art/collage/craft supplies - paint, markers, papers, canvas, glue, magazines, poetry, pens, embroidery, quilting squares etc.

An idea or image you want to create

A white candle

Inspiration:

Devotional art

Jewish Paper Cutting

NAMES project

Queer zines

Protest signs

Trans/Queer Protest Chants

To perform this spell:

Anoint, pray, bless, carve a sigil into etc. The candle and light it - candles often represent the soul so here we’ll let it burn until it naturally extinguishes if safe to do so (a mall candle may be better)

Start creating your image, add in aspects of queer resistance, joy, history, pain, the messages of your own activism. A symbols, symbolism, images of famous activists, sigils, poetry - whatever speaks to you.

If desired, pray, or bless or say an incantation as you finish the piece

Place this art somewhere visible in your house - this spell can also maybe used to make a good sign or banner at protests - optionally turn into a zine, carry around devotional art and art magic in a little notebook or specific sketchbook

This is a very low stakes type of protection. People have been making talismans and hanging up protective decor for centuries. From gargoyles to garlic wreaths to decorative home blessings. This is just a modern adaptation to this world-wide tradition, with a queer and activist focused twist xx

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC Bag Game!

Thanks for the tag, @kaylinalexanderbooks (here)!

Rules: Name five things your OC would have in a backpack or any bag at school.

I'll go with some of the cast from Supernova Initiative and Enchanted Illusions.

(Since my characters live in a either fantasy or sci-fi world and are not school-aged, Imma just go with the contents of their regular bags to make this easier)

(Supernova Initiative)

Jack Tithus

Mint bubblegum

Ammo and chargers for his guns

A miniature first aid pack/painkillers

A holo-picture of him and Cassie

Sweet and crunchy energy bars

A to-go bottle of chocolate milk

Cassie Tithus

Extra parts for her projects and robots

Scrunchies for her hair + hair dye packets

A pocket knife/box cutter

An old, skrunkly plushie

An extra tablet

Inflatable neck pillow

Aleks Keldora

The "face-changer" (his high tech mask that can turn him into anyone's lookalike)

Dozens of stolen IDs, documents and government papers

A handmade drawing of his mothers

Tiny explosives and big explosives

A bottle of nail polish

Vesper Foxx

Self-repair kit for her cyborg implants

A bunch of extra parts in case she needs to replace something

The bracelet her little sister gave her for her birthday

Knives. So many knives. And guns. Don't forget the guns, and poison gas grenades.

A list of the names of each member of the mercenary crew she is hunting down

Artemis Zreeth

Leather gloves and old goggles

Cheesy snacks

His father's old scarf

Star-dust cigarettes

Eyeliner

A foldable speeder bike that becomes a tiny disk when deactivated

Pax Stellaryn

Void Program study material

Crumpled notes, messy journals and glitter pens

His diary

A picture of his cat riding a floating skateboard (don't ask lol)

Sour candy, and lollipops

Ethean Mirannir

Extra uniform

Pilot gear and an emergency kit for his spaceship

A holo-picture of his whole family and him during his graduation day seven year ago

Neon markers and a drawing sketchbook

Fidget toy for anxiety relief

(Enchanted Illusions)

Augustus Grimmure

Bloodstained handkerchief

A small dagger

Necromancy tome of spells and his journal

Recipe for instant magical coffee

An engagement ring he has yet to give Harriet

A bag of cookies from his grandma

Harriet Sharppe

Dainty silk gloves

Extra painkillers in case her cousin forgets

Pocket knife

The latest book she is reading

Lip balm

Chocolate bar

Agatha Greenwoods

Her overflowing journal, containing clues of the case she's trying to solve

A crumpled but well loved picture of her father

Sleep medicine

Switchblade

An extra change of clothes

Cailean Telkerly

His late brother's broken pocketwatch

Worn out brass knuckles and a pocket pistol

Multiple kinds of currency, all stolen

A bottle of cologne

Crumpled candy papers

Falsified documents for any given occasion

Sam Delaways

Snacks and extra food

A dusty old jacket

Very little spare change/copper coins, on good days

A bunch of useless knickknacks he proudly collects

His brothers' plushies when they don't want to carry them

Evangeline Daemitya

Her drawing sketchbook and a travel case for her pens and pencils

A locket with a picture of her and her father

Her intricate coinpurse

An enchanted rapier that becomes a tiny ring when not being used

Poison bottles and a botany guide

Tagging: @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab, @little-peril-stories

@the-ellia-west, @winterandwords, @cowboybrunch, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites

@leave-her-a-tome, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[noircartoons]

Bauhaus, 1920 vintage poster

Ofélia SQ @abstract-mind

It was 2AM, yet i found myself looking at products with discount in the abyss that is online shopping. An addicting desire to find a decoration for our wall, one just for myself. Even if i have to share this wall with four people—this small corner, this painting, is mine.

I found a poster i had not seen in quite some time. The poster did not credit an artist, it only said "Bauhaus 1920 vintage poster". The art was clearly done digitally, to be mass produced and sold online effortlessly.

I found myself...drawn towards those posters. They were pretty, yes—but not in the way a flower is pretty. In the way a siren song is pretty. I was never one to fall for sirens myself, i have few desires to fill me with such carnal instincts to seek for it at all costs once under a spell, the feeling of it being so close you could dig your canines into it's neck is enough to speed any man's heart.

That was not what i felt, no. It was a whisper, almost. I was unsure what had drawn me in. I could see beautiful colors and lines without the desire to buy them, what is different about this one? It was simple enough and i knew enough techniques that i could repaint it myself, but it was not enough, it would have flaws—i needed the one they sold. The one forever frozen in this A3 paper that would either catch dust in my wall or be forever locked inside it's plastic bag, gasping for air as no treasure has ever asked to become a treasure.

I pondered more over my strange feelings, if it could be remade and did not impress me that much, what made me feel this way? Why could no other poster strike my attention like this one? Why did i feel incomplete without it?

A friend of mine, an anarchist at heart, would call it blantant consumerism. A hole barely disguised with a carpet of leaves, only waiting for me to get distracted. Yes, i understood his reasoning, but i was far too inteligent to be compared to such a foolish act! Yet, my brain failed to provide me with any other results,

for such a simple question none the less; "Why do i like this?"

I look at the corner of our room. It has several canvases, some unfinished, some white, some complete. My piece is there, as well. The only piece i had ever produced: A painting inspired by these posters, abstract and with limited colors, though the materials were what shined. A patchwork of handmade canvas fabrics, glued in several spots, barely connecting, over a plane piece of paraná paper. Behind the paper, i had painted and glued some cheap thin foam that was used as a pizza plate under the store bought pizza we cooked. My anarchist friend is the one known for recycling, yet when i broke that foam to throw it out, I found it beautiful.

That was my first and only painting. I struggled to paint since, despite wanting to. When i look at these cheap, consumerist posters, it's my art that i see. Is that what drawns me in?

When my anarchist friend began volunteering in an art gallery, i found that people tended to like art that they could see themselves in. My friend had very intense emotions despite his calm demeanor, his lines were shaken and blurred and sketchy. He refused to draw otherwise. He refused to draw prettier, or more convenient. He enjoyed a canvas that was too small, and other that was taller then him. He enjoyed throwing his ink on the canvas to the point he always had to shower after a painting to get the nankin off of his hands and thighs.

I believe my fascination with him...would be how strongly he carries himself. He is no shadow, the sun competes with him for attention. I do not need such futile things, no. I do not need to be remembered, or known. Yet, when we're in an exposition together, he photographs everything with so much passion, he sees everything with so much beauty, he gives all of his body to his paintings to the point i wouldn't be surprised if he covered himself in paint and rolled over a canvas.

I believe...he is a better poet than me, although visually. He gets a good part of the wall for his art. I only made my only painting, that once it had dried the first thing i did was change completely its color palette and repaint it. When i was in the art gallery with him, all i could find where things i'd do differently, or feel nothing at all. I fear my love of art is not enough to melt my dried heart into proper ink to finish writing this poem.

It is 2:30, and i have yet to find out why i love those cheap Bahaus posters, made specifically to sell. I believe, on one hand, i understand being superficial to better sell yourself. It is all i know how to do. On the other, there's a beauty in the abstract, on not needing to be understood. Perhaps it is just a pretty poster with lines that overlap and find each other, or sharp black and white pinaccles against a burning red sky. Perhaps it is just a red square against a cream colored background. There is no texture and no technique, it is a commercial design over a painting. There are much better abstract paintings over there, with fantastic techniques. Yet—this is the one i'm drawn towards. There is nothing special about it besides it's superficial beauty, but perhaps i can find a beauty on it if i seek hard enough. And perhaps, i will want to seek that beauty on myself, as well.

[brokoala-soup]

I think my aesthetic might be something along the lines of cottagecore and light academia with a tinge of Studio Ghibli and bits and pieces of chaotic academia. So this includes:

classical music blaring out of cheap speakers, homemade food served in reused takeout containers, half dying houseplants in everything but traditional flower pots, the fragrance of jasmine and mint, mirrors reflecting sunlight on to disorganised bookshelves with the most random collection of books, soups in glassware, gel pen doodles all over my notes, herbal teas in whiskey glasses, locally sourced incense sticks, handmade woolen blankets over commercially sold quilts, baking granola bars on a lazy sunday afternoon, adding chocolate to literally everything, mid day naps when the weather is cloudy yet humid, ribbon ties instead of stapler pins, making my own spice powders, scented oil lamps, being obsessed with cloves, sleeping on a bed full of pillows only to find over half of them on the floor next morning, missing alarms because closing my eyes for two more seconds won't make me fall asleep again, picking flowers and herbs from the garden, sleepy afternoons, careful skincare but with the most day to day products, eucalyptus oil, use and throw inhalers to deal with my anxiety because the smell of menthol calms me down, short nails and neutral manicure, smelling like flowers one day and like the sea the other, getting excited whenever I spot the moon, absolutely in awe and in love with the clouds because they're amazing and so creative, puppies, calligraphy using ball pens, homemade mocha latte using soya milk, my grandma's childhood earrings that I wear all the time, newspapers, organic vegetables sold by retired social workers, tote bags, reusable metal water bottles, hot showers and cold rinses, using my grandmother's favorite brand of soap because I love smelling like her, herbal hair oil, smelling like sandalwood, cooking pasta with the family, reading secondhand books, collecting fused light bulbs, pencil underlines, postcards, 1 am poetry, pop instrumentals and pensive journaling, benzene rings on page margins, berry flavoured cough syrup, baking bread, long walks, loud conversations, thrifting, e-books, chocolate wrappers hidden between dictionary pages, colourful periodic table prints, plushies, honey, fleece blankets, sleeping cats, signet ring, dried rose I'd bought for myself and carried around like a trophy travelling back home with it in the public bus, twinning perfumes coincidentally with my best friend, vintage looking brand new ink pen and expired ink, sticky notes with motivational quotes covering my wall, never buying perfumes and only using the ones I'm gifted, random words that remind me of niche incidents or memories written along the corners of my study material, pearl jewelry set that my dad gifted my mom but it's me who wears it now, combat boots bought at ¼th it's price at a discount clearance sale, all my jackets being bought from different countries by my dad and thus each serving as a token of memory, lipstick shades that match only extremely specific vibes and look off and odd at other times, cherry lip balm stick that I've used only twice, daily calendar sheets reused as a notepad, birthday candles from my 16th birthday sitting on my work table, the lingering smell of multiple beverages in my room because I seldom wash the cups I drank them from and now they're cluttered all over the room, hand me down luxury watches older than me, chipped nailpolish, reminders written down on tissue papers, bus tickets all over my bag, sugar-free chewing gum, deodorant that never washes off my clothes, wearing clothes purchased 5 years ago and getting compliments simply because it's not trendy but is unique, mini origami cranes, rose sprays, lychee scented sanitizer, baking bread at home on weekends, homemade hair masks, turning up late because i was busy enjoying life walking through the eucalyptus grove on the way to class, running to the station yet missing the train, all my everyday ornaments having a deeper meaning to me.

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/handmade-paper-bag

Kalpana Handmade Co.

[wallpaper-inside-my-heart]

💙Smoshblr December Asks Day 18💛

So I'm super into curating my closet and picking my day to day outfits according to the aesthetic vibe I'm currently feeling! (a bit pretentious? idk, it just genuinely helps me feel better, especially on days where I struggle to get out of bed) And there are so many pieces of clothing I absolutely love! Since it's holiday season I decided to go with some of the stuff I don't wear super regularly, but love whenever I get the chance to do so!

Also this post is gonna a bit long, so I'm gonna put my detailed answers below the cut 😅

but as a quick note on stuff that I usually wear... my top three fave clothing items are: Flannels, Skirts & Turtlenecks. (In warm seasons turtlenecks get switch with linen shirts) And also special shout-out to fandom inspired t-shirts & hoodies, that literally make up a good third of my closet❤️

Top 3 fave clothing items

Like I said before, I love!! Leather jackets! And I two of them are inspired by fandoms I am/was in! (First being a red leather one, that I don't have a pic of rn -> Emma from Once upon a time ❤️; and the second being the yellow one on the left, which I bought bc of my love for the Dirk Gently 💛 tv show!

2. The floral dress 🌺in the middle is literally my fave summer/warm spring dress bc it is a) super pretty and b) genuinely super comfortable to wear!

3. When I'm not wearing a dress or skirt (my beloveds <3) to a big family dinner or smth semi-serious like that; I love wearing a nice blouse 💚 + 🖤black jeans combo; And this is one of my fave blouses! (even tho it crinkles way too easily!!)

Special shoutouts to my yellow raincoat! (literally inspired by IT 2017, with Georgie's paper boat, a red balloon etc on it) Def my most worn item of clothing in the fall! And also to my turtlenecks (so soft and I don't even need to wear a scarf inside, to be more comfortable!) and my skirts! (most of them are rather old and handmade by my grandma and I treasure them very dearly!)

Moving on to my top 3 accessories:

Flower Crowns 🌺 -> are they a bit cringe and smth that should be considered a relic of the early tumblr days? Maybe, I don't care tho! I love them, and I even handmade a couple of the ones I wear regularly! (like the one in the picture below)

That sword necklace! ⚔️ It has two dragons wrapping around the blade and a rose-gold tone that goes super well with my glasses (and it's a sword!!! like I just love wearing lowkey fantasy themed stuff that I got from diff renfairs!)

3. This funky lil backpack 💛that I got for myself this year! I love collecting and putting pins on everything and this has really become my fave bag to carry around everywhere

[dailymobpsychodrabbles]

valentine’s day terumob?

But of course!

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: terumob, valentines day, flowers

In retrospect, maybe Shigeo should have realized that flower shops are at their busiest on Valentine’s Day. 

By the time he gets there, he’s out of breath, sweating through his school uniform, and there’s a line of people out the front door. Shigeo’s excitement very quickly turns into dread when he stands on his toes and counts the number of people ahead of him. Ah, not good. He’d thought that coming early before school might be enough to beat anyone else who may have his idea, but it seems like everyone had this idea. He even notices a few of his classmates a little bit ahead of him in line. 

Shigeo taps the shoulder of the person ahead of him. “Um, excuse me, do you think I could-”

“No way, bud,” they interrupt abruptly. “We’re all here because we forgot to get our girlfriend flowers. You can wait.”

But… Shigeo hadn’t forgotten. He and Teru had agreed not to get each other gifts, but then Shigeo had talked to Tome who insisted that was just boyfriend code for I’m secretly getting you a gift. Which only made Shigeo panic that much more, and he had decided to take a detour on the way to class to get something last minute. 

…And apparently, so had everyone else in Seasoning City.

By the time Shigeo is actually inside and able to make a selection, he’s pretty sure he’s going to be late for school. 

People brush by him carrying lovely bouquets full of roses and peonies and all sorts of big, pretty flowers. But when Shigeo reaches the shelves that are normally bursting with all sorts of arrangements, they’re totally bare. He frowns and looks around the store. They’re all empty? But… But it’s a flower shop. Flower shops can’t run out of the one thing they sell.

Panic grips his throat and threatens to squeeze the air from his lungs. No, no this can’t be right. He needs to get something for Teru! Or else that would make him a bad boyfriend, right?

Eventually, Shigeo makes his rounds around the entire store and finds one arrangement left. It’s… well, it’s minimalist, he supposes: one purple peony that’s still halfway to blooming, two smaller flowers, and a few sprigs of leaves. Shigeo feels himself deflate at the little bouquet in his hands. It’s nothing at all like his boyfriend. Teru walks into a room and exerts a confidence that demands attention to be drawn his way. This doesn’t fit him.

But it’s all that’s left, so it’ll have to do. Hopefully whatever Teru gets him won’t be too impressive.

–

Shigeo realizes he has to carry the flowers around all day, so he makes do and tucks them into the front pocket of his backpack with the blooms sticking out as much as they can. It’ll be alright. They only have to survive the school day until he can meet up with Teru.

Tome texts him in the middle of his last class to stop by the Telepathy Club slash Body Improvement Club’s room for a gift. According to Inukawa, she made Valentine’s for all her friends every year. 

She already has Shigeo’s waiting by her side when he comes into the room. Tome pauses her game and kicks her feet off the table to get up and greet him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mob!” Tome announces happily. Shigeo sets his bag on the ground to get some weight off of his back. His friend holds out his card, and he accepts it with a bow of his head.

It’s handmade: thick cardstock with a little alien in a spaceship orbiting the moon. In sparkly font, it says I’m over the moon for you, valentine! Shigeo runs his fingers over the lettering and smiles at its texture. 

“Thank you, Tome-chan.” Shigeo’s heart swells with appreciation.

“Don’t take it too much to heart,” Takenaka rings out from behind Tome, where he’s sharing a box of chocolates with Inukawa. “She uses the same, like, eight alien jokes every year.”

“At least I made something, moron!” Tome snaps back at him. “You just scribbled on a piece of notebook paper!” Inukawa grimaces as his Mobtendo Switch makes a very obvious game over noise. 

Takenaka points a chocolate in Tome’s direction. “But it was original, wasn’t it?”

Shigeo’s smile widens a bit. He’s just glad his friends are all in one place. 

The door to the club room swings open again, and it seems the Body Improvement Club is finished with classes for the day as well. They’re all talking to each other about a new workout regime and tossing their bags to the side. Shigeo watches in slow motion as Onigawara’s bag slips from his hand and hits against Shigeo’s.

Specifically, it hits the front of Shigeo’s bag where the flowers are neatly tucked away.

Shigeo ignores Musashi’s greeting and bolts to his backpack. No, no, no. Surely not. Surely this isn’t happening to him-

He removes the bouquet from his bag, and a few wilted petals fall to the ground around his feet. All that’s really left are some twigs and leaves and the vague semblance of some color. 

“What’s that- Oh.” Onigawara pauses behind Shigeo. “Shit, was that important?” 

Takenaka wrinkles his nose and scratches the back of his neck a bit awkwardly. Tome exchanges a look with Inukawa that suggests it didn’t exactly take the telepath in the room to understand that yeah, it had meant a lot to Shigeo. 

“Kageyama-kun-” Musashi starts, holding out a hand as if to try and calm Shigeo.

“I have to go,” Shigeo blurts. He bows to Tome. “Thank you for the card.” And then he bows to Musashi. “I’ll-I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

With that, Shigeo bolts out the door before he can do something stupid… something like crying. His eyes feel uncomfortably hot, and his throat squeezes tight as he fights back tears. 

–

Teru is already waiting for him at the train station. His boyfriend is looking around, trying to find Shigeo in the swarm of people as one train dispels its passengers and allows more on. 

But Shigeo has had a bit of a growth spurt, so he stands out better than he may have used to. Teru’s eyes lock onto him at the same instant Shigeo notices him searching for him. His boyfriend’s neutral expression very quickly changes into a big grin. Teru pushes off from where he’s leaning against the wall and shoves through the crowd to get to Shigeo.

Shigeo feels so guilty the second Teru starts to approach him, but Teru also has a quality to him that soothes Shigeo like no one else can. As soon as Teru is in front of him, Shigeo wraps him into a hug.

“Oh!” Teru laughs, voice ringing gleefully even with the subtle roar of hundreds of people talking at once. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too!” He hugs Shigeo back just as tight, tucking his face into his shoulder. Slowly, the horrible shame starts to melt. The warmth of Teru against his body is enough to seep away all the terrible feelings weighing down Shigeo’s conscience. 

They part after a moment. Teru still has his hands on Shigeo’s hips, and he’s beaming up at his boyfriend. Ah, he’s really cute, isn’t he? His school is strict on uniforms, but it seems Teru managed to rebel in his own little way with dangly heart earrings and pink hair clips. 

Teru reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Shigeo’s ear. “I know we said no gifts-” His hand moves to cup Shigeo’s cheek. “But I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry!” 

Only Teru would apologize for getting a gift. Shigeo’s heart sinks. He’d been secretly hoping Teru really didn’t get him anything, but it seems that Tome’s secret language had been correct. Shigeo can only watch in half-masked disappointment as Teru rummages through his bag and produces a little gift bag, maybe a little bigger than his hand. Reluctantly, Shigeo takes it from him and peers inside. 

A keychain with a milk carton. Shigeo takes it out and lets it dangle from one finger. “It’s a little silly, I know,” Teru starts with a sheepish smile, “but it reminded me of you. I saw it whenever we went to that store that’s beside the churro store- you know the one? And I couldn’t help but-” He cuts himself off, smile dropping into a horrified expression. “Shige? Are you crying?”

Oh, when did that start? Now that Teru’s mentioned it, Shigeo can’t focus on anything but the hot tears falling from his cheeks. He drops his head in shame. “I-I tried to get you something too, but-but I…” Shigeo sniffles loudly. “It’s terrible.”

Teru ducks his head so he can see Shigeo’s face. “I know for a fact that nothing you could have gotten me is terrible,” he says, offering a reassuring smile. Shigeo only hiccups at that. Why is Teru so wonderful? His boyfriend nestles close to him, rubbing his arm. “Can I at least see for myself?”

Every fiber of Shigeo’s being screams at him not to show Teru, but… he can’t deny him anything. Teru’s his biggest weakness. So Shigeo reaches around to take out the sad, wilted bouquet from his backpack. It looks even worse than it did in the club room. Even the leaves are starting to fall off now. All that’s left are stems and maybe the leftover bud from one of the flowers and- man, Shigeo is crying again.

“I-I couldn’t- There weren’t-”

“They’re perfect,” Teru says.

Shigeo risks looking up at him. He expects… well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly not the pleased expression on Teru’s face. His boyfriend takes the sad bundle of stems in his own hands and looks up at Shigeo. 

“You thought of me when you got them,” Teru explains with a warm smile. “That’s what matters.”

The tears stop coming, but Shigeo can’t stop his lower lip from trembling. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” he asks softly.

Teru nods, and he stands on his toes to meet Shigeo halfway. Their lips brush together, and it’s like coming home. It’s taking your shoes off and flopping into bed. It’s submerging into a warm bath with a candle lit. It’s comfort. It’s home, Teru is home-

The stems in Teru’s hands tremble, and as if they were fireworks waiting to pop, they explode into an array of big, colorful flowers. Teru yelps in surprise and looks down in awe at the transformation happening right in front of them. The sad little arrangement is no more. Now it’s pinks and yellows and oranges and purples- roses and carnations and peonies and exactly what Shigeo had been looking for when he set his alarm extra early this morning to get Teru a bouquet. 

Teru grins down at the bouquet, then back up at his boyfriend. “You-”

“Thought of you,” Shigeo finishes.

Teru reaches up for a second kiss, a third, a fourth. The cracks in the sidewalk around them start to have wildflowers sprout up, the flower beds lining the pavement begin to spill over-

And they end up missing their train. 

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this as a part of my advent calendar fics, I hope you like it!

It is a Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x gn!reader imagine.

Thank you @marvelandotherfandomimagines for proofreading!

Day 5: Christmas market

Warnings: none

Bob was always in a Christmas mood, but he especially loved doing Christmas activities with you.

He spent all the time he could decorating the house or making sure you had Christmas themed food and drinks in the house, he loved rewatching Christmas movies and the cozy feel of being at home with you.

As such he highly anticipated going to a Christmas market with you, and his excitement was barely tameable when you got in the car.

Bob wore a giant winter coat with a fake fur hood that framed his pale face beautifully, the blush on his cheeks from excitement and the cold omnipresent this time of year.

Bob was a safe driver so it took you a while to get to the market and find a parking spot, but when you did you could see the gleam in his eyes.

The first thing you did was get yourselves some roasted almonds, with Bob holding them as you walked along the stands.

The warm lights of the lamps and candles all around and the smell of cold, wet pavement mixed with the scents of your almonds, warm pretzels and all kinds of Christmas drinks filled your hearts with warmth that easily withstood the cold temperatures.

You walked past stands that sold handmade soap and little trinkets, wooden stars and paper stars and all kinds of Christmas ornaments and decorations, until you reached a small shop almost at the end of one of the busy streets.

Bob stopped walking all of a sudden and you turned to see what he was looking at, finding an ornament of an F-18 that had Santa sitting in it as the object of his interest.

“Baby, look!” He exclaimed softly and you moved to stand beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist to show your full presence and support.

“It’s an F-18, isn’t that cool?” He asked, and you let out a chuckle as you nodded quickly.

“It’s very cool, and it would fit perfectly in the decorations on our tree,” you answered and moved to kiss his cheek.

Bob winced slightly as he felt how cold your skin was, but that didn’t dim his excitement.

“How much is it?” He asked the vendor, and before you knew it you had bought a small F-18 for your Christmas tree.

You went around the market finding small things for your home and heart, and getting some cotton candy and warm soft pretzels along the way.

You had gotten some cream that smelled like orange and cinnamon for your hands because they dried out quickly in the cold and you had bought a decorative paper-star to put over a lamp and drench any room in comforting and warm lighting.

The last stop you made, with your bags of pillaged goods hanging from your arms, was getting some obligatory mulled wine.

Bob was excited as soon as he saw the stand and he found a nice spot for you to wait before he rushed to get the warm drinks for the two of you.

Bob didn’t usually drink often so you were surprised to find him carrying two cups of steaming hot liquid as he made his way towards you.

His smile was bright, warm and infectious and you returned happily, taking one of the steaming cups from him and immediately feeling the warm relief it gave you just by holding it in your hands.

Your gaze fell from your boyfriend to the cup in his hands while your eyebrows raised in a question that he already knew without you having to ask.

A broad grin appeared on Bob’s face and you could see how happy he was, the steam from his cup slightly fogging his glasses.

“I got fruit punch,” he said gingerly, and you laughed at his wholehearted and childlike excitement.

You spent the evening taking a walk through the market.

Getting back to your house happy and satisfied, the F-18 ornament found its rightful place in the best spot on the Christmas tree.

tagging: @wildbornsiren @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @hederasgarden @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bespinnn @softromantist @malindacath @aerangi @kassieesworld @oliviah-25 @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @glowingtree @natasharomanoffisbaebby @luckyladycreator2 @blue-aconite @tipsykeen @airedale17 @iangiemae @uwiuwi @princessofglitterland @ycarlii @teti-menchon0604 @butaneandthebeast @call-sign-hurricane @eggscrambler84 @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern

(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)

[argonwrites]

Evenings by the Euphrates

An "expanded" version of CasGil's Valentine Craft Essence, written in February 2021 and now published here for archival purposes. This fic doesn't really have a real title, and its file name on its original Google Docs was just 'CasGil Valentine's indulgent revamp.'

Word count: 2193

The Master is not a touchy person, Gilgamesh observes.

With the exception of the Shielder, to whom the Master often clings, and Fou, assuming the small creature counts, the Master does not initiate any physical contact with her Servants.

Though the king prefers a Master who keeps her distance, he knows how averse his Master is to being touched: she shies away from headpats given by the Sun King, and she stiffens whenever the blue Lancer slings an arm around her shoulder. A number of her Servants express no hesitation in draping themselves over her or hugging her from behind in the hallways, and often Gilgamesh finds the Master squirming away from such advances.

The Master, however conservative the girl is in offering physical affection, is generous with compliments and praise, small material gifts and invitations to meals and Rayshifts. With the arrival of “Valentine’s Day,” as some of the Servants have called the holiday, the Master is busier than ever: she flits from Servant to Servant, giving chocolates and receiving return gifts. Gilgamesh watches as she smiles at Diarmuid, who presents her with a bouquet of white roses. Red blooms on her cheeks as she takes them, her eyes scanning the small message card among the flowers, and the king approaches her after the Lancer leaves.

“My king,” the Master says, by way of greeting. The bag she carries is brimming with gifts, carefully placed alongside the chocolate she is yet to give. “I was looking for you,” she tells him, reaching into her bag. “These are for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Gilgamesh takes the chocolate, studying the red parchment paper which serves as wrapping. “I see this is the Valentine’s Day chocolate the other Servants have been talking about,” he says. “You deem this fit to be gifted to a king?”

“Handmade was the best I could manage,” the Master says. Her eyes dart to the floor, briefly, before she looks at him again. “There aren’t exactly any brand name stores around here.”

“Fool. I was not talking about the quality.” The king unwraps it, and takes a small bite. Sweet, he thinks, but not overpowering. “I was referring to the quantity. Did you intend to dine with the king for only a few minutes?”

“Oh. Should I have made more?” The Master tilts her head. “Do you like it that much?”

“You ask the wrong questions,” Gilgamesh says, taking another bite. “It seems I have no choice. Just this once, I will show you what a true Valentine’s celebration entails.”

“I’m, um, flattered, my king,” the Master says, motioning to the bag she carries, “but I still have to give the other Servants their gifts.”  

The king clicks his tongue and waves her off. “Very well. Meet me in the simulator after you are finished.”

---

Gilgamesh planned, the Master discovers, a...boat ride, for the two of them: silks and plush cushions line the interior of the flat-bottomed boat, which bobs gently atop the waters of the Euphrates. The Master dips her hand into the river, leaning over the side of the boat, and watches as the surface distorts and scatters the lights of distant torches. The ziggurat sits on the opposite bank beneath innumerable stars and a lone moon, and for a moment she believes she is in Uruk again.

It is not lavish, yet retains the tastefulness and intimacy only Gilgamesh could provide. He sits near one end of the boat, lounging atop the various pillows as he peers at her with calculating eyes. “It is only right for you to be rendered speechless by the beauty of Uruk,” he tells her. The Master snatches her hand from the water and turns to him. “Though this is but a mere simulation.”

“It’s close enough to the real thing,” she says, inching closer to him. “Is this what you had planned, Gil?”

“You fool. Of course not. Do you think I would waste my time on some idle cruise?” he says, and raises a hand. A small Gate opens, and a bento box lands on his palm. He places it on the space between them, and retrieves another before the Gate closes. “This will last more than a few bites,” he starts, “unlike your paltry offering of Valentine’s chocolates. If you wish to dine with me, do it properly next time, mongrel.”

“I’m fortunate to have such a generous king,” the Master says, huffing and rolling her eyes. The smile she gives him, however, is sincere. “This was very thoughtful of you, my king.”

“Speak nothing of it.” Gilgamesh gives a dismissive wave. “The kitchens are ill-equipped to reproduce the cuisine of Uruk perfectly, and I have no intention of serving shoddy imitations. Whatever the chefs have cooked will never reach my standards, but this will suffice for you.”

“You asked the cafeteria Servants to cook for you? Really?” the Master says, sounding incredulous as she takes a bento box and places it on her lap. “No way. Emiya would never agree to that.”

“You’ve quite a mouth on you. Has a simple offering of food made you so bold?” Gilgamesh says, reaching for his own box. “I’ll forgive your impertinence tonight, mongrel.”

"Yeah, yeah. My king is too kind, or whatever," the Master says, winking at him when he shoots her a look. She removes the lid of the bento box, gasping softly when she sees the food inside. "Oh, this looks wonderful," she says. "I'll have to thank them when I get back.”

Sandwiches line the bento box, alongside choice vegetables and fruits. The Master plucks a grape from its pile, and moves closer to the king before holding it to his lips.

“Oi. Mongrel, what are you doing?” he says, frowning at her.

“Have a taste, Gil,” she says. The frown doesn’t leave his face even as he grips her wrist and bites into the fruit, juices flooding his mouth as the grape pops. He licks his lips, smirking as his Master blushes at the sight. “H-how, um,” she starts, glancing away from his face, “how is it?”

“Oh? Feed me one more, and I shall tell you,” he says, leaning closer. He does not release her wrist, not yet, and watches with no small amount of amusement as the girl attempts to shake him off and lean away from him.

The Master abandons her attempts at freeing herself, and uses her free hand to pick at another grape from the bento box on her lap. She holds it up once again, and Gilgamesh bites, letting the tip of his tongue graze the pads of her fingers. “My king!” the Master says, flinching at the sensation. “W-what一”

“It’s sweet,” he murmurs, releasing her wrist. He turns away from her and opens his own bento box. "Do not forget to partake in the king's generosity, mongrel," he tells her. The Master knows he will not say more on what transpired, and turns her attention to the food on her lap.

A conversation starts, somehow: the Master tells the king of the gifts she has received from other Servants, of how much she appreciates them and how loved she feels. Gilgamesh provides a comment or opinion here and there, content to listen to his Master ramble. “Ozy gave me Sphinx cubs,” she says, between bites of her sandwich. “I don’t know how to raise them. I would ask Nitocris for help, but the pharaoh told me not to tell her.”

“Hah! I did not think the Sun King would give you a Noble Phantasm!” Gilgamesh laughs. “A mage such as yourself would not be able to control them, much less raise them.”

“I know.” The Master falls silent, and Gilgamesh turns to her when she offers no further response. He feels rotten, somehow, as he spies her crestfallen expression. “They’re kind of like lion cubs,” she says, voice quieter now. “Didn’t you have lions when you were alive?”

“You would ask for my help in raising the Sphinxes?”

“It would be appreciated, my king, yes.” The Master looks up, face schooled into something neutral and unreadable.

“Hmph. I shall consider it.”

Though the conversation carries on, unease plagues Gilgamesh, an unpleasant weight in the pit of his stomach. Her responses are shorter, now, her silences heavier. The pair finish eating, and Gilgamesh stows the empty boxes back into the Gate of Babylon. He leans back into the cushions, expression pensive as he watches the Master move to the side of the boat to skim her fingers over the water.

“Mongrel,” he says, ignoring the huff he receives in response, “come here.”

Amber eyes turn to him, and the Master tilts her head. “What?” she says. The Master looks younger in the moonlight, Gilgamesh thinks, as the light softens sharp edges and blurs scars and blemishes.

“Must I repeat myself?” The king holds out a gauntleted hand, which she takes, gingerly. He pulls her to him, maneuvering the girl and placing her between his legs. The Master squeaks as her back collides with his chest, the king still grasping her hand. “Rejoice, mongrel!” Gilgamesh says. “Few have had the pleasure of touching the king’s body! I will permit it, just this once.”

“Gilgamesh!” the Master says, leaning away from him. “This isn't funny! Let me go!”

“Cease your fussing, you fool!” The Master stills as an arm encircles her waist, and shivers as the king whispers in her ear. “And stop being so stiff.”

“I’m not used to this,” she says, almost whines. Gilgamesh releases her hand, and wraps an arm around her chest. “It’s one thing to talk to my Servants and spend time with them, but this is…”

“I see you in the Shielder’s arms almost every day,” he tells her, pressing his cheek against the top of her head.

“Mash is different!” The Master wriggles a bit, only stopping when it becomes apparent Gilgamesh has no intention of letting her go. A sigh escapes her, and she leans against his chest. “You don’t see me hugging Sherlock or Da Vinci, do you?”

“Hmph. Yet you desire it, do you not?”

“...I-it doesn’t mean I desire you, my king!”

 “Oh? Do not presume to lie to me, mongrel!” Gilgamesh laughs, and tightens his arms around her. “Endure it. This is a luxury, after all.”

The Master hears the telltale sound of a Gate opening, and blinks as the king releases her momentarily and hands her a goblet of...something. “Take this,” he tells her. The liquid sloshing inside is too dark to be scrutinized, but the smell wafting from it is fruity and somewhat sharp. The king has his own goblet which he sips from, and the Master can smell the wine from where she sits.

“Can I have a taste?” she asks. “Just this once.”

The king passes his goblet to her with a small ‘hmph,’ and the Master raises it to her lips. The wine is not as pleasant as she imagines, and the heat blooms in her chest and stomach. She passes it back to him, tongue darting out to rid her lips of the last remnants of the bitter taste. “I don’t know how you and the other Servants can tolerate it,” she tells him, taking a sip of her own drink. It tastes of cherries, and the Master tips her goblet back slightly.

The two of them drink in comfortable silence, the passing minutes easing tense muscles and silencing wayward thoughts. Minutes turn into hours, and hands start wandering over warm skin: Gilgamesh rubs circles on the Master’s stomach absentmindedly, and the Master turns to press her cheek against his chest and let her hand graze his biceps.

It is Gilgamesh who speaks first, in a tone more tender than the Master is used to, and she responds with some compliment or praise. The Master indulges him, stroking an ego she knows is already too big, and grins whenever the king tightens his hold on her.

The king chuckles when her voice becomes thick with the first hints of sleep. Gilgamesh puts away their empty goblets, and gathers her in his arms. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and the Master giggles. “My king is too sweet,” she tells him, placing a hand on his cheek. “Mash is really soft, you know, and Fou is, too, but I suppose being close to you is nice,” she admits.

“Would you have expected anything else from me?” he says, voice soft. Gilgamesh presses another kiss to her forehead, and does not expect the kiss on the cheek he receives in return.

“Mm, no, not really,” the Master says, closing her eyes. “Thank you for tonight, my king.”

The moon hangs high in the midnight sky, and Gilgamesh smiles at his sleeping Master. The river and the lands beyond are frozen in time, a mere moment recreated in the simulator from his memory and the Chaldea database. He and the girl will have to return, eventually, and Valentine's Day will end and her mission will resume. The fleeting moment between them is golden, priceless, and Gilgamesh wishes it would last forever.

[confusedkittensposts]

There is a silver pickup truck in bunkers garage. It has many things some of the most prominent ones being blanket and a the jacket that belong to Nephilim Jack. There are three chocolate wrappers littered in the cabin, near one of the wrappers there is a strap of a bag. the bag is carefully hidden under the seat away from everyone belongs to a angel of the lord who currently resides in heaven.

The contents of bag is as follows

A blue spiral notebook, a blue tie, few chocolates, a notepad, black leather bound journal two blue ball point pens, a graphite pencil, a packet of 7 colour pencils (I don't know what products you guys get in US but the smallest pack we get here has 7 pencils)  a huge handmade sweater of olive green colour, three knitting needles, two crochet needles, a pair of handknit black fingerless gloves, a ball of warm yellow and a ball of orange wool, a ball of remaining olive and black wool, a little box haphazardly warped in green gift wrapping paper, white envelope, two Ziplocs, and a bloody rag.(loose papers and photographs)

The contents of the bag have been collected over last 12 years however they range from 6 months old to billions of years old

Sam looked at the stuff from Castiel’s truck brought in by a new hunter named Riley. He looks up as his brother enters the room. Dean seems much more curious about the contents that Sam feels, still they go through the thigs together.

Sam pulls out the sweater, its soft and warm and easily his size.

Dean recognises the rock as one jack picked up when they were out, “its blue like my eyes.”

The small gift box has dean’s name on it making him feel less guilty about opening it, a necklace of rosemary beads, Sam tells him the beads are carved with Celtic symbols powered with angelic grace, Cas had given Sam a bracelet of the same to help with nightmares in honey Cas era. Sam thinks they give you a general calming effect too, It also has a note . (with the way his brothers hand shake and jaw tightens Sam doesn’t ask him what it says.)

Dean tries to open the leather journal only for a sigil to light up and send electric shock through him, it gets tossed aside easily.

One of the Ziplocs has needles and pens and chocolates, rest of the things that were scattered in the bag join them.

The rose gold and black feathers, not very hard to guess whose are collected in a small pile.

The notepad mostly has notes from cases Cas solved and some loose papers, with doddles or animal sketches.

The second Ziploc h neatly folded pages some of them have cute little doodles clearly made by jack and rest of the pages have sketches on them breath taking beautiful sketches.

Portraits of the brothers, of Jack, Claire, Crowley, Rovena, meg, Charlie, Bobby, Jo and Ellen, some people they don’t even recognise, all the pieces have different level of detailing. Its clear that between everything going on Cas did not get to finish them. Some sigils, and art work done in many styles that are identified by Sam to belong across cultures spanning centuries.

It takes the Winchesters all of 13 minutes to get over their internal debate the argument with each other and open the blue notebook. It was a cheap spiral-bound composition book with lined paper, the kind kids took notes in for school. It had the ruffled, wrinkled look of a notebook that had been carried around for a while and written in pretty often. It also had some photographs pressed between its pages

The book had been started sometime after a human Cas left the bunker, its written in many languages, whichever I felt could express him most at that time. It had Castiel’s questions, questions he had no one to ask, the ones no one cared to answer. It had his doubts, doubts about everything he had done, about his decision to keep going rather than putting his blade in himself. His fears, fears of the world around him, of what would come, of forgetting everything he knew... It had stories, of small towns he visited, of people he met, not just when he was human but even after that, towns he went to for a case, or stopped by, for refills or rest or just out if curiosity. It had random information about animals.

It had sketches too, kittens in a box, or a can longing on a wall, or a dog curled up, a baby they did not recognise, some flowers and birds, bees of course, and them of Sam and Dean, younger ones, the ones who had first met Cas, of themselves then.

There are some empty pages, and the last page of the book has a intricate sigils.

While gathering some papers that fall down  trying to put them back in Ziploc, Sam comes across A old folders piece od paper  with a drawing of him and Dean, standing shoulder to shoulder, defiantly from when they were much younger, towards the top of the page underneath the heavily shaded lead were lighter strokes, barely visible. And they looked like wings. Wings that were spread above Sam and Dean, tips curling down in a protective canopy. Sam keeps it. (pretty sure I read about it in a fic don’t remember which)

Dean keeps the box and its contents, Sam keeps the sweater.

The rest of the bag and its contens are given to Claire after Sam finds out Castiel visits her regularly

She is happy to learn that Cas knits and teases the seraph until he gives her a hat with cat ears.