#my version of the coat is made of fleece

[marlequinncos]

can we see what the coat fitzcoat looks like on?

Sure! It's slightly long in the sleeves as per the show, and while my version is not entirely screen-accurate, it's still quite warm.

[thewisaaaaad]

so I was writing more about my Narinders Locker Au and uh.

It got a little out of hand. so I'm splitting it into parts.

Here's the part about Lamb and crew :D

The ship the lamb sails upon was once Narinders own ship. A gigantic beast of a galleon, its hide is made entirely of cast iron. Given its weight, the ship should not float at all. and for the centuries that Narinder was imprisoned, it didn't. But with the power of the red crown, the lamb can will it to rise from the depths or return to it at will.

It is a gigantic galleon, armed with sixty cannons a side, with two cannons that point forward as well. It has 8 sails, and an extra mast to match.

It is poorly balanced on purpose. the front of the ship catches an air bubble within it, and the rear is weighted with extra iron, causing the ship to tip backwards beneath the waves. This allows the ship to rise with the nose pointed upwards at a diagonal, permitting it to pierce heretical ships from below, or to fall upon vessels that are caught beneath it.

The crew, blessed by The One Below, are able to breath seawater as easily as air, and thus the ships ambush abilities can be used to their fullest potential.

the ships name is Iron vale, but the crew (and Narinder) affectionately call it "rust bucket". The lamb is unamused. (they want their ship to be cool, dammit.)

The crew is fiercely devoted to the lamb. After all, they did save all of them from the Captains, and all of them hold personal grudges against the Captains too.

All of them are trained in combat, though only half of them really engage in any given conflict. most use whatever weapons they have on hand, although some specialize in certain weapons and have claimed custom versions from the traveling weponsmith.

The lamb themself is a foolhardy youth, empowered by the crown they seek vengeance, and Narinder has to remind them often that part of their deal was that they had to seek adventure for all the fallen who never got to see the world.

They wear the crown as a tricorn (obviously) and wield it as a cutlass (also obvious). they wear a pair of well worn and oft patched pair of pants, held up with a sash woven from their mothers wool, and the sash is embroidered with sheep and Lilly of the valley in red thread, but the embroidering is unfinished. It will never be finished.

Their fleece is a red pirate coat that leaves its sleeves flowing in the wind, tied around their neck with a golden cord and clasped with a small anchor.

The lambs wool is constantly sopping wet, and they will never dry for they are tied to the sea now. Their horns are short and dull, and their tail undocked. The wool on their face droops down over one eye, giving the appearance of an eye patch.

In their chest sits a gaping hole where their heart once sat. It was taken from them by narinder, for a gift such as the crown cannot come without sacrifice.

That heart is Narinders most treasured possession.

Their magic takes a unique form too. Instead of balls of fire and lost souls wrought with their hands as in the game, they wield blood red brine and frozen ice flung from a flintlock instead. When the lamb falls in battle, they melt into blood red briny water that slinks back into the ocean, to find the bones and rotting flesh of sunken sailors to create a new body.

After all, one cannot simply stab the sea, and expect to have killed it.

[good-omens-scrapbook]

“Aziraphale hastened to the mitten tree and reached for his own finished wares. He’d completed them that morning and received a great deal of praise from Edith. They were loving detailed and intricately patterned. The hat was mostly black, with two bright gold eyes knit into the front and a silly red tongue hanging over the forehead. It was the scarf that made the ensemble though, it looked just like a snake.

…

In some ways he looked very much as Aziraphale would have expected. Wisps of uneven red hair stuck out from the rim of his new hat, curling into his eyes. His round face was dotted with freckles, but sallow beneath them as though he’d been recently ill. Most arresting were his eyes, which were at once familiar and so very different. They were large and round, normal except for the inhuman shade of gold- the hue that Aziraphale had known for thousands of years.”

On the 23rd of December 1996, child-sized Aziraphale finally found the human child version of his demon.

I absolutely had to depict the moment that Tony and his mother Maddy are leaving the church after meeting “Ezra” and his parents.

(Sorry, @demonicputto, I can’t knit as well as Ezra and Edith. So this year Tony has his snake scarf and hat made out of fleece instead. And Maddy’s coat is still a work-in-progress, as she’s a very new resident of the house!)

[hashtag-xolo]

I’m sure you’ve been asked this before, but what’s it like having a dog who needs to wear clothes all/a lot of the time? Do breeders usually train puppies to be good about that—or rescues work with the dogs about it? Or is it more of an as needed thing where some dogs don’t need to wear clothes so much? And I remember hearing that there’s a lot of maintenance for their skin, but what about the fur they do have (the little patches, not necessarily the coated dogs); I’d guess it's not much different than a fully-coated dog just because there isn’t much of it?

Also, I think Nico has the same--but much smaller--harness as one of my family’s dogs. This isn’t relevant, but it is pretty fun seeing a tiny version of it (or something very similar) in the wild.

Honestly the needing to wear clothes frequently is my biggest complaint about hairless xolos 😂 Don't get me wrong, it's fun to have a dog whose look you can so easily customize so drastically! But also, having to swap clothes, make sure your dog is in the right level of clothing for the weather, and whatnot before going out can be a hassle for me and for the dog. Clothing also collects dirt and oil at different rates so the fabric choice you make is really important. For instance, fleece collects dirt like mad so even though it's soft it's really not ideal for xolo clothing because it can cause pimples to form really quickly. Other fabrics aren't as comfortable on the skin and so speaking of that harness, it has a mesh interior that doesn't feel very nice so I prefer he has a shirt between it and his skin to prevent irritation from any chafing. (Keeping it snug helps that but can't prevent it entirely either...) Aside from protecting them from the cold, you also need to make sure that xolos with unpigmented skin have sun protection. That means clothing or sunblock. Plus the expenses of buying said clothes which can be a pretty penny when it comes to quality brands.

But on the flip side, I don't have to worry about a matted coat or spending thirty minutes getting mud off my dog either because bathing him takes five minutes from start to finish (unless the shampoo needs to sit). Nor do I need to spend a lot of money on grooming either. So in the end it's really just picking where you want your time, energy, and money spent.

As far as skin and coat care, the skin care regimen will truly differ from dog to dog. Some xolos have basically no skin problems. Some have really bad skin issues their whole life. Others just get hormonal acne as adolescents and then they clear up. And others still have skin issues caused by diet or environmental factors that will get cleared up by changing whatever is causing them. Tzapo has basically no skin issues and just needed the occasional blackhead or pimple resolved. Nico has more skin problems but he was neglected as a puppy, doesn't have a stellar breeding line like Tzapo did, and he's an adolescent so it's hard to predict if these issues will be a constant problem or if he'll wind up with low maintenance skin. I'm hopeful that he will have less skin issues in time but if not, there are medications and special shampoos to help with dog acne, including some made with salicylic acid just like human acne products 😅 but their hair is really low maintenance especially in the (mostly) hairless variety. I occasionally detangled Tzapo's tail plume but that was it.

I am unsure of the extent that breeders go to desensitizing puppies to clothes but it's definitely something they should do considering many xolos will benefit from it. I think hairless xolos probably are easier to acclimate to clothing if only because it does make them more comfortable. I know that if it's cold Nico is way more thrilled to put his clothes on that when it's warmer. Tzapo was the same.

[self-shipping-doll13]

Gold-Embossed Dinner Plates

November Prompts

Wc: 3930

Tw: Slight NSFW

There was a wild lashing outdoors, the droplets bouncing off the pavement. It was 4:30pm when 4:30pm was a late Autumn evening, and no longer a Summer afternoon. Not taking joy in the needles of rain I’d be braving in my venture, I was zipping up my fleece to stave off the late chill when my co-worker pulled me aside.

Ubbe and I had spoken only a couple of times before. He was good for our customer base, since a few people sidled in to smile at him dreamily when they bought their expensive pastries.

“Someone told me you had a run in with my brother,” Ubbe began, and there was a wry twitch on his lip.

“Yes, I met him a couple of days ago,” I said mildly.

That the two men were related should not have come as a surprise. They had the same last name, the same blue eyes—but Ubbe’s had not such keen ferocity.

The memory rekindled a fire in my cheeks. Ubbe seemed to choose his words thoughtfully, examining my face. “…I think I should apologise on his behalf. He didn’t say anything to bother you? Ivar can be unpredictable—he does things without thinking.”

“No, no,” I replied with dismay. How conscientious of Ubbe, but I was eager to mollify any worries he had. What garbled version of the story had he heard? “Nothing bad went on,” I reassured him. “We just had a little awkward moment. I’m fine, don’t worry at all!”

“Ah,” he accepted this correction, distancing himself. “Then forget I said anything.” And he smiled so that he showed the whites of his eyes. I hurried home.

That was before I started actually dating his brother, and I was soon made aware of Ivar’s brusque attitude (which I grew to find charming) by his… unorthodox teaching methods. Evidently others were unaccustomed to his gentler side. But I certainly did not resent the fact that I received special treatment. It made me feel, well, special. Later he told me I was.

From Ivar’s now-and-again comments on his family I gleaned a few more things: he had a half brother named Björn who was travelling the Mediterranean. The middle child, Hvitserk, was a tattoo artist and lived in the city with his girlfriend Thora—fine work. In those quiet moments late at night, I trailed my fingers softly across the sable whorls of ink on his skin. Sigurd, one year older than Ivar, had estranged himself from certain members of his family a couple of years ago and was trying to eke out a living as a musician. As a rule, he and Ivar despised each other, and Ivar was not keen on my speaking to Sigurd anytime soon. Or ever.

Floki, a family friend and apparently Ivar’s old teacher, was the person Ivar was most nervous for me to meet, because he held him partially responsible for his interest in old Norse history. Floki actually lived near my own home, on the briny grey coast. He made boats—in fact, he made a whole lot of other things. So one day, I found myself in the heart of his workshop, in a modest dwelling by a quay. Intricate carvings lined the tall shelves, and the wood shavings Floki blew from a coffee table made clear he had a pretty spontaneous work ethic. His wife, Helga, was immensely doting and kind, though sad-eyed. Dunking biscuits in hot cocoa whilst in their sitting room, I listened to the waves break up against hulls of white painted ships. It was probably the most comfortable I’d felt around Ivar’s family.

Floki was not related to Ivar by blood, but with his eccentricities, he definitely fit into the archetype of a ‘fun uncle.” Secretly I thought he acted more like Ivar's father than his actual father, whom I’d once met briefly in the hall landing just as he was shrugging on his fur-lined coat. Ragnar hummed at me blankly like I was the new and easily shatterable vase, and then left to go on and do other things.

I got the feeling that maybe he’d left that landing a lot in the past.

Ragnar had been separated from his wife Aslaug, Ivar’s mother, for over a decade. Not legally perhaps, but in every way that mattered. As I’d first seen her after seeing Ragnar, she was stiff and distracted, and seemed to look through me rather than at me. Aslaug and I smiled politely in the vague direction of the other, but without any real engagement. She was tall, auburn-haired and intimidatingly beautiful, so I knew where Ivar got his good genes from.

The idea of a more substantial meeting would not come up until something like a week or two after that. It was during one of those nights, lonesome but for the two of us and fuelled by kisses and caffeine, where it was impossible to resist getting lost in each other. And we got pretty lost—two times, three times—lost so thoroughly I could barely recall any other words than his name, and the soreness he left behind was the sweetest thing. Panting, I lay curled up against him, sweaty and sticky and satisfied. My heart was pounding and our intermingled breathing was so loud, the scent of sex permeated the air. The city outside was alive with blaring car horns and the drunken shouts of Halloween revellers, floating in through the open window and into his apartment. I could’ve died right there and been content.

“A girl could really get used to this,” I mumbled.

Ivar was rubbing my hip. “Yeah?”

Gazing up at him affectionately, I propped my chin up on my knuckles as I stretched my legs and toes out. His eyes had that tired, sultry glazed over look.

“Sweetheart… Keep staring at me like that and I’m going to be tempted to have a go at you again.”

I grinned cheekily. “Hm, I wouldn’t stop you.”

My muscles were utterly relaxed—I was steadily growing drowsy and my lids were drooping. He planted a kiss on the top of my head, shifting under me.

“You want to sleep, don’t you?”

Yawning, I nodded. “Should go to the bathroom first…”

Basking in the afterglow, I hated to drag myself away from him, and it was tough to lift up and roll out of bed. Caressing me with slow, gentle motions, he held fast.

“Wait, listen,” Ivar said, nose still buried in my dishevelled hair. “I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

Ivar tucked a loose strand back. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. “How would you like it if I asked you to come to dinner with me and my family this weekend?”

I blinked for a moment. This statement was spoken more like a question; lacking in his usual confidence. “Of course I’d go,” I told him, without really thinking.

“That was fast,” Ivar said hazily. “My mother wants to get to know you, this girl I keep talking about. And my older brothers are going to be there. Two of them.” He puffed air out of his nose, then looked at me seriously, with pleading eyes. “Do you mean it? You want to go?”

“Yes.” Propping myself up on my elbow, I trailed a line down his jaw, finding light stubble and coaxing him into a grin. “Did you really think I could say no to you?”

“Saturday.” Ivar told me, chasing my hand to kiss it like he always did. “And I’m looking forward to it.”

Humming, I pressed my lips to his and then got up, goosebumps rising on my arms in the cool evening air. We both had a lecture the next morning, with him in his usual role. It was a good thing I wore a turtleneck to hide the purple welts blooming on my throat.

Once I had more time to ruminate on my decision, I felt I was actually a bit concerned. If Ivar was antsy for me to be like Floki, I was nervous to properly acquaint myself with his mother. Questioning if I truly measured up was a daily occurrence—if just an internal one—and it did feel like a kind of yardstick was awaiting me.

Fiddling with the straighteners, I examined myself doubtfully in the mirror that Saturday. My exact fear could not be pinpointed—it was a cluster of little fears. I was anxious for his mother and I to get along, to not be found disappointing; too unattractive, too socially inept, too working class. Beyond this, I was just anxious, and slightly clammy with my makeup and my hair done up.

Aslaug met us both at the door, dazzling with perfectly straight white teeth. “Jasmine, welcome,” she held both my elbows gently. “Ivar’s told me so much about you.”

“And you,” I told her, smiling as graciously as I could as she brought her nose to my cheek in a fake air kiss. I tensed up a bit, not sure whether to reciprocate.

“Don’t scare her off,” Ivar smirked, arching a brow.

Aslaug threw him a mild glare, and I was struck by the facial similarity. “You will have to excuse my son, Ivar has no manners in this house,” she said gravely.

My lips twitched as I was startled into amusement. About the exact same time as he said: “She loves it.” I told her: “Oh, that’s never been a problem for me.”

After some gracious laughter, she turned to head back into the dining hall, he took my hand discreetly, the other flexing around the spiked handle of his crutch. “C’mon, It’s just this way,” Ivar whispered into my ear, and I nodded and trailed after him into the dining hall. Tired, I did not feel as adept at socialising as I did on recharged days. But I was glad that it seemed Aslaug had forgotten how our original meeting went, because that meant I could hopefully make a better impression.

At this point I’d been in their house a few times before, but tonight I was struck by how nice the place was. The house itself was located in a safe, well-groomed neighbourhood, filled up with doctors and big cars. Probably cleaned up for the guests’ arrival, too. I sat down in my chair, in awe of the gleaming silverware and finely embroidered tablecloth in rich hues of crimson and gold. Careful not to let any loose drops besmirch it, I poured a stream of gravy onto my food and passed the boat to Ivar, who drained it dry.

“This looks amazing,” exclaimed Thora. She seemed more comfortable with the new faces than I was.

“It’s one of our family’s favourite dishes,” replied Aslaug. She ate her meal delicately, and had refused the offering of the gravy boat. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you for having us,” I piped up, trying to meet her gaze directly. “You have a beautiful dining table.”

“Not at all. Please, make yourself at home.” Aslaug wore a green velvet dress, and ornaments tinkled at her wrist as she held the stem of her wine glass. “I hope the traffic coming down wasn’t a problem? Siggy’s been very troubled with it lately.”

“No, it was fine,” I said reflexively.

“How is Siggy?” Hvitserk asked, shovelling in piles of food into his mouth. Aslaug’s face turned awkward.

“Doing her best to cope with the changes,” she said in a gentle voice. “Living in an empty house when you’re not used to it can be difficult. She likes to fill up her time, so I take her with me to Pottery class. But from what I’m hearing, Thyri is doing well in America.”

Ivar was digging in by my side, wholly unaffected by the formal atmosphere. “That seat is empty.” He sent it a combative side-glance. “I thought I’d see Ubbe here.”

There were three vacancies. Untouched chairs made of high-backed mahogany. Myself and Thora’s were clearly the reserves, metallic and modern in design.

“Ubbe couldn’t make it,” explained Aslaug. “He’s been very busy lately. He works on Saturdays now.”

Ivar flashed one of his sinister false smiles. “Hm. It’s just been a while since I’ve last seen him, that’s all.”

Hvitserk cleared his throat. “Working two jobs… That’s Ubbe for you. He told me he’s saving up for the grand hotel booking.” I did always peg Ubbe as the type to not accept financial help. Hvitserk took a loud sip of his drink. “But you know, I think I agree with him. Margrethe deserves to be a happy bride.”

Thora looked to him curiously. “Margrethe?”

“Yeah, she’s his fiancé.”

Observing the pleasantries, I cut my meat, my knife and fork scraping loudly on ceramic. The dinner plate was embossed with gold—black borders engraved with delicate fleur de lis—and I felt like a slob for using it, though it was at Aslaug’s behest. It seemed more suited to filling tall glass display cases, like Fine China that was never eaten off of, but always treasured.

After a while, Ivar began disturbing the peace. “Listen to yourselves,” he said mockingly. “The food is going to go down my throat like nails if this is all we talk about the whole time. Mother, you’ve hardly said anything about yourself. How is the class?” He waved his fork.

Personally I couldn’t see how it could be anything but excessively delicious: with the golden-brown roasted potatoes, steaming green vegetables and slices of lamb drizzled with the gravy, it felt like Christmas.

I’d eaten a brussel sprout too quickly and a hot lump was struggling down my oesophagus as I listened in.

“Well,” Aslaug pressed a well-groomed hand to her chest like she had heartburn. Evidently with her favourite child, she had infinite patience. “It’s really not that exciting, it just gives me something to do. Helga’s much better at it than I am,” she said modestly.

“I’d love to hear about it,” I said. Though struggling with the brussel sprout pain, I was now enjoying thinking of swiftly spinning potter’s wheels. “It sounds interesting.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Ivar, endearingly invested.

Aslaug turned her piercing eyes on me, curious. Thora made sounds of enthusiasm, keeping a hand over her lips as she nodded and chewed her food.

I fired on. “Is it a hard hobby to keep up?”

“Not really,” she said, and after a moment went on: “Like most crafts, I suppose it takes practice. And time. I’ve been doing it for several years now.”

“Will you show us? I get pictures, but eh…” Ivar looked genuinely eager to see his mother’s work. I understand that they were always close, if sometimes at odds.

“Yeah,” said Hvitserk. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

For a moment she looked taken aback, and hesitated, as if deciding if it would be appropriate for her to leave her guests. “Excuse me, I’ll just go and find it.”

Aslaug’s heels echoed impressively on the oaken floorboards, which were polished to a fine sheen. We were now left without our hostess to wrangle us.

“So, Jasmine, are you in university?” Thora asked.

At this, I perked up. “Yes. English Literature, and I take a few other courses. And I guess you’re in too?”

“Mhm, I do Fine Art.”

“What’s it like? I’ve always been curious, but I don’t know anyone who majors in art. Not right now anyway.”

“Basically like how you’d expect. I spend a lot of time in a studio, I guess. A while ago I was nosing about in the city trying to find inspiration to help with my personal portfolio, and, well,” Thora rested her head briefly on Hvitserk’s shoulder. “That’s how I met this guy.”

“This guy? Ow.”

She laughed and told me, “Shared interests.”

Hvitserk laughed too, poking her with his fork in a way I deemed affectionate. “We’re in the same boat.” I smiled at them clumsily, unsure of how to phrase it.

Ivar made an amused noise. “Jasmine here has the dubious honour of minoring in Norse studies.” Not hesitating, he brushed his knuckles over my cheek. I knew he loved that course—didn’t love the people in it. “Very bright little student, aren’t you sweet?”

“I think I have an unfair advantage,” I said bashfully, finding his touch pleasing despite my embarrassment.

Ivar snorted with derision. “Not that you need it, what with a class average like that.” He stretched out in his high-backed chair, and then went back to eating.

His older sibling was looking between us with increasing awareness. Somehow the fact that I knew our relationship was inappropriate hadn’t been on my list of concerns until now. But it was probably good to rip the band-aid quickly, since I didn’t intend to let it stop me and obviously neither did Ivar.

“I’m happy for you,” Hvitserk said in an Ubbe-like way.

“Cheers,” Ivar said, grinning and raising his glass.

The tapping of high heels was heard once more as Aslaug strode back in. Ivar gulped down his drink.

“This one is very recent.” She was holding a mottled clay pot, vaguely shaped like an amphora, and she set it down gently on the table beside her plate. “I wanted to paint it first, but was thinking of maybe putting some flowers into it. Artificial ones, so they won’t wilt.”

Ivar squinted at it, leaning forward slightly. “You know, that looks just like the one we broke ten years ago.”

“No, it was longer ago than that,” said Hvitserk. Ivar’s head snapped back quickly to look at him. “Thirteen—fourteen. I was pushing you in the cart, hit that sharp turn by the living room. Happened there.”

“Oh, it was eternally a pain to clean up after you boys.” Aslaug sounded distantly cross, as if the memory still vexed her. “Shards everywhere, all over the floor.”

“I like the shape of it,” said Thora tactfully.

“It’s really pretty.” I also complimented, observing the pot with its smooth, shiny surface like a spotted seal’s hide.

“Beautiful shape, though it wasn’t very neat,” agreed Aslaug, stroking it. “But I’ll have this one done up more tastefully. Anyway, I’m distracting you all from eating.” She nonetheless seemed to be proud of her work, and to my eyes, was slightly flushed at the attention.

Loud chewing and plate scraping resumed. I chatted more with Thora, who was enduringly friendly, throughout most of the meal. Ivar and I would occasionally lean close to exchange furtive whispers as he pointed out things I hadn’t noticed before; the orange juice stain on the tablecloth, the slightly crooked painting, the peel of the wallpaper.

Our fingers would join together under the table. He also liked to flaunt them in full view, smirking pridefully. Something warm filled my belly, so I drank more water.

After eating, we all set up in the living room. This place was far cosier—not to disparage the rest of the house, which was tastefully furnished. But here, it was much easier to relax. One of those electric fire lights flamed red in the grate, and the settee was piled with tasselled suede cushions. Laughing, I sank into it, more interested in our steadily improving dialogue. Somewhere along the way, I accepted a taste of sherry and a slice of plated pavlova. The sugary sweetness of the crust melted on my tongue, and I let Ivar steal a green grape off of it. He popped it in his mouth.

Both a long time and no time at all had passed by the time we’d finished up. Aslaug pressed her fingers to her temple as if she had a migraine. Ivar urged her in a gentle voice to dismiss us, so when she smiled at us this time the skin of her eyes crinkled tenderly.

As a guest I followed Ivar through a doorway. The bedroom was cloaked in black-and-navy and held the fond air of being preserved for return migration. There by a tall oak wardrobe, I dropped a canvas bag that held a change of clothing and a toothbrush. I would’ve never realised it was half-past-twelve were it not for the glittering of a digital alarm clock on an end table.

Ivar found his chair by the desk and let his crutch fall by the wayside. “Sit here a minute.” He beckoned me to him, and I padded across the soft carpet. The heat of Ivar’s palms warmed my legs through denim. “There. That’s better… Being on me where you should be.”

“I feel like I could be silent for the rest of the night.” Sighing deeply, I threw both my arms around his neck.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Just means I get to talk more.”

“You would anyway,” I said, and before he could open his mouth to retort I blurted out a confession of sherry, “Do you think your mom likes me? I couldn’t tell.”

His double take alleviated my concern before he even opened his mouth “Of course. We got to talking earlier, mother said she was glad I found someone who’s nice and actually sensible… Which you are.” He snorted. “Put it this way, she has no reason to dislike you.”

“I was only… Unsure if I would be considered suitable.”

“Nonsense,” Ivar said. “She’s always on my case to get settled down. If anything, you’ve made her very happy.”

Bubbles of my silliness popped harmlessly, and in the dim lamplight I wondered if he knew how desperately I’d like to kiss him. “That’s good. I’m really glad.”

I toyed with the moon pendant on my necklace. She was peering through ash grey curtains, silvery rays bouncing off of laden bookshelves. Glossy hardbacks jumped out at me, and I hoped in the morning after a slice of buttered toast, I’d be able to slide one out curiously and ask after it, just a little. Warmed, we’d talk and laugh, spread out in a tangle of belongings on various soft surfaces, like we did in his apartment.

“Relax. You worry too much. And you don’t need to.” Ivar squeezed me. “My mother’s easy to please, not like me. With brothers like mine, it’s a necessity.”

She did appear to have a lot of patience. “I thought Hvitserk was alright,” I said, grinning behind my hand.

“Only because you don’t know him like I do. And you should know by now that my opinion is the only one that matters,” he finished haughtily.

I suspected this was not wholly true, but Ivar was very wilful. Even by relinquishing a book to me on that fateful day, he’d gotten his way.

The rush of desire to kiss him overwhelmed me now. By his noise of pleasant surprise, I could tell he really didn’t know of it, that I would have to communicate it very thoroughly to him. There In his arms I found a casual welcoming, precious for its thoughtlessness.

I knew then any rejection was self-imagined. So I eased, and thought of comfort. “It’s feeling stuffy in here. Mind if I open the window just a crack?”

Ivar stroked my knee, distracted. “Not by too much.”

It was a mild Autumn evening. Tugging at the curtains, I reached up and pressed the lever down. From the gap a light breeze floated in, carrying a hint of spice. The room was ground level, and in the back garden a lone tree threw itself up in a sprawl of limbs.

Embraces resumed with sighs on our lips. Twisted boughs shivered in the wind; in the dark the leaves gleamed yellow and green, like sly cat’s eyes.

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[bisonaari]

Omg you made your own coat 👀👀👀👀?!?! Thats rad as hell.

Hope your journey goes smoothly.

Sure did!!! I gained quite a lot of weight in the past years, and none of my coats fit anymore hahaha. I made one autumn version and one winter version of the same pattern!! They're both black outside and green inside but with different materials

Autumn: synthetic thin wool, lined with rayon

Winter: 100% sheep wool, lined with cotton fleece and insulated with thinsulate

They are both adjustable if I gain or lose weight, so I'll be able to wear them for quite a while!! Hence why I invested in good materials that I liked

The winter coat looks like that

It's autumn sibling is the same but less stiff lol

[helluva-world-innit]

So...they are far from perfect, but they have taken me months and I finally have these two as close to what I see in my head as I'm going to get them for now. I will just hope I improve as I draw them more or something. Digital art is also something I'm still adjusting to so...yeah. Anyway, say hey to our protags (reimagined)! Buckle up, this post got looooooong.

Charlie is the only child sired by Lucifer himself even if it's in a most unconventional way. He's essentially her father and her mother. No Lilith here, folks, sorry. I'm not Jewish and I don't feel comfortable adding her considering what Jewish folks have said about her inclusion in modern works so she's just...not appearing in this comic. A lot of this will be based on my Protestant upbringing with my Hellenic Polytheist sensibilities thrown in, just fyi.

Now, about the redesign...

I don't actually hate the redesign of Charlie in the show. Her hair is fun, her being masc-presenting is interesting, and red is actually my favorite color. However, I completely redid the Rings and like the idea of Charlie trying to unify Hell with her cause instead of just Pride Ring. She kept some of her red because Lucifer has blond/red hair in my version, depending on how much of his angelic persona drops. There's also red in her coat of many colors which is a Biblical reference as well as an extension of Charlie's ideas about Hell and how the "rainbow" of the Rings should be working together to rehabilitate Sinners instead of just torturing them and making them worse. She even made it herself from scraps of the Ringmasters' clothes, Belphagor's fleece, and an old sewing machine. Her dad hates it because it makes her look poor. They are locked in constant battle over him trying to discreetly destroy it and her salvaging it last minute. She also wears spats on her shoes. They're tap shoes because ofc they are. I let her keep her love of theater because it's cute. Lucifer secretly loves that his daughter is just as much of a showboat as he is.

JC is also Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Comic, but at least we have Charlie.

Now, some of you are probably noticing that I made Charlie darker...that's not an accident. Charlie, by the method of her birth here, has black skin. She has her father's eyes and hair. As I get better at drawing and rendering black hair, we will see it in other styles because I love some of the things black folks with more textured hair than myself do with it. I just really like the bubble braid too. It suggests thickness not a lot of people have in their hair. Charlie has had to learn how to style her hair herself a lot since Luci can barely manage some puff buns. Doesn't help that It seems to grow back as fast as it's cut so Charlie mostly trims the ends and moisturizes the hell out of it.

I think it's fitting for Charlie to have a bit extra vibrancy with demon and angelic features because she isn't mortal. At least not completely. She does have a more horrifying form with horns and eyes and wings but she hardly ever has to use it. She also has a natural charm to her she gets from her dad that makes it very hard to turn down what she suggests. Not impossible, just very unappealing. Hoping I can get to a point where her eyes aren't so scary looking but she does have cat pupils so, we'll...see.

Funny thing about Charlie is she is a bit like Elsa. Born with powers beyond comprehension, lives in an icy castle in the mountainside of the remote (only) city in her country, and was kept away from most of her citizens until her 200th birthday.

Okay, it's not a complete 1:1 here. Yes, Lucifer kept Charlie under wraps for about 200, well 50 years from his family, the other Ringmasters. The other denizens of Hell had no idea they had a princess until the events of the comic. They really aren't sure what to make of it either. Some Hellborn think they'll be able to marry into Lucifer's good graces (Sinners cannot legally marry anyone), others consider ransoming Charlie when she ventures out to start the rehab hotel (they are so painfully mistaken; everyone from her dad to her aunt Bel has taught her how to fight viciously even if it's not her preferred method of conflict resolution. to say nothing of the protective friends she gathers quickly). It also makes Charlie a little...well, naive about just how well her plans to rehab Hell are going to go. Most of what she knows about interacting with others come from pop media and her loving and protective family. It's an eye-opening experience when she strikes out on her own.

Debating on adding more black fleece to the bottom hem of her coat too. Thots? The background is just a deserted little corner of Pride Ring which is covered in snow (yes, Pride Ring is cold like in the Divine Comedy here). The orange trees in the background are courtesy of @holoanarchy for giving me the idea when I asked "what's a good color for the leaves of Hell trees?". I'll talk more about those when I post that Ring up, though.

Okay, let's talk about this lovable asshole now.

Blitz Wire has had to struggle and fight for most of the things he has in life. From the very beginning, things have been...tough for him. Imps are not the very bottom of the social ladder in my version of circus Hell, but they still make up the majority of the working class. If you've never been working class, take it from me, it sucks rocks. Sucks even more when neither of your parents were ever really successful or good with money either, as is the case with the Wires. Blitz's parents met when they were young and idealistic in Greed Ring and shortly married after a brief courtship. Beatriz (this is what I named his mom to keep with the 'B' theme), worked in a factory where they painted figurines of Mammon and the gold paint she huffed developed into Imphysema over time. She stayed sickly throughout Blitz, Barbie, and Fizz's childhood while Buckzo took over the family carnival to help put food on the table. When Beatriz could no longer work, he put the kids to it. They were happy to help and work to get noticed by Mammon so they could rake in some dough to get better medical treatment for their mother, despite the Ringmaster being the very reason she was sick in the first place (capitalism, baby!).

Blitz, as in the canon...is not very funny. Despite having a range of acrobatic tricks and being able to think and react very quickly, he just never had a knack for nor got a grasp of how to hold people's interest and make them laugh. Is what it is. Fizz was always the star of their little sideshow attraction. Barbie came as a close second with her death-defying knife acts and torture plays. Blitz just never stood out as an entertainer as the maladjusted middle child. Over time, that became a resentment. Coupled with Buckzo's disregard for him as his son, Blitz started pushing the envelope with the acts he performed.

Finally, when he was sixteen, Blitz decided he was ready to run a giant obstacle course straight out of Hell. It went about as bad as you would expect. Fizz got the brunt of the damage when he pulled his surrogate brother out of the jaws of certain death. While he was still recovering from being scalded by holy water, Blitz was fired and kicked out of the only home he'd ever known by his father. Barbie and Beatriz kept in touch, despite Buckzo's "banning" it, but Blitz spent the remainder of his teenage years on the streets of Hell, urban foraging and doing odd jobs to save up for a place away from Greed and the posters of Fizz's face as his fame grew.

I didn't really want to change much about Blitz's clothing choices since it makes sense for him to want to look professional, but also be comfortable while slicing throats and blowing people up. Also, blue and gold comes from him being from Greed and Asmo being his company's sponsor. Took away the boots and gave him proper hooves, though. Now, I didn't base the imps' lower halves on any specific ungulates, but Blitz's top half is defs based on an iguana. I want them to be more reptilian since Wrath is pretty desert-oriented and Satan is lizard-like herself. I could probs get away with making his tail a little shorter, but I'm happy with how his horns and spines turned out. He smokes this shitty brand of cigs called Blak'N'Bluz. They aren't called that because of the black filter and blue of the Hellfire they burn on, though. It's said they actually make one's lungs black and blue with one drag because they're so caustic. They're the easiest to steal as a result and the one Blitz started with so he always comes back to them.

I wanted him and Barbie to look more twin-like and I really don't care for OG Blitz's horns. As far as the pendant he's wearing goes, it never made sense to me that his mom only left him something and never left anything for her other kids (which could not be the case but we just don't know because...well, we're never given this info). Blitz and Barbie split their mother's necklace down the middle and each of them wears a piece of it. No idea what to give Fizz from her yet.

I changed Blitz's facial scars and I'll tell you why. Forget who pointed it out in the critical tag, but the type of face scar OG Blitz has would likely leave him blind, with low vision, or with no eyelid in the eye covered in that scar tissue. No matter how you slice it, his sight would be compromised. Given that I gave that particular trait to Loona and Vaggie also has an eye patch, I decided to vary him up. He's still disabled though. As another person pointed out on a totally unrelated to HB/HH post, burn scars can impact everything from self-esteem to physical movement depending on what caused them and how they heal. Due to the majority of Blitz's scarring being on his right and back, his tail and right side usually suffer some debilitating pain flares when he overworks himself. Also, migraines and trouble extending his limbs fully. Basically, he carries a bottle of percocet around (it's like demon ibuprophen; it's fine). His pain is part of why Blitz is such a cussy grump. Hard to be pleasant when you're poor, traumatized, AND hurting all the time.

I.M.P. is still a thing in this rewrite (still debating the name), but Blitz got the idea for it when he was dating Verosika (yup, that's still a thing too). She's the one who got him an in with her boss, Asmodeus. So, he has access to Asmodean crystals since the Ringmaster also liked the idea for snatching extra wicked souls early (they're a power source and, therefore, far more valuable then someone committing tax fraud or whatever) They parted on okay terms, but Blitz adopted Loona shortly after entering his 30s. Kid's gotta eat, so he expanded the business from an imp with a knife to two imps with a van full of guns. Hiring on Moxxie from his old stomping grounds of Greed, they were able to take on more clients. That led to meeting and hiring Millie. Loona comes on hunts now that she's old enough too and they all have a blast. The rest, they say, is history.

The other side of his face for ref:

Gave him a tear-shaped scar because why not? Also a horntip cap. That one is damaged and his trying to keep it from getting worse and breaking the whole tip off.

[sassypotatoe1]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE farmers will literally almost fucking kill a sheerer if they cut their sheep badly while sheering, like they won't do it but it'll be close. We've domesticated and bred sheep for millenia to produce longer thicker fleece for our wool, they can not go without sheering if they're not short-fleeced sheep. They get mats, they get infestations like ticks or botfly maggots that WILL KILL THEM WITH DISEASE, long and thick fleece catches on things and rips out causing superficial wounds that are not visible and can get infected or attract infestation.

Sheep are not our slaves bred and exploited for our gain alone and to their detriment. A flock of wool-sheep live really long, have the best diets, a warm and cosy place to sleep, get all their healthcare needs taken care of for free, get to roam and graze to their heart's desire and in exchange we keep their hair when they get a haircut.

And wool is not just used for the fiber, which is fantastic by the way you will not get the same temperature regulation from synthetic fibers no matter what claims are made. Wool is coated in lanolin, the sheep version of sebum, which is a fantastic moisturizer and skin barrier protector, I use lanolin hand cream for my eczema, it's also stupidly good for waterproofing and can also be burned as a fuel, but most of its use is in cosmetics.

Like imagine if for millenia, some advanced alien race upgraded and maintained all our infrastructure, streamlined our industry and made it fully sustainable, solved man-made climate change, world hunger and economic disparities, solved world sociopolitics and gave us all free advanced alien health care, and all they asked in return is our armpit hair every time we shave. And they even develop the best possible methods of shaving so we no longer get razor burn or ingrown hairs. And they don't even change any of our culture and beliefs, just the practical aspects. Would you feel like an exploited slave, or would you think that's a pretty good deal?

Like say what you want about the meat industry and I'll probably agree with you that is unsustainable, exploitative and abusive as fuck (but so is a majority of the agricultural practices used to produce plant based alternatives to meat) but for the love of god animal byproducts that do not harm the animal to remove (fleece, honey, milk) in moderation and with gentle processes are infinitely better than the substitutes. For a multitude of reasons.

You can be vegan but you better be willing to properly vet every bit of your consumption in terms of sustainability if you want to claim it is for moral reasons because replacing good-practice local humane meat production with slave labor water stealing soy patties helps exactly no one and nothing. If it's because of emotional reasons, or because you don't like the taste or texture of animal products, that's all good and well, but don't pretend you're doing it for sustainability and ethics if you're not willing to put a single iota of research into it.

[twatkcox]

[The Keihancarl Diaries: September 16, 2023]

Hi everyone, Keihancarl here. This will be my second time at the Manila International Book Fair/MIBF post-pandemic (my fifth overall since 2017), plus my first time attending the Best Of Anime/BoA (if I manage to get there before the onsite tickets run out). And so, let’s begin!

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I’m wearing all-black with a splash of red. Well, except for the shirt, since I decided to wear the Kei Tsukishima shirt (a black shirt with an orange and white print) that I bought online more than a month ago. I decided to wear the black fleece coat and black fingerless gloves as well, hoping that I wouldn’t be mistaken as a cosplayer (as was the case back in 2018, during Pinoy Otaku Festival: Ai, though it only happened once). I was initially planning to wear my red plaid scarf, but I decided to ditch it at the last minute.

I decided to leave the house around 9:45 AM (supposedly 9:00 AM), knowing that I’d be dealing with heavy traffic (particularly along Commonwealth Avenue) later.

I reached the MRT North Avenue station within an hour from SM Fairview. Surprisingly, the travel time was a bit faster than expected. Traffic was incredibly light in most parts of Commonwealth Avenue. Along the way, some of the MRT-7 stations are being constructed, with a few of them nearing completion.

The entire MRT ride took me 45 minutes. Getting off at Taft Avenue station, I rode the EDSA Bus Carousel to the Mall Of Asia Complex. Reaching the area, I immediately head to SMX Convention Center (via the elevated bridgeway, coming from MOA Square/IKEA area) to check out Best Of Anime 2023: The Reunion (the event is only for one day, as opposed to two days). It took me 20 minutes to buy the ticket and get inside the venue.

Inside, it feels different. The venue is quite large and there are awesome stalls selling various anime merch. There are food stalls on the side, offering a variety of snacks and meals.

And speaking of which, I treat myself to a serving of gyoza (4 pieces). I didn't buy any drinks, though.

I get to see performances by Starmarie and Chicken Blow The Idol, plus a cosplay talk with AC Hernandez. There was also the official launch of Ani-One Philippines, but I never got to witness it as I already left the venue by then.

I stayed inside the venue for about two hours and bought a couple of souvenirs: a small Domo plushie from Splat.MNL (I used to see their store at Trinoma several years back) and a couple of magnetic bookmarks from Khel_Gotcha (I couldn't remember which stall). I also had a couple of selfies with the cosplayers as well outside the venue.

I head down to the ground floor where the Manila International Book Fair was held. As soon as I got in, I checked some of the booths, including Tuttle, Black Ink Comics, Tankobonbon, and Psicom, among others.

Fully Booked made a comeback at this year's MIBF. National Book Store is notably absent in this event.

There were long lines in some of the booths. Also, there are numerous book signings as well.

As with the previous MIBF visits (except 2018), I never bought anything. I was actually interested in the book No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai (the one I saw at the Tuttle booth), which also had a manga version. Both the novel and the manga are not available in the country yet, the one managing the booth told me. That would've been an awesome souvenir from the event, but… oh well.

At this point, I was starting to get hungry so I decided to leave SMX and head directly to the Mall Of Asia. It took me a while to find a restaurant. Fast food chains are always full of diners and with long lines at the counter.

I initially chose Greenwich, but the long line to the counter made me decide against it. And then there's Pepper Lunch, but I changed my mind at the last minute. I finally decided on Classic Savory.

I chose a solo meal with buttered fried chicken and salt-and-peppered ribs. The buttered fried chicken is okay, but five pieces? I almost had to take out the remaining chicken since I couldn't eat anymore, but I managed to consume them anyway.

Moving on, I checked some of the shops inside the mall, including Muji and Fully Booked. I even passed by ChaTraMue, an original Thai tea shop, but I never got to try any of their drinks.

The heavy rainfall that afternoon made it impossible for me to go to the Esplanade. Instead, the rooftop garden, with the view of Manila Bay and the MOA Eye, became my outdoor setting for some selfies. It was already dark when I got there, though, and the rain had already stopped by then.

The two sculptures are yet to be revealed.

Oh look, there’s a nun by the stairs.

Afterward, it's time for IKEA. Well, I could've visited it right after the MIBF, but I was starting to get hungry at that point, hence the need for a late lunch (more like an early dinner).

Anyway, it was already quarter to seven when I got there, so I had to check much of the area as fast as I could. It took me almost an hour to check out some of the furniture and some home furnishings and even took some wacky selfies.

I could've bought something there, but I hold off for now.

These would make awesome containers, especially for fruit salads.

The LED screen at the MOA Arena was finally fixed. The last time I checked, it looked kind of glitchy. Also, the MOA Globe is lit. Too bad I never get to take a pic.

And it's time to go home. It didn't take me long enough to catch the UV Express ride to SM Fairview. Traffic is light in most parts of the route, but there's heavy traffic past the Batasan portion of Commonwealth Avenue northbound. I even witnessed a traffic accident in that area.

I reached SM Fairview around 9:20 PM. The mall was still open so I took some time to check the area. I couldn't check Booksale though, as they are already closed for the day (though the lights were still on). I got home about 30 minutes later.

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Two events in one awesome Saturday afternoon. An anime convention and a book fair? That was an awesome match. I thought I wouldn't be able to check out the first one since there'll be a potential amount of visitors coming from the book fair. And it's a one-day event too. But the event wasn't jampacked, unlike the book fair below.

I'm so glad I finally get to see another anime convention, and the second for this year after Pinoy Otaku Festival 2023: Shizen (I never got to attend Coshabatsu last July, so that obviously didn't count). Next month, there's the Ozine event at the Fairview Terraces, which will happen a few days after my birthday. My next mall-hopping trip should take me to the BGC and Makati areas, and I'm already planning it. Looking forward to visiting Mitsukoshi BGC, perhaps?

And that concludes everything that happened on that awesome day. Arigato and sayonara! Until next time!

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Most of the pics featured in this post are from my Instagram account, @kcox_105. The first and last photos are from my private Instagram account, @kcox105.

[mctreeleth]

I have spent the last year sewing with almost exclusively either reclaimed fabric from thrifted poly-cotton bed sheets or doona covers, or very stable wool from vintage blankets. So, as you might expect, trying to use a surprisingly slippery damask is absolutely doing my head in.

[goatskickin]

💞 A bit of something to share with you this Valentine’s Day! 💞 Let’s celebrate winter with some lovely coat and outerwear options!

First is something simple: ambodycouture, but made top only, for adults AND elders. 

I honestly can’t believe no one has done this. But maybe I’m the only one that likes this 2000′s furry vest + sweater combo.

Comes in the original 3 colors but also 2 new ones. 

This is a *NEW* mesh! And the meshes and textures are not linked, so you can toss one or the other if you’d like.  Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear.

Graydragonfly recolored efbodyturtleneckscarf over a decade (!) ago at TSR. And just recently, I got the mod that allows for Separates for All, so I had a little copy-paste opportunity on my hands. Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear. The top-only sweater and scarf mesh for elder female is by Skell.

Comes in 8 colors!

The skirt counterpart is just as adorable! The bottom only mesh is by Bloom. Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear. 

Also comes in 8 colors.

This was a no-brainer for me: my retextures of the Seasons trench coat, on @julietoon​‘s top only version.

Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear.

I’ve always loved the shape of these cropped jackets from Bon Voyage, and I wanted to have a handful of tops that looked distinctly different from each other.

Each one has a different button, and some have sweaters underneath too. All texture credit goes to All About Style and Fashion Twist.  For adult and elder; both meshes are by Skell.

Categorized for Everyday and Formal.

Did you think I’d forget about grandpa? No sir! A snuggly turtleneck sweater for your pops.

Mesh is by Skell.  Categorized for Everyday and Outerwear.

This last one I am going to talk about a little more, because after the cropped jackets, these might be my favorite. They are ‘fun coats’ - for AF and EF! From left to right:

Ziva - a long patterned trench coat with boots and a turtleneck. The coat texture is AAS and Maxis, and the turtleneck is FashionTwist. 

Aisyt - a recolor of one of my own meshes, SuperSpy WinterSolider. AAS had this brilliantly bright red coat texture that I was looking to work with forever, so I made use of it here! And so I could distinguish it from the other recolors I’ve made, this is a zippy coat instead of a button up one like the original texture intends. Also, has a little striped turtleneck and leather pants as well, for extra pizazz.

Ohshun - a luxe fur coat over a checked skirt! This is a rare upload of mine where the AF and EF share the same mesh. Usually I don’t do that but in this case, the mesh is bulky enough that I do not mind. Textures are AAS, Maxis, FashionTwist. Mesh is by Cocomama.

Riva - @brandinotbroke​‘s 4t2 conversion of Discover University Fleece Jacket & Nifty Knitting Boots - with a beautiful AAS pattern on the coat! The boots have been edited a tiny bit as well. Prende - a belted trench featuring a print from an animal of unknown origin. This one has shiny leather pants too, for fabulousness. The AF mesh is by Cocomama, and the elder conversion is by me.

💕 Download -  Happy Valentines Day - love, Goat  💕

[urne-buriall]

in young hearts Sam says "What do you think's ahead for him? We just sent him into 1998 with an angel boyfriend" and in the intro to part 3 your author here says "like the ending of Clue, this is how it could have happened" but we learn that not everything is as expected

but there is a version in my head where Past-Cas and Teen-Dean end up back at Bobby's and find a spell in the MoL bunker to get Cas his own (identical) vessel without possessing someone. and before they get to make the most of it, the British MoL show up and our boys skedaddle back to Bobby's, then end up taking the bus back to Sam and John but John's gone on a hunt by the time Dean gets there

so Dean gets to just... introduce Cas to Sam. without John as a looming presence. and when Sam goes to school the next day it's the first time they're together behind a closed door in their own respective bodies and it's corny to say he feels made new, but...

and they spend every day together and Cas helps Sam with his physics homework and the three of them go out to a concert together one weekend and Sam gets to start normal habits. he goes out with friends for coffee and sweet drinks, kills time with them in the mall, and gets invited out to skate with them and Dean goes too and spends all his time at the other end of the rink teaching Cas how to ice-skate

Cas mostly wears Dean's jeans but has a few shirts of his own and a handsome coat of corduroy and fleece because hunters have sharp eyes for anything unusual and Dean has told him, "if I put on a coat, you put on a coat, if I'm in a t-shirt, don't be in a sweater"

and they visit Essie at the library even though she doesn't know how well she'll one day know them, and learn that her husband, still living, owns a music supply shop and plays trombone, his jazz group has a gig in town, and even though it's not Dean's scene him and Cas can toy with hands under the table in a dim-lit lounge and furtively abscond to the men's room and it's actually like a real life date

and I'm not going anywhere with this I just have known it all a long time and thought someone might like to picture it along with me

[wafflepatterns]

Meet new sewing pattern <Momiji> Walking jacket

Meet the new item from Waffle Patterns Walking jacket <Momiji> sewing pattern. It is an outdoor-wear-inspired item featuring an asymmetric front opening with functional details and many fun pockets.

Make an functional outdoor jacket with many pockets or a rain jacket with water repellent fabric or just keep it simple for daily use as you like.

<Design options>

View A features a hood and knit cuffs. This functional kangaroo pocket has a hand warmer layer. Also, there is a ticket pocket on the sleeve. Those handy details are inspired by winter jackets like ski/snowboarding wear. The orange sample in the photos shows View A.

View B is showing a stand collar with more simple details, like a single-layered kangaroo pocket. so this will be suitable for thicker fabrics like wool coating. The yellow plaid sample in the photos is showing View B.

There are other pocket options like a zipper pocket or chest pocket. All the pocket designs can be attached to both views. 

There are other functional details like zipper guard or hood string. You can add or skip those details. But they look nice as design accents and add a professional touch.

Please choose and make your combination depending on your design intention and materials. 

My personal favourite is the ticket pocket on the sleeve. It is inspired by ski wear. Since winter in Amsterdam is very cold, I see some people wear this kind of jacket on the street and use this pocket for storing a debit card or ov-card (kind of metro card). So I wanted to add this for that clever and handy usage.

<fabric recommendation>

The pattern is drafted for woven fabrics. Mid-heavy weight jacket/coat fabrics like wool, gabardine, twill, or canvas will be suitable. Other outdoor fabrics like softshell or water-repellent twill will be a functional option.

Please make sure that some thick fabrics are not suitable for details like zipper guard or pleats on the pocket, because of the thickness of fabric layers. If you want to use stiff or thick fabric, please consider skipping those details or using thinner contrast fabric instead.

The yellow plaid fabric is wool coating and quite thick, so I skipped the folded part on the zipper guard. Also, this type of fabric is not suitable for pleats and layers on kangaroo+hand warmer pocket.

The orange sample was made with mid-weight coloured denim. I wanted to make it a winter version, so I used thin quilted lining.

The pattern includes lining patterns. But those are intended for normal lining fabrics. If you want to use winter lining like quilted, faux fur, fleece, or flannel, please consider modifying the details. Depending in the fabric, using one size larger may be a nice idea. Here is the blog post about making winter versions. https://blog.wafflepatterns.com/post/167771075466

I want to make one more like a raincoat with water repellent twill when I find perfect materials.

<Other>

I made both samples with just-fit size and it is no problem. But choosing one-two size bigger will be a better option if you want to use very thick fabric or special winter linings like fleece, faux fur, or thick quilt or you often wear a bulky sweater underneath. Also, consider using slippery lining fabric to sleeve parts for comfort.

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The sewing pattern includes the 19 pages instruction and all the sewing processes are described with detailed illustrations. The pattern files are available for both home printers (A4 or US letter) and copy shop(A0 format).

You can check other photos of this model on my Flickr page.

The Walking jacket -Momiji- (size 32-52) PDF sewing pattern is available here. Also in the Etsy shop.

Special discount price until 17th Jan 2022 (CET) with other popular patterns. No discount code is needed! The sale page is here.

*****  Special offer +12.5EUR for Paper pattern and free shipping Paper pattern + PDF option is available with plus 12.5EUR. Shipping worldwide. But please note that, in the current situation, all the shipments are affected by the measure of COVID-19. There might be some shipping delays or accidents. *The paper includes only the pattern, please print out the instruction by yourself or read it with your tablet or PC.  The PDF + Paper listing page is here.

*In the sale period, the shipping of the paper pattern starts 18th Jan 2022.

Enjoy your sewing!

(Japanese post here 日本語ポストはこちら).

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[dourpeep]

you asked for albedo stuff yesterday and i forgot to give you some 🥲 here

-Albedo bites the ends of his pencil/pen while in deep thought

-He covers his mouth while laughing

-His hair is a huge problem to becoming messy so he usually keeps it in one style bc he sucks at styling hair

-I believe he would hyperfocus on a meal until he starts to hate it and goes onto another

-Probably sleeps on his back or stomach

-Quietly sings to himself when he's alone doing experiments

-his hands are probably soft as hell

-he probably bounces his leg when stressed

-I cant decide whether or not he's always cold or always hot (wearing his jacket everywhere but seems fine at dragonspine??)

-would break klee out of jail

-he always tries to have at least one meal with klee

WAIT SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS--

definitely a pleasant surprise nodnod always a treat to have more Albedo, thank you for the food, Chi OTL

I'll write a little about each one b/c I have no self control and I'm feeling inspired by ur headcanons so lets goooooo ehehehe

They'll be a mix between imagines and drabbles!

Enjoy the food :3c

Contains: Albedo x gn!Reader, some standalone Albedo, Klee, fluff

-

- Breaking Habits -

"Albedo? You're doing it again-"

He blinks, shifting to remove the tip of his pencil from his lips, frowning when little indents come into view.

"Hm...it appears to be so."

Really, the Chief Alchemist has tried to wean himself off the habit, taking to coating the butt ends of his writing utensils with a horrid concoction of qingxin and jueyun chili, but the moment he slips into his usual daily tasks, it arises once more. The bitter spiciness is a taste that he still has not forgotten.

When his brows crease and his gaze seems to burn into the pencil, you offer a smile. With a kiss pressed to his temple, you take it from his loose grasp, setting it down on the table's surface.

A few weeks later, it dawns on him that the touch of wood to his lips evokes the memory of your gentle reminder. Without fail, he sets his pencil down in search of a sweet to busy himself with instead.

- His Laugh -

I can just imagine him with his hand lifted to cover his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips and his eyes slightly squinted. It's something that'd happen almost instantaneously--he doesn't intend to hide his smile but for some reason he can't help but do it.

An endearing habit that you've come to look for.

Regardless-

If you lower his hand and pepper him with a few little kisses, you'll get another giggle out of him before a kiss.

- Hairstyles -

Albedo only knows two ways to do hair: Klee's twin pigtails and his own half-up braid.

Over the past three years of his residency in Mond, it's become a sort of trademark. The assumption that it's just how he likes to style his hair has long since been accepted as truth--and really, he does prefer the style.

Though...

"Mr Albedo? Perhaps you should try to tie it all up instead...?"

The stray wisps of bangs that escape from the securely tied braid fall into his face and distract him from the task at hand. There's also the ever-present tickle right where the blond locks fall around his jaw. Surely, this shouldn't prove to be a problem considering he always has this style...right?

Needless to say, the smell of singed hair makes him choke and the Alchemist finds himself pulling away to tie his hair properly.

It's simple.

Or at least that's what he has been stuck repeating like a mantra as he stares at his reflection, unhappy with the way there's a strange bit of hair that refuses to stay tied. Sighing, he undoes his pony tail and tries again.

Hm.

No, now it's lopsided...certainly can't have that.

- Mealtime -

First, two little ears peek up above the surface of the counter besides him. Then, two little eyes belonging to a stuff rabbit toy followed by a red hat--

"Klee?"

The little girl stares at the fish steaks sizzling away on the pan, displeasure on her features despite the incredibly enticing smell. With unmatched resolve, she huffs.

"Big brother, Klee doesn't want fish again-"

Ah, right.

He's been in another of those moods, the particular taste and texture of the fish mingling with the salted butter, simple sauce, and lightly seasoned veggies sounding so much more appealing compared to nearly any other dish he's tried to enjoy in the past two weeks. It's without a doubt Albedo's all-time favorite dish. Perfect for someone with a small appetite and a need for something quick, filling, and nutritious.

"What would you like then?"

Ultimately (and truly, Albedo wasn't surprise), the little knight requested a serving of 'Fishy Toast'. Cutting up one of the fillets he'd fried, he laughs and shakes his head.

- Sleep Time -

When you come home, it's already dark, the streetlamps lining the cobbled road illuminating the front door as you fish out your key.

"Albedo? I'm back-"

Soft snoring punctuates the silence.

With a fond smile, you remove your shoes and make your way to the make-shift 'sleep station' set up on the couch. Sure enough, with his face shoved at an awkward angle against a pillow, Albedo lays on his stomach holding a second pillow to his chest.

As much as you'd rather not wake him (after all, he's barely gotten sleep over the past few days with how busy it's been), you kneel besides the couch to gently shake him awake.

"Bedo? Bedo, lets go to bed-"

He shoves his face further into his pillow, muttering something about waiting for results. But the silence that follows only lasts so long until he sighs and opens his bleary eyes.

"Welcome home," he mumbles, carefully shuffling best he can closer to meet your lips.

With a stretch and sigh, he sits up. Blond hair sticks up from the top of his head and to his cheek, some parts tangled despite his attempts to prevent it--your hair shouldn't tangle if you sleep on your stomach, right?

Holding back your laugh, you help him up so that the two of you can get ready to sleep.

- Singing -

Most often if not nearly each day, if you pass by the Favonius HQ's workshop, you might catch the soft sound of singing. A light sound that drifts from the partly-cracked door echoes into the empty hallway. Regardless of the traffic outside, it shows no sign of stopping, so you easily can sit right outside and listen.

It's not shy, though, even as the man's dulcet tone comes out gently, and there are days that the lyrics that slip from his tongue are of other regions.

Perhaps if you ever approach the Chief Alchemist, you might be able to convince him to sing just a short little tune. He'll oblige, though a soft dusting of pink will cover his cheeks as he does.

- Hands -

"My hands?"

Albedo watches as you tug off his gloves, head cocked to the side curiously. The moment his hands are free from their confines, you press a kiss to his palm and intertwine your fingers.

"Do you use lotion or something?"

He laughs.

"...Not that I am aware of...?"

When you squeeze his hand once, he squeezes yours back three times before bringing your joined hand to his cheek. Resting against them, his eyes close.

"Why do you ask?"

He feels you take his other hand as well, turning it over palm-side up, your fingertips tracing over the lines that adorn it's surface.

The tenderness of your touch is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.

"Mmm...no reason."

- Leg Bouncing -

Whenever Albedo bounces his leg sitting at the Dragonspine workshop, a curse or two will slip out the moment his knee bangs against the wood.

Even being considered short, the table has decided to lay just low enough for him to cause minor injury to himself.

Shaking his head, he rubs at his knee to rid himself of the dull ache before continuing his observations at hand.

- His Jacket -

Wait okay but like...what if he actually has different versions of the same jacket? They look virtually the same but there's some of lighter material for warmer days, 'standard' ones for day-to-day use, and heavier ones lined with warm, soft fabric to insulate heat when he's on Dragonspine.

Same with his tights. I do know for a fact that there are tights lined with fleece that are incredibly warm and comfortable!!

- Escapees -

"You need to be very quiet, alright?"

Once more in the dark of the night, Albedo finds himself awake within the walls of the Favonius Headquarters.

Now...Klee technically wasn't grounded, so technically escorting her out of the so called 'solitary confinement' wasn't against any rule. To be fair, the room itself also wasn't really that either, judging by the child-themed decor, soft bed, books littering the floor, and the little table that sits just off to the opposite side of the room.

So! Albedo was certain that there wasn't any harm in what he was doing.

Not that he wasn't still sneaking around on his little improvised rescue mission.

He looks back to Klee, the little girl now wide awake and hanging on to his hand tightly.

When the morning comes, he sighs, crouched sitting on one of the child-sized chairs in the solitary confinement room, Klee peacefully snoozing in bed.

If only Jean wasn't pulling an all-nighter last night as well.

- Very Early Breakfasts -

Klee wakes up to the smell of sweet berry jam and chocolate in the air.

Clumsily, she slips out from under the covers with Dodoco cradled in her arms, padding along the wooden floors on her way to the kitchen.

"Big brother...?" She rubs the sleep from her eyes waiting for him to turn around.

"Oh, good morning Klee-"

"What time is it?"

That, Albedo decided, was a very good question. Especially considering that he hadn't yet gone to sleep and instead shuffled through the kitchen in the early hours of the day to make pancakes. If he had to guess--and he took a quick peek out the window despite the darkness of the early morning lending no clue--he'd say it was nearing 4am.

"Early. Go ahead and sit down, breakfast is almost ready."

The plate is presented to her with a brilliant smile, the Chief Alchemist satisfied to be able to keep his promise with her to always share a meal. But...the fluffy pancakes and freshly made whipped cream were also a source of his brightened mood.

Even though he knew he'd have no time to sleep and pack for his next Dragonspine expedition, the lack of sleep was worth seeing the sudden widening of eyes and delighted giggle from his younger sibling.

He could always take a quick nap at the base camp, anyway.

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter five

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca didn't expect to see her again dancing in a strip club, out of all places.

rated: E (drug use and emotional abuse)

ao3 link

*

As the rest of the day ticked by, Beca kept replaying the events at Sarah’s coffee shop over and over, unable to pinpoint what she could have said to make Chloe bolt like that. She managed to focus on her tasks at hand over the afternoon and headed home around 6, groaning as soon as she stepped inside when she remembered she had promised Sarah to cook her dinner. 

She pondered on canceling for half a minute because all she felt like doing was taking a long shower and eating pizza in bed, but she already felt guilty about a lot of things these past couple of days. 

So she took a quick shower instead and put on some comfy jeans and a plaid shirt, tossing her blow-dried hair in a messy bun atop her head. With one of her favorite blues records playing throughout her home, Beca set to work to make creamy salmon pasta with spinach, nursing a much-needed glass of wine as she cooked. 

“Babe?” 

“In the kitchen,” Beca called out over the music, lowering the heat on the boiling water and dropping a handful of spaghetti in. She smiled as Sarah brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Hey.” 

“Hello you,” Sarah murmured, squeezing her hip as she walked past her to set a bottle of wine on the counter. “Smells delicious.” 

“Hopefully it tastes good, too.” Not that Beca was worried; she had been making this dish for a few years. “Wine?” 

Sarah hopped onto the counter next, humming. “Yes, please.” 

Beca opened the fridge and took the bottle out, reaching on the tip of her toes (shhh) for a glass in the cabinet over her head. She poured some wine in and handed it to Sarah. “Sorry I disappeared earlier.”

After Chloe had left, Beca wasn’t in the mood to eat or finish her coffee, leaving a $20 on the table on her way out. 

“Was that the friend you told me about yesterday?” 

Beca puffed out a sigh. “Yeah. She’s…” It’s complicated, Beca was about to say, but she figured she owed Sarah some details after what happened at her workplace. “She’s in a bad place. And I wanna help her, but she doesn’t seem to want any help. I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

Sarah covered Beca’s hand with her own, the pad of her thumb stroking her skin back and forth. “Has it been a long time since you last saw each other?” 

“Over six years. We fell out of touch about five years ago. Well, she cut us all out of her life nearly overnight.” 

Sarah tilted her head to the side. “Us?” 

“The Bellas, from college. Chloe and I were co-captains.” Beca swallowed around the lump forming in her throat as a wave of nostalgia hit her with full force. “She just… she was my best friend.” 

“I’m sorry, baby. Maybe give her some time and she’ll come around?” 

Beca doubted that, but she nodded anyway. “Yeah, maybe.” She shook her head, squeezing Sarah’s hand as she mustered a smile. “Enough about me. How was your day?” 

As the next week ticked by, Beca started to lose hope. In true Beca Mitchell fashion, she threw herself into work to avoid dealing with her emotions, staying at the office until midnight most days. 

A knock on her open-door one night made her jolt. She had lost herself in the view and her own thoughts, unaware someone was still at the office. 

Beca spun her chair around to face the door, finding Luke in the doorway. “Why are you here so late?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Luke pointed out, inviting himself in. He set a sheet of paper in front of Beca, then plopped down in the seat on the other side of her desk. “This is incredible. You’ve got to record it.” 

Beca glanced down at her own handwriting, heavily regretting showing Luke that song she wrote a few days ago. “I don’t know, man.” 

“What?” Luke asked, incredulous. “Becky, you haven’t been able to write a lyric for the past three years and now that you’ve got a platinum record worthy song, you don’t want to use it?”

Beca nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “It feels too personal, I’m not sure I feel like sharing it with the world.” She glared at him next. “And stop calling me Becky, this is getting old.” 

“I’m serious, this might be your best work yet,” Luke insisted. “Think about it?”

“I will. Now get out of my office,” Beca muttered.

“You got it, Becky,” Luke teased, easily catching the stress ball Beca tossed at his head, chuckling at her poor attempt. “You should go home and get some sleep.” 

“Yeah. Night.” 

“Goodnight.” 

*

It turned out Sarah had been right. 

When Beca wasn’t expecting it anymore, Chloe called. And she sounded like Chloe. Hope flared within her once more, but she tried not to let it engulf her whole being. While Chloe reaching out was an enormous step, Beca threaded carefully, knowing a lot could happen in five days. 

She wished she had been wrong, but as it pushed 1 pm that Thursday afternoon, it was pretty clear Chloe wouldn’t show. Beca didn’t have her phone number or any other way to contact her. Her heart felt heavy as she headed back to BMLJ for her meeting with Jesse regarding his movie score, and her head was too full of thoughts to completely focus on work. 

“Earth to Beca.” 

Beca hummed, snapping out of her daze. Jesse was staring at her in a mix of concern and curiosity. “Sorry.” 

“Do you wanna do this another time?” 

“No, no,” Beca insisted, straightening up. “I’m okay.” She hated how well Jesse knew her, and heaved a sigh when he gave her that look. “It’s Chloe.” 

“Chloe Beale?” Jesse asked. “She’s in New York?” 

“Yeah. I found her a couple of weeks ago. She’s a stripper at some hyped club in Times Square.” 

“Holy shit, seriously?” 

Beca proceeded to tell him everything over the next ten minutes, Jesse hanging onto every word. “Am I stupid? Trying so hard to help someone who clearly doesn’t want to be helped?” 

“No, you’re not stupid. You’re a softie under that tough exterior and you care deeply about the people you love. Especially Chloe. I was in the front row, remember?” 

Beca grimaced, some of that decade-old guilt surfacing. “Dude…” 

“It’s fine. I’m definitely over all of that, but we both know Chloe is too important for you to just give up. And from how you described her, and that phone call? It sounds like she still cares, but she lost herself along the way and is now in so deep she has trouble coming back on her own. Maybe she just needs to hear that asking for help isn’t giving up, but rather refusing to give up.” 

Those words echoed deep within Beca, and she found herself nodding, filled with newfound energy to fight for this. “I need to go by the club. Tonight. Her boss might kick me out if I show up inside, but maybe I can wait by the back door?” 

“I’ll come with you.” 

“You don’t have to, man. It might be hours before we see her.” 

“That guy sounds creepy, you shouldn’t go on your own.” 

Beca sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll pick you up around ten.” 

*

Beca felt like they were on a stake-out as they waited in her car hours later, parked across the back alley of the club. Winter had definitely settled in in NYC and waiting in the cold for hours in freezing temperatures didn’t seem like a great plan. 

She texted back and forth with Aubrey, who once more offered to come down, but Beca was concerned Chloe might think they were ambushing her. 

It was pushing midnight by the time a familiar figure stepped out of the building through the side door. Chloe was on her own. 

Beca slapped Jesse’s arm to wake him up. “She’s here.” 

They both stepped out of the car and crossed the street when it was clear, Beca telling Jesse to wait by the corner as she tentatively approached Chloe, slipping her gloved hands inside the pockets of her dark grey wool trench coat. 

She was smoking a cigarette, clad in her glitter dress under an open fleece jacket. Her gaze flickered to Beca when she spotted her, her posture turning rigid. “What are you doing here?” 

There was no bite to her tone but soft curiosity, which reassured Beca further. 

“Can we talk?” 

Chloe glanced over her shoulder towards the door as she nibbled on her lower lip. “Five minutes, then I have to go back inside.”

She met Beca on the other side of the alley, the orange glow of the lamp post over their heads allowing Beca to trace her features. “You didn’t show earlier.” 

Chloe dragged on her cigarette. “I changed my mind.”

“Is that the truth or did someone tell you not to?” She wasn’t dumb; after meeting Chloe’s boss and knowing she was his favorite, she had an inkling the two were somehow involved. And that guy just gave off a crazy possessive vibe. Chloe’s silence was her answer. “Chlo…” 

“It’s more complicated than you think,” Chloe murmured, licking her lips. 

“Then explain it to me,” she demanded, a desperate edge to her tone. 

“Why are you doing this?” Chloe croaked out. “Why won’t you leave me alone?” 

Her question took Beca by surprise, and her mouth moved wordlessly for a few beats. “Because I care about you. And you’re not okay, Chlo. I want to help.” 

“Beca…” 

She thought back on Jesse’s words. “Asking for help is not giving up, Chloe. It’s refusing to give up. And I’m here. You just have to say the word, I’ve got you.” 

Chloe shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “I’m not--” Her eyes were filled with so much sadness when they found Beca’s that Beca had to remind herself to breathe. “I’m not worth it.” 

Those four words felt like a knife lodging itself inside Beca’s heart. They stole all the air from her lungs and brought tears to her eyes. “What?” She whispered, her voice nowhere within reach as a huge lump formed in her throat. “That’s not true,” she said, with more forcefulness this time around. “It’s not, you hear me?” 

Chloe kept shaking her head. “You don’t know me anymore.” 

“Maybe I don’t know this version of you, but I know Chloe Beale is still in there, somewhere. I heard her on the phone the other day, remember? And I can see her now, under all those layers of sadness and lack of self-worth triggered by outside factors. I know her soul hasn’t changed, deep down. It couldn’t have, because you are the purest, kindest human being there is, and that has to still be somewhere in there.” 

“I’m broken, Bec,” Chloe cried, her eyes filled to the rim with tears threatening to spill over. “I’m a crack addict. I don’t--” A sob spilled from her throat. “I spend all my money on coke and all I know how to do anymore is show my breasts for money.” 

A tear rolled down Beca’s cheek as she reached for Chloe’s hand. “Then I’ll help put you back together. Piece by piece, for however long it takes. Whatever it takes, Chlo. I promise.” 

“Chloe?” 

Both their heads snapped towards the open door, where Marco stood. His features hardened when he saw Beca there, and Beca released Chloe’s hand, looking over her shoulder towards Jesse, who made his way over. 

“What is she doing here?” He spat out as he climbed down the set of steps. 

Chloe visibly swallowed, her fear radiating off her. “She’s just leaving.” 

“No, I’m not,” Beca stated, loud and clear as her eyes shone fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere without Chloe.” 

“You fucking homewrecker,” he muttered, crossing the alley in quick strides. Chloe stepped in front of Beca, as though to shield her with her own body. The anger swirling in his eyes shot a chill down Beca’s spine. “Move, Chloe.” 

Chloe shook her head. “You should go back inside, Marco. Please don’t make a scene, it’s not worth it.” 

Beca had never understood the expression ‘to see red’ until now; until she witnessed Marco backhanding Chloe with so much force she staggered back with a cry. 

Unparalleled rage filled her, the kind of rage she couldn’t control. She stepped forward and raised her fist, clocking him in the face with a mean right hook. She wasn’t sure if the cracking sound came from her knuckle or his nose breaking, the pain in her hand muffled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

Marco stumbled a few steps backward with a grunt, his eyes screwed shut as he covered his nose with his hand. But Beca wasn’t done, taking advantage of his dizzy state and stepping forward to knee him in the balls as hard as she could so he couldn’t walk until they were all safely inside the car. 

“You guys get into the car,” Jesse ushered them, keeping an eye on Marco as he doubled over in pain. 

“Chloe, come on,” Beca coaxed urgently, grabbing her hand and pulling. To her surprise, Chloe didn’t fight her. She seemed absolutely shell-shocked, even once they reached the car, as though her legs were carrying her on their own accord and her brain was miles behind. “Get inside, Chlo.” 

Jesse jogged over a few seconds later and slid behind the wheel without Beca having to ask him, and she climbed in the backseat beside Chloe, relief washing over as the doors locked behind them and the car pulled onto the road towards safety. 

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Respect

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings:  Mentions and depictions of smoking/tobacco usage

Next chapter | AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

The alarm clock on your phone is loud and annoying, but it’s the only sound that will wake you up without fail so you can get a head start on your more demanding days, like today.

Groggy and neck a bit strained, a sign that you’ve slept on it wrong, you carefully push yourself up and off your bed. You come across your first hurdle of the day. A few wolf cubs had settled on your chest and your sides during the night. You try carefully to move them off of you and to the side of their mother, who has settled near your feet and isn’t afraid to growl or snap her jaw should you even think of shifting or moving away from her. Unfortunately, the pups seem determined to stick by your side despite your efforts. Luckily the pack’s alpha, Gunter, is settled right behind your head and acted as your pillow for the night. He must be why your neck feels stiff as hell.

You reach back and start petting behind his ear, rubbing into the bunch of dotted scars beneath his coarse hair. You feel his body stretch and shake as he wakes up as well. A small whine comes out of him as he gives out an enormous yawn. It makes you yawn as well.

“Ready to start the day?” you whisper to him.

He huffs with a bit of attitude as if to say, “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

You redirect his attention to his pups, preventing you from sitting up without disturbing everyone else. With silent understanding, he removes himself from underneath your head and carefully steps over one of his brothers, who has graciously allowed you to use him as an armrest somewhere during the night. After another good morning stretch, Gunter begins the slow and steady process of picking the pups up from the scruffs off their necks and setting them elsewhere on your bed.

While he does this, you grab your phone and do a quick sweep of all your notifications. You have a few emails, one a weekly newsletter about current and future school events, most of it spam. You have a couple of dozen messages from Ace and Deuce detailing an argument over whether the former ate the latter’s piece of strawberry shortcake they were saving for after dinner. Apparently, they thought to ask you to be their mediator since it was clear they weren’t going anywhere arguing and pointing fingers back and forth at each other.

Unfortunately for them, they messaged you right after you conked out. You were exhausted yesterday, having to deal with an especially rambunctious and mischievous Grim. You were also scrambling to gather the reading materials needed for one of your classes before the other students can snag them. The most recent and urgent incident is figuring out what to do now that the only generator that powers up all of Ramshackle is going out or outright failing to even start up at all. You also have a decently sized garden to tend to, and the next large harvest is today. Once everything has been properly collected, washed, and either stored away in your pantry or given to Sam so he can sell and make a profit on your behalf and his own (it’s a 60/40 split and you had to fight tooth and nail for that 60), you have to replant everything once again after you’ve tilled the soil…

To say that there’s a lot on your plate is an understatement.

Free from your furry prison, you’re finally able to sit up and move your limbs freely. Something slightly damp presses against your bare shoulder, calling for your attention. Gunter, still clearly tired (expected of anyone, human or wolf, having to wake up at six o’clock in the morning), is now awaiting proper payment for his services.

“I got some dried venison in the kitchen,” you offer. The way his one good eye pops wide open and his tail begins to rapidly wag, the deer jerky will suffice.

You give the top of his head one last rub before standing up and heading straight for your bathroom to take a quick shower. Since the availability of electricity has been scarce lately, so is the availability of heating throughout the dorm. Unlike the ghosts, who can’t differentiate between hot and cold (unless it’s magically sourced), you can. Unlike the ghosts who are already dead, you will die in this late winter cold. Grim has better control of his blue flames compared to when you first met him, so he can now essentially be his own heater. He seemed a bit too comfortable keeping himself warm and letting you freeze to death, considering you’re the only reason he’s enrolled in this school.

You make do with what you have and your situation. Even when you gathered all the untorn and clean blankets and piled them on top of you last night, the cold still found its way underneath your cocoon. Gunter, the leader of a small bunch of wolves you had been taking care of during your first few weeks in Twisted Wonderland, must have seen you struggling to stave off the cold and settled himself next to you during the night followed by his brother, his sister, and finally Gunter’s mate and their pups.

Of course, with three full-grown wolves and four chubby wolf babies as your immediate heat sources, you overheated in no time and had to throw off all your covers and strip down to your underclothes in the middle of the night since your pajamas had quickly gotten soaked in sweat (and most definitely covered in their thick fur). A cold shower is just what you need to clean up after a long night drenched in sweat.

You also need to clean your sheets, but without electricity, your washer and dryer are out of order for the time being…

Dammit.

Cold showers suck, but once the ice-cold water hits your back, it woke you the hell up. You probably spent only five minutes in there before you quickly rinsed off and got out because of how unbearable the ice water was.

Once you’re properly toweled dried, you head to your closet and change. You put on clothes you don’t mind getting covered in dirt and sweat; a simple wool sweatshirt and some overalls lined with thick fleece. You also put on a pair of knitted crew socks and secure them to your leg with a pair of garters.

Right as you snap the final metal clasp on the knotted fabric, you feel a familiar bump on your shoulder. Gunter is giving you his best pleading face he can manage. Most people likely wouldn’t fall for it, what with the many scars littering across his body and face, making him look scary rather than cute. You feel a little tug in your heart. Luckily, you’re all dressed up and ready to start your day, so you quickly straighten up and usher him downstairs to give him his well-deserved treat. You grab your phone before you exit your room so you can peruse it on your way.

As you read over old texts and useless emails, a new notification comes in. It’s another message. As surprised as you are to receive a message so early in the morning (Ace and Deuce are likely still snoring and drooling into their pillows at this hour), it is the sender of the text that makes your slowed strides halt completely.

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant and well-deserved night of rest. I’m currently getting ready to head over to the Ramshackle dorm to help you with your harvesting, as I promised. The coat you’ve made and gifted me during the holidays also fits perfectly and is by far the most comfortable piece of clothing I now own.

Thank you again for your most generous gift. I will inform you when I have arrived.

Yours truly,

Malleus Draconia

You can’t help but smack your palm on your forehead. You’re not annoyed or exasperated, it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re happy that Malleus’s charm can somehow manifest even within a text message. In fact, this isn’t the first time he’s sent you a message formatted and written like a formal letter. If someone were to look at the small messaging history between you two, they’d see that a great majority of it is just Malleus sending you these long strings of text. They would also find your messages, or rather, your poor and embarrassing attempts at mimicking his language and style (he says he gets a laugh out of them, so maybe they’re as bad as you think). There’s also always a follow-up message, gently reminding and encouraging him to relax and not worry about offending you for speaking casually for you.

His response is always the same, and it makes your stomach feel strangely fuzzy.

You have earned my respect, now I must strive to earn yours.

It’s only been a little over a month since he dropped the bombshell that was his desire for your friendship to evolve into a proper, romantic relationship. To say it surprised you is another understatement. You were thoroughly flabbergasted once your mind finally registered his words as genuine. To hear him say “I love you” and direct such a powerful statement towards you was truly the last thing you expected since arriving in this strange world.

But through all the outer uncertainties there was one thing you were certain of, your inner uncertainties. Malleus is a dear friend of yours. Even amongst Ace or Deuce, two individuals who have been with you since the beginning and nearly every overblot incident that has come your way, Malleus holds a special place in your heart as your dearest friend.

But a friend is all he’s ever been in your mind. There was truly never an instance where you pondered or even held some amount of desire or expectation that your friendship could evolve into something more. You felt like a total prick during the end of his confession, asking him if you could sit on his words for a while and come back to him when you have a more certain and final answer to give. Watching the hope and nervousness in his eyes turn into one of pure and utter sadness and even embarrassment, yet he willed himself to conceal his heartbroken emotions back for your sake. It hurt like hell. What was supposed to be an exciting and relaxing end-of-winter-break party in Scarabia’s dorm (and an apology party for Jamil’s actions against you), turned awkward. Neither of you stayed any longer once you went your separate ways.

Despite what had happened, when you received a proper smartphone (and a proper phone plan to boot) as a gift for Christmas, one of the first things you did was transfer all your old contacts into the new device. The first person you messaged was Malleus, wanting to check in on him after your last encounter and to wish him a happy holiday. He answered back in a matter of minutes, much to your surprise. While he’s not the most tech-savvy, your major concern was whether he was holding up well after what happened and if you guys were going to remain as friends. You went on a whole tangent, trying your best to not sound so desperate and ensure that your response is in no way his fault because it most certainly is not. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.

Gunter suddenly tenses up. His fur instinctually puffs out, trying to appear bigger in anticipation of whatever threat he’s detected in the kitchen. Metallic clanking and clashing come from underneath the kitchen island where you store all the pots, pans, and heavy-duty appliances. A loud and harsh crash riles up Gunter enough that he feels the need to growl at whatever is underneath the cupboard.

You quietly move past him and wave your arm, signaling him to move back a bit. He listens to your orders and takes a few slow steps back. You position yourself on the side of the cabinet, fingertips pressing onto the top of the door to prepare to open.

“On my mark,” you whisper to Gunter. “One... Two…Three!”

You yank the door open, and Gunter quickly launches himself towards the potential threat. Though, not a second passes before he’s suddenly skidding across the floor, trying to immediately halt himself. He barely avoids hitting his head against the wood and giving himself a nasty bruise. When you ask him what’s wrong, he sticks his head into the cabinet and pulls out the apparent intruder.

It’s Blossom, a young fawn you rescued from the rose gardens of the Heartslaybul dorm. It was during the preparation of the unbirthday party near the start of the school year that subsequently led to dorm leader Riddle’s overblot. Cater assigned Grimm, Ace, Deuce, and yourself to paint the roses red with him. On top of rose painting duty, Cater was also on the lookout for a supposed ‘rose thief’ who had been snagging some roses from their garden right from under their noses. The scoundrel they were looking for was the fawn before you. From the way he still wobbled on his feet, he wasn’t even a month old when you initially rescued him. He’s lucky you found him when you did. His front leg was caught in a rusted and dull, but full-sized bear trap they set up in case the thief was a wild animal.

“What are you doing in there?” you ask the little troublemaker. “Probably trying to find a snack to chew on, huh?”

Blossom thrashes, trying to break free from Gunter’s hold on his scruff. He of course fails, but not without giving out a distressed scream and trying to plead for forgiveness by giving you his best innocent look. You shake your head before looking up at the small clock hung up on the wall above the refrigerator. It runs on battery so you have to worry about the time no longer being correct when the house lacks power.

It’s 6:15, still way too early. You tell Gunter to let go of Blossom and he does it without argument. Blossom quickly runs up to you, using your own body as a foothold to jump up into your arms. Once you have a hold of him, he bombards your face with little licks and nuzzles of his snout. While this action is normal and you would gladly accept it, you know better than to think it’s not the fawn’s attempts at trying to distract you from his misdeed.

“If you’re looking for the sugared flower petals, you won’t have any luck down there,” you tell him. He immediately stops his loving ministrations and gives out a disappointingly snort before relaxing in your arms.

You chuckle and give him a few apologetic pets on the head as you walk over to one of the upper cupboards and rummage around the various jars, trying to locate the dried venison for Gunter. You also grab a jar placed far in the back with the aforementioned candied rose petals Blossom was most definitely looking for. The moment you open the jar and the heavy scent of sweetness and floral whiffs in the air, Blossom begins to excitedly thrash about in your arms and tries to stick his head into the container. Luckily, the small nubs on his head, his newly budding antlers, stop him from reaching too deep.

You spend the next few minutes feeding your companions their early morning treat. The doorbell rings as you let Blossom lick the last specks of sugar off of your now damp palm. After rinsing your hands off and drying them, you head to the door. You open it and take in the sight of a newly arrived Malleus, dressed in a simple black dress shirt and a pair of loose-fitting linen pants you made for him when he expressed discomfort over his PE uniform the last time he helped you in your garden.

“Good morning!” you greet him as brightly as you can without being too loud.

“A good morning to you as well,” he greets back. Unlike you, who is still groggy and slow, he seems properly energized despite the time. You’re jealous. You’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn for years, at least a decade now, yet your body isn’t used to the early routine. Though compared to the hundreds of years Malleus has on you, you probably won’t show any sign of improvement until your hairs are gray.

“Have you eaten yet?” Malleus asks.

You shake your head. “The electricity is out, so I can’t use the stove or open the fridge too often.”

“Crowley still hasn’t replaced your generator?”

“No,” you frown. “Every time I try to bring it up he either gives an outlandish excuse or just flat out tells me I don’t need a new one.”

His eyebrows pressed together, clearly upset as you are at the headmaster’s failure as your caretaker. You reassure him it’s fine. Everyone in the dorm has been saving money for emergencies like this, and it just so happens that the money you’ll make for selling the produce you collect today will bring in just enough to buy a brand new generator. You’ll be out of electricity for another week, two at most, but have enough firewood and nonperishable foods to last until then.

“You should at least make yourself some coffee,” Malleus urges. “It’s bad to work on an empty stomach. You've said so yourself.”

“I will once Grim and the ghosts wake up,” you reassure. “For now, let’s head to the back and get started. There’s a lot to harvest, so the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish up.”

He’s clearly unhappy at your dismal of his concerns. You know that being so nonchalant towards a fae is rude, but you don’t want to worry him with your own issues. You also have no desire to eat or drink, not this early in the morning at least. If you tell him as much, he’ll probably freak out like he did last time, thinking you were unwell and forcing you to lie in bed for the rest of the day.

Yes, you could have pushed back and argued that you were fine, but it’s very hard to tell him “no” when his intentions are purely out of concern for your well-being. Better to let him hover over you and see that you’re fine than to leave him stewing in his anxieties in silence.

“What have you been growing this season?” Malleus asks as he tugs on the loaned gardening gloves you handed him.

“The usual spread. Some potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. The only fresh additions I planted are some peas and kale. Oh, and broccoli!”

“Did the crops hold well when you were gone?”

“They did thanks to the ghosts. The heat from the fire faeries around the campus also made them easier to protect from the cold,” you explain. “I should probably give them some type of exotic wood as a little thank you gift.”

“You can never go wrong with a bit of mahogany,” Malleus says as he ties back his hair.

You hand him a straw hat, one that you weaved to accommodate for his black horns. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles at you before turning back to your garden. “So where shall we start first?”

“I’ll work on picking the cabbage heads. You can cut off the pea pods and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well. I’ll follow your lead.”

It’s 8 a.m. You know this because Ace and Deuce are woken up at this hour by Riddle and one of the first things they do is bombard you with text messages which usually forces you to turn your phone on silent mode. Despite it being late winter, you’re already working up a sweat from the repetitive and demanding motions of picking and carrying around baskets full of vegetables and cleaning them. Malleus is no better, hand continuously raising to his face to wipe away the constant wetness clinging to his forehead. You know he’s not used to manual labor like you are, so you try to bring him a pail of water every so often so he can stay properly hydrated.

“Oh my, you’re already up?”

You turn around to see who’s speaking to you and see one of the ghosts that live with you and Grim in Ramshackle floating towards you.

“Good morning!” you greet him. “Did you need something?”

“No no,” he shakes his head. “I just came to check up on my bees and saw you already hard at work.”

The ghost (Franklin is his name, but you all call him Frankie for short by his insistence), affectionately ruffles your hair with his large white palm. He’s one of the tamer ghosts, but he’s still capable of pulling a prank on you or his fellow housemates now and then. You and he have been cultivating and maintaining a small beehive since October, but he does most of the work and maintenance since he has more experience in the ways of beekeeping than you from when he was alive.

Frankie does a quick once over of the garden, his scanning gaze doubling back at seeing Malleus carefully rinse a couple of heads of broccoli.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since 6:30,” you answer back. “Why?”

“No one gets up that early unless it’s for someone they fancy,” he says rather nonchalantly, but the way he quickly side-eyes you show that he’s clearly talking about you. You try your best to appear unaffected and give a “Is that right?” type of hum, but your efforts are in vain since he just laughs at you.

“If even you know, that means he’s got it bad.”

You say nothing back because you honestly don’t know what to say, or if you should. You’re content to just go back to plucking potatoes out from the ground, but Frankie doesn’t seem to want to leave you alone just yet. He asks you to come with him to the greenhouse where the hive is being kept. The small glass enclosure also houses some flowers and herbs you use for cooking or medicine.

You quickly close the door behind you once you enter, reveling in the warmer air that hits your face. While Frankie lights his cigar and gets a heavy cloud of smoke going (his personal method of keeping the bees calm), he has you open the top and carefully pull out the panels one by one while he checks for any signs of a decaying hive and ensures the queen is alive and healthy. One of your initial worries about beekeeping was getting stung, but Frankie reassured you it’ll only happen if you purposely upset the bees or fail to care for the hives consistently. Now, you gladly let the buzzing honeybees wander around your bare skin.

As Frankie pulls out his cigar from between his lips and taps off the ashes into the respective ashtray, he looks over at you and asks, “Is everything ok?”

You give him a confused expression as you snap the cover for the hive back into place. “I’m fine?”

“You sure? Because if you ask me, you don’t seem like it.”

“I mean, I already have a pile of schoolwork I need to finish and a rundown dorm to take care of. I’m as ok as anyone in my position can be-“

“I’m not talking about any of that,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about you. Forget about Grim and your studies. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answer again.

“Are you sure?”

Well, when he puts it that way, even he must be able to see that you’re clearly not doing alright. In fact, you haven’t been alright since you were literally kidnapped and held against your will in the Scarabia dorm. Luckily everything worked out fine for everyone else, but not so much for you. You’ve noticed that your appetite is waning and you wake up multiple times during the night because you don’t feel safe, even in your own room.

Malleus’s confession unfortunately was another wrench being thrown at you. With your hands already so full of this and that, you’re struggling to figure out what needs a priority and which issues you need to either drop entirely or find someone trustworthy to take care of it in your stead. It’s hard to ask people for help when they either find a convenient reason to say no or you feel as if you can’t trust them to do something as simple as watering your plants. The only person you feel you can trust and ask for help is Malleus, and things aren’t exactly as they were between the two of you.

“Talk to me kiddo,” Frankie prods. “What’s been eating at you?”

He lifts his ashtray and makes to snuff out his cigar so he can focus on speaking to you, but you hastily reach over and stop him. You take the smoke from him and bring it up to your lips and puff a few grey clouds. Strangely enough, it tastes rather pleasant, floral, and creamy. You didn’t expect to taste like this because of the way it smells, like soil that was just freshly rained on.

“Sorry,” you hand it back to him. “I haven’t eaten and I’m practically running on fumes.”

“That’s alright,” he says, handing it back to you. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Malleus carefully blows small bits of green fire onto his freezing fingertips, trying to warm them up after being drenched in the icy water from the water pump. He looks over his shoulder, over the stalks of peas, towards you. You’re still in the greenhouse and frantically moving your lips. He can see your eyes are glistening with a fresh layer of… tears? You don’t allow a single drop to get past your lids, wiping them just at the last second before they can pass over the threshold.

He’s only ever seen you cry one other time, when he came to your rescue in Scarabia over the break. He initially thought he frightened you with his aggressive display of magic. Once the dust settled and the blot on Jamil was expunged, no one was more shocked than he was when you boldly ran straight towards him and jumped into his arms. It was all he ever wanted, what his mind dreamed of every single time he closed his eyes. He could no longer brush off the fluttering in his stomach as the mere excitement of making and spending time with his first genuine friend. He was determined to keep his newfound affections for you with him under lock and key, not willing to risk ruining your close-knit friendship with his selfish and potentially one-sided desires.

Your desperate embrace, your toughie exterior lowering to that of a sniveling and shaking human, gave Malleus the impression that the only reason you would display such vulnerability before him was that you reciprocated his sentiments. It gave him a sense of confidence he never knew he was lacking, usually so sure of himself most other times. It made his chest burn with an aching desire to say “to hell with it all” and spill his heart right then and there.

When you extended the invitation you received from Kalim to him, he saw it as his proper opportunity to let his affections be known. He was upset (according to Lilia, more than usual) that he had to take Sebek and Silver along with him for the usual security, but he was determined to get them distracted long enough so he can pull you aside and confess to you without fear of interruption or letting his personal affairs be known to anyone else, at least, for as long as he can keep something so monumental under wraps.

As a prince, he has been taught to look at the long term for each of his decisions, as they carry substantial weight. The long term of pursuing a relationship with you meant having to deal with the prejudices and stigma against humans that still live within the hearts of his people. For once in his life, he didn’t want to think like an heir. As he watches you continue to talk to one of Ramshackle’s ghosts with increasing frustration, he realizes his love utterly blinded him back then. The only long-term his rose-tinted mind could comprehend was of the happy moments he had long conjured in his head becoming a reality.

You didn’t explicitly reject him, however; he knows your behavior well enough to know that once his feelings were laid bare before you, you would not take them into your arms and hand yours over in return. Arms crossed and avoidance of eye contact, you do this when you’re nervous or unsure, sometimes both. He held onto the self-indulgent hope that you’d show him what you look like when flustered. Perhaps you’d stutter?

You did stutter when you spoke up, but they were not the words that he wanted, that he thought he was, going to hear.

“Malleus...I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, you’re here early!”

“It’s just that…I don’t think I can…”

“Hey! Are you listening to me? You better not be ignoring me on purpose!”

“It’s not that I’m telling you I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t exactly say that I do. It’s just... I’ve never- “

“Tsu-no-ta-rou!” Grim’s shrill voice, still a bit riddled with drowsiness, still pierce Malleus’s eardrums and nearly causes him to drop the vegetable in his hand. “Pay attention to me when I’m speaking!”

“Quiet,” he growls at the monster. “If you need your master, they’re in the greenhouse. Though, you might want to come back another time.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Malleus lifts Grim from the back of his fuzzy robe (you must have made it and gifted it to him during the holidays) and points to you. Frankie has one of his translucent hands on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly now and then while he speaks. You were no longer wiping your face so furiously, allowing your tears to fall and drip off of your jaw and wet your shirt as you listened to your fellow dorm resident.

“What happened? Did you smash all the tomatoes again?” Grim cranes his neck to look at Malleus accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. Those are out of season.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at Scarabia,” Grim muses. “They haven’t been sleepin’ too good since we came back, y’know?”

Malleus nearly drops the cat. “They haven’t?”

“Nah,” the cat answers, far too casually and dismissively for the fae’s liking.

“This is news to me,” Malleus says, almost whispering to himself. He’s sad, almost offended, at the fact that you haven’t told him you’ve been having some difficulties this whole time. You normally keep him up to date with your personal life. He’s even more offended once he realizes that you’ve been worrying and reassuring him that your friendship with him isn’t ruined after what’s happened.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, conniving and twisted, that feeds into his already prevalent belief that your unwillingness to share with him your personal problems anymore is a sign that he hasn’t earned your respect. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but no amount of reassuring from either you or himself is going to stop his Mind from asking such a multi-sided question. Surely, if you thought admirably of him, you’d continue to allow him to bear witness to your moments of weakness and vulnerability. He feels close to you, connected to you in a way he’s never felt. He can be slow and downright miss some references to your jokes and behavior. You always put on a face of understanding, but is he so lost that your patience has worn paper-thin?

Are his feelings for you truly one-sided? Is he still jumping to conclusions too soon and just needs to give you more time and space? Did he just set a course for a ruined friendship or could his hastiness have been a fruitful gamble?

If it’s not iron that kills him, it’s the uncertainty within his heart and mind.

A shrill whistle pierces through the air and Malleus’s eardrums. Grim hisses at the sudden noise and the hairs on his neck stand up. Even Frankie and you can hear and turn your heads towards the source despite still being in the middle of a conversation. The one who whistled was another one of the ghosts who live in Ramshackle. Johnathan is his name, usually shortened to Johnny. His sunken cheekbones make him look unassuming, but you’ve rightly warned Malleus never to turn your back on that one for too long. It’s a miracle that you can keep up with all their shenanigans.

“I got the generator to start up and made some coffee!” Johnny happily announces. “Come get it while it and the dorm are nice and warm!”

“I’ll have a cup or two, so long as there’s a ton of cream and sugar!” Grim says whilst smiling. “And I ain’t skimping this time on the sugar!”

“You better if you know what’s good for you,” you sternly say, now out of the greenhouse along with Frankie. “We’re short on sugar and I’m not stocking up till next weekend.”

“Whaaaat?!” Grim exclaims, his lower jaw almost reaching the floor. “Since when did you become such a cheapskate?”

Everyone, including Malleus, did a sharp intake of breath as soon as the words passed the cat’s mouth. Everyone turns their head towards you, awaiting your reaction to Grim’s comment. This isn’t the first time Grim has gotten lippy with you and, given his nature as a mischievous little monster (a common trait between Ramshackle’s residents, Malleus is now noticing), it won’t be his last no matter how badly you scare or pull a fast one under his clawed feet. Even when your face is all puffy and wet with semi-dried tears, the look of “oh you’re in it now” is still so panic-inducing to everyone, ghosts, and feline alike. To the sole Fae present, he thinks of you as nothing short of adorable and wants nothing more than to wipe your messy face clean.

“Well, if you want more sugar there is one way you can get some more.”

“W-W-What is it?” Grim says, pudgy body shaking and sinking into the comfort and small safety of his fuzzy robe.

You approach him and bend down to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him so he’s at your eye level before deadpanning, “Get a job, Make some money, and then buy your own.”

Once you set Grim down, he scrambles back into the home with an almost comical amount of fear in his eyes. He screams about how he’s never getting a job even if it kills him and his continued determination to find the small money vault you have hidden around the dorm and spend it all on canned tuna. Johnny, Frankie, and you all give a unison chant of good luck to him before he disappears completely.

“Has he made any progress in his search?” Malleus asks.

“Our money vault isn’t even in the house, so no,” Johnny answers, resulting in you and Frankie cackling and high-five one another.

With the power back on, you announce that it was time for a well-deserved break. It’s your turn to make breakfast and you immediately begin to ask everyone for their preferences. Frankie cuts you off and insists he take over your duties for the day. You normally would protest and insist to whoever was offering to cover for you it wasn’t a problem for you at all. “I enjoy doing [insert chore], so it’s fine!” is your usual go-to reasoning, but not this time.

Malleus notices the way you make to protest as usual, but you quickly back down and just let Frankie go ahead inside to take over for you. In normal Ramshackle fashion, Frankie mentions the cigar you were puffing and waving around earlier and says that you owe him another one, particularly an artisanal one that he’s recently read about in the local newspaper and has been aching to try.

“You got any more highly specific goods you want me to fight tooth and nail for?” you sneer.

“No, just the cigar will do,” he says before turning around to head back inside. Before he can close the door behind him all the way he pulls it back and says, “If you get it sometime this week I’ll buy a new bag of sugar.”

You whisper an impressive string of curses under your breath. Malleus has to restrain the urge to laugh at your colorful vocabulary.

“In that case, I hope your schedule is free tomorrow night. I’ll have it by then.”

Frankie gives you a thumbs up before heading back inside. Once the door behind him clicks shut, you turn towards Malleus and he physically feels his body shift from somewhat relaxed to stiff and proper. You notice this and crinkle your nose a bit, something to do when you find something endearing or as a way of silently giggling. Malleus watches with such an unnecessary amount of focus as you reach up to adjust his straw hat and wipe a bit of dirt off the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for leaving you hanging back there,” you say as you pick off a stray leaf that somehow got tangled in his dark locks. “I’m also sorry you had to see me crying like that. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

There it is again. That damn twisting ache right in his heart.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “But if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, is your lack of sleep really all that’s wrong with you?”

You give out a long sigh. “I’m guessing Grim told you a bit of what’s been happening since winter break?”

“He has.”

Your arms cross and the ground suddenly becomes more interesting. You’re unsure, but the way your eyebrows press together is a sign that you’re conflicted. Malleus feels his frostbitten hands accumulate a layer of sweat as you silently mull over your thoughts. Despite the pain and hesitance in his heart, he wills himself to grasp you by the arm and pull you into an awkward hug. He knows it’s not exactly what you might need at the moment, and he was fully preparing you to push him away. He’s relieved when you bring your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace.

“I’m tired,” you sigh

“You haven’t been resting well, so it makes sense.“

“No,” you shake your head, the tips of your hair tickling Malleus’s neck. “It’s not just a lack of sleep that’s making me feel exhausted. After what happened with Scarabia, especially with Jamil, I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Are you afraid?” he asks. To think of you as fearful is an entirely foreign concept for him when you’ve only ever been confident and certain of yourself since the first time he met you.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit without skipping a beat.

Considering what you told him, Malleus thinks your fear is justified. You have no defense against magic…

He fills a strain in his neck as his entire body suddenly seized up. You notice this and pull away to ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, but you don’t let him go silent on you.

“If,” he hesitates. He’s thinking too rashly already, yet he’s still so compelled to act upon his thoughts. “Should anyone attempt to do you harm, I swear upon my name and title that I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

He means every word, but you seem to take it far too casually than he would have liked. You press your face against his shoulder and laugh against his skin, your breath bringing him some much-needed temporary warmth. Such an ordinary action, yet it causes another pang within his heart. It settles next to the one that arose before, but he bites his tongue and endures it for your sake.

“Maybe you could play that electric violin for whoever comes after me,” you jest.

As embarrassing as it is to hear that you know about that incident (he’ll have to reprimand Lilia for telling you about that), he can’t help but laugh along with you. If making a bunch of teenagers’ foam from the mouth amuses you, then so be it.

“Thank you for offering to get your hands dirty for my sake,” you say. “That’s one thing I respect about you. You take care of the people you care for.”

His body goes still once again. “Is that right?” is all his mind can wrap around and say.

“Yes, oh Wise and Great Lord Malleus. I do, in fact, respect you.”

He cringes at that title. It’s something he has heard Sebek try to enforce you to refer to Malleus as, which you never do purely so you can get a rise out of his loyal guard. Before he can ask you to never call him that again, a bunch of howl’s ring out, and the two of you pull away from each other. The wolf’s howling is usually a sign that food is ready, which you seem rather eager to get to as you interlock your arm with his and drag him inside with you.

He looks back at his basket of still dirty vegetables. “What about-“

“It’s alright! I’m not throwing a fuss over a few broccoli heads!”

Crispy bacon, over easy and scrambled eggs, and a mountain of sizzling hash browns. Once everyone grabs a plate and sits down at the dining table (Malleus sticks close to you, hoping he can sit next to you), they grab whatever pieces of food they want in whichever quantity. Somewhere in the next room over, a faint melody plays through the speaker of an old record player. The vintage singer has a rather cheeky attitude in her vocals but with the accompanying music, it all comes together harmoniously. It’s perfect for a rather excitable breakfast.

It seems you never told the ghosts too many details about your sudden disappearance during the break. You downplay the true extent of your dilemma as you willingly giving your time and effort to help a desperate Jamil figure out what was causing his normally kind dorm leader to have a sudden personality switch. The ghosts listen carefully, and as you gradually get to the big climax that is Jamil’s betrayal and overblot, followed by Malleus’s sudden appearance, they’re all practically hanging on the edge of their seats. Your tale even intrigues the wolves and Blossom. They gather and settle near the legs of your chair, ushering you to continue your story by whining and scratching your ankle.

You don’t exaggerate Malleus’s part in your tale, something he greatly appreciates. You tell them how things happened just as they did: Grey clouds suddenly covering the sky and the occasional peak of lightning through their fogginess. Just when it seems like Jamil has the upper hand and is going to put an end to Grim and you, as well as Jade, Floyd, and Azul of Octavinelle, Malleus appears out of nowhere and effortlessly zaps the blot right out of the vice dorm leader of Scarabia.

“That deserves some praise,” Benjamin, the third of your ghostly residents, raises his half-filled mug of coffee and extends it towards the middle of the table. “To Malleus!”

Everyone, including you and Grim, raises your glasses and repeats his chant. “To Malleus!”

“To me, I suppose,” Malleus half-heartedly raises his own cup. “It really wasn’t much effort, or any praise really.”

He catches you looking at him in his peripheral and he feels a lump form in this throat that he immediately swallows. “I simply did what I believed you would have done for me if our positions were reversed.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you say after swallowing a hefty mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But it’s nice knowing you have my back. It makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” Malleus is surprised to hear you say this, considering what you told him earlier. “I make you feel safe?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “Y-Yeah. I guess you do.”

“You guess?”

“You do,” you say, more definitively this time. “I promise. If you didn’t you’d know.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I can only imagine what interacting with you would be like then.”

“Probably not that good, or not at all. I steer clear of people I don’t particularly like.”

His eyebrows raise in intrigue as he sips his now lukewarm coffee. “What makes you dislike someone?”

“I dislike people I have no respect for,” you say casually. Malleus thinks you might be joking or poking fun at him, but how you take the time to look up to him while you busy yourself with feeding Gunter a few bits of bacon clearly means you’re trying to tell him something secretly. It’s definitely something along the lines of, “I don’t know where this mindset of me not respecting you came from, but it’s a load of bullshit and you need to get that thought out of your head.”

Even within his head, your language is still so vulgar and blunt. Only you would talk to him in such a rude manner.

But he respects that part about you.