furtiveness

anonymous asked:

Omg today's fic. I always knew the Olicity proposal would make me ugly cry but I had no idea how much it would make me ugly cry. Freaking gorgeous even if it dis make me furtively cry at work. Two quick questions: why did Oliver wait so long to propose and what was his original plan to propose before Felicity bought it up? (I enjoy the way that parallels canon btw :p)

Thank you!!! He was waiting for a few reasons but mostly that he wasn’t sure she was ready. They have only been together for a year and in that time they’ve gained and lost the first Ellie, his sister began suffering what will be lifelong severe medical problems, Felicity was attacked by Malcolm and “asleep” for a week, she got pregnant with Jules and gave birth, they bought their home and moved in together, they met his son and incorporated him into their family, and Felicity was (and still is, at this point) suffering from postpartum depression. That’s… that’s A LOT. He didn’t want to push her at all especially with her newly recovering from PPD. I think he carried the ring around with him for a long time looking for the right moment but he figured he’d give it at least another six months before proposing.

Hey there everyone! WHOO! Finally got a reprieve, as I’m done with my drawings for my final project, now I have to continue typing the written parts.

Done largely in part because I love the lore, practice drawing human characters, and to pass the time whenever I need a breather from from college.

While researching for the lore of Dark Souls for my In-progress AU Comic, I noticed how LARGE the mythology of Dark Souls and the deities that reside, along with the fan speculation of which god corresponds with whom and etc. In spite of all this, from what I can tell, outside of Gwyn’s family, there has never been a, for lack of a better term, “compendium piece” of the gods and goddesses of dark souls, so I made my own :D

Because some gods are not represented in imagery, I decided to design how they might look if they ever showed up amongst mortals. I owe a lot to Tumblr, Reddit and the DS fandom as a whole, the amount of theory and lore discussions are always gold, and of course, the lore-lords like @vaatividya and @silver-mont, their vids are always interesting to watch :)

From the Top Row: The Bearers of the Lord Souls

Gravelord Nito: No need for an explanation here xD

Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight: Drawing him was easy, but here I wanted portray a very stern, no-nonsense god king who really, REALLY is someone you don’t want to piss off, and someone who is almost NEVER happy and/or satisfied.

The Witch of Izalith: I’m honestly surprised there’s not much fanart of how her face might look like, so I pitched in. She basically resembles her daughters, but with a more matriarchal vibe, with a stronger jawline and sharper eyes to reflect that. She’s also very tall, towering over Gwyn and just slightly edging out NK in height.

The Furtive Pygmies, featuring Manus and a Pygmy Lord: With the Ringed City revealing that there were SEVERAL pygmies, I had quite some fun with the speculation and possibilities of how the Pygmies as a whole looked like.

Personally? I simply interpret them as humans but more, with more power over the dark soul, but otherwise having different roles in society like regular folk, the Ringed Knights are Warriors, the Lords are the rulers, etc.

I put Manus amongst them, why? Because no way should ONE man be able to have THAT much abyss power just because he’s a human. Since the dark soul is divided amongst humans, I interpret him having a huge chunk of the Dark Soul (as per these two threads), and thus was simply a mighty sorceror who happened to be really, REALLY old, even by Pygmy standards. Plus I always wondered… How does one torture a dead man? The Mad King was described as undying, so according to my own logic, he wasn’t totally “dead” when he was buried. His grave could signify him wanting a modicum of peace, after all, his entire race was basically put in a glorified prison by Gwyn… Sensing the growing madness within him (probably due to sheer isolation), he probably decided to “die” on his own terms in Oolacile… then future idiots proceeded to listen to TOTALLY NOT SUSPICIOUS AT ALL SERPENT and dug up his grave.

The random Pygmy Lord is basically representing one of the first Pygmy Lords.


Second Row: The Children of the Gods

The Nameless King, Firstborn of Gwyn, God of War: In a short period of time, has become my favorite character amongst the gods… There’s so much of a story to tell from him, his relationship with his family, the reasons as to WHY he betrayed the dragons, and thanks to lore threads a-plenty, I interpret him as one of the most honorable and dedicated of the gods. He watches over his warriors of sunlight even if they ARE humans (whom Gwyn HATES) AND he protects Dragons. Despite meI head-canoning him bigger than Gwyn and is in general a wall of muscle and armor, he’s STILL shorter than his sisters.

Gwynevere, Goddess of Fertility: Gwynevere here I interpret as one of the nicer gods, so I made her expression to reflect such. Because Gwyndolin’s illusion of her may be simply him projecting what he remembers most of her and thus potentially exaggerating certain aspects, I toned down a lot the “Aphrodite-esque” glamor, in favor of a more personable look, though still decked out.

Filianore: The daughter we know even less of than Gwynevere, but thanks to a certain reddit thread that discussed how dedicated NK was to her via the floral carvings that is present in Archdragon peak… She must have been someone who NK was VERY close with, so I interpret her as the “Always trying to bring life to the family” kind of sister, though closest to her eldest brother.

Gwyndolin: The Dark Sun himself. Not much else to say here, I just wanted to draw him happy for once… Because WHY FROM? He really, really needs it.


The Daughters of Chaos

Quelana, Mother of Pyromancy: Due to her own title, I interpret her as the Studious Daughter, incredibly dedicated to her craft and always finding out ways to further her pyromancy… Until the Chaos Flame incident happened of course… Then she became wracked with survivor’s guilt…

I also interpret her as being the responsible one looking out to make sure her sisters don’t do anything too brash… Though in hindsight, that would make her suvivor’s guilt worse.

Quelaag: The most well known Chaos Daughter, and whom I interpret as The Aggressive Daughter, hence why she’s the only one of the sisters with a melee weapon. As the most in-your-face daughter I head-canon that she is the one who lowers down her hood the most, especially when she feels like challenging someone. Also VERY protective of her family.

Quelaan, The Fair Lady: Last but not least, I interpret Quelaan as always having been the shyest and nicest of the daughters. Her hood is more drooped down compared to Quelana, to highlight her shyness.

Fun fact, while trying to find her real name, turns out the name Quelaan was the name the community gave to her, and just became established fanon, so I just opted to name her just that.


Third Row: Other Members of the Larger Pantheon

All-Father Lloyd: Gwyn’s uncle, founder of the Way of White. Now there IS speculation that he’s not real, but here I interpret as the real deal, and thus looks like a wimpier, older version of Gwyn, yet still has an aura of authority. I used a bit of Paladin Leeroy for his crown, because I interpret that, when he REALLY needs to get his hands dirty, he too wields a mace, setting an example to all paladin-esque worshipers after him.

His clothes are tattered despite being the godly equivalent of a pontiff, to highlight two things:

One, despite him being a “lord”, his tattered look is to signify he is not “above” the rabble/his followers.

Two, I head-canon him becoming slowly more insane and full of hate toward the undead,as more and more of his family and friends either dies off or leaving home… He eventually disappears for unknown reasons and becomes forgotten.

Fina, Goddess of Love: The most popular candidate for Gwyn’s wife, or at least his first, I wanted to design her with the Embraced Set in mind, just modified to look more queenly rather than armor. Going by the general fanon, I interpret her as the mother of both NK and Gwynevere, but due to unknown circumstances, just up-and-left. Why? I dunno I haven’t thought that deep :(

Also wanted to try out and giving her a different look, skin-tone and facial wise compared to all the other gods and goddesses out there.

Velka, Goddess of Sin: My favorite goddess, her lore and weaponry associated with her is cool, but even with DS3 and all its DLC, I wish we got to know more of her and how she even became the one to hold the title of “goddess of sin” and how she absolves it. She is also, I noticed in fan-art and fanfic, the other most popular candidate for Gwyn’s wife.

Due to the fact that both Gwyndolin and Filianore are associated with illusions and magic, I interpret her as the mother of Filianore and Gwyndolin. She has sharp features and very pale skin, and share’s Filianore’s dark hair.

For her design, I compared aspects of the Statue of Velka from DS3, and both Oswald of Carim and Cromwell the pardoner. I didn’t want her to strictly dress like Oswald and Cromwell, so I incorporated more feathers to her outfit to give her a more “regal” look, as befitting a goddess, and not just pardoner. Funnily enough, with her book of sins and outfit, she also gives the aura of a medieval judge.

Caitha, Goddess of Tears: The third goddess associated with Carim, and one that I intentionally kept her eyes hidden. Mentioned in both 2 and 3, I want to reflect her constant “mourning” nature, and since ‘Gentle Prayer’ is associated with her chime in DS3, I thought her being in a position of prayer would be most appropriate.

Nahr Alma, God of Blood and Murder: Take Titchy Gren, make him more beast-like in proportion, now make him the size of Father Ariandel with the animalistic agility of the Orphan of Kos or Slave Knight Gael, and you have the God of Blood himself. I interpret him as a kind of god that is shunned by the rest, and is mostly treated as an attack dog, and nothing more. REALLY resents the other gods.

If AO3 had an “if you liked this story, you’ll probably like this one” recommend feature, I would probably never leave my house again.

Day One Hundred and Thirteen

-A trio of equally eager and elderly women approached me at my register. One jammed her phone into my hand and pleaded with me to get her a ten-dollar coupon. I told her that I had a paper copy I could scan for her instead. She continued to force her phone upon me. I was left with very few options. I hope I chose the proper one.

-A woman handed me a stack of gift cards after already completing the payment process, expecting me to be able to subtract them from the total after the fact. She insisted I use them anyway, so I voided her transaction and attempted to run it again. It was not until the receipt had printed that I found she had not learned from the past and instead doomed herself to a repeat.

-I have never been a morning person, but I believe that my morning shifts may change that. I am finding that this is the time where the store is filled almost solely with sweet elderly people and lovable infants with almost none of the rowdy hooligans or sexist businessmen.

-A young four year-old girl, once given stickers, proceeded to take the only natural action. She slapped one right on the side of her infant brother’s face, leaving neither he nor his mother any the wiser.

-A woman handed me a cut-out coupon. It was not a coupon. The woman insisted I accept her coupon. In large print, it read, “NOT A COUPON.” She asked me to accept her coupon.

-I have once again witnessed the mind-boggling sight of a man of potentially Middle Eastern descent wearing what was potentially religious garb. This was not the baffling part, but rather, the panicked frenzy of furtive looks, clenched fists, and hushed murmurs of “I’m not a racist, but-”. I am relieved by these murmurs though, as, were it not for them, there would be no denying their deep-seated racist tendencies. However, as they said, such is not the case, so they may live free of all guilt.

-The single most squeezable youngster came through my lane. We shared a thought-provoking conversation based upon all of the words that she knew. She started off on a deep note, saying, “Stickers,” as I had just handed her stickers. She then made an interesting point by remarking, “Glasses,” due to the fact that I was sporting glasses. She finally brought this conversation to an impactful close as she solemnly said, “Back,” while turning and pointing to show me that she had a back.

-A man’s girlfriend said, “I have a quarter.” A woman’s boyfriend said, “I have an eighth.” This was followed by the heaviest silence I have yet to witness at my register. I watched her eyes glaze over as she made a mental note to break up with him the moment they escaped the public eye.

During Jack and Bitty’s 2nd summer together...

So Jack is in Georgia for a couple of days, right, and he comes back from a morning run to find both Bittle parents in the kitchen eating breakfast (Bitty slowly dragging is ass out of bed, he can hear the bathroom upstairs). 

Suzanne greets him with a smile, Coach with a nod, Jack sits down to eat. Usually, there’s a fair amount of chatter- even without Bitty- because Jack is comfortable with both parents, but now they’re eating in silence. Throwing furtive glances at Jack. At each other. At Jack again.

Jack’s stars feeling the tingle in his fingers that announces his anxiety. He counts the seconds until Bitty leaves the bathroom- no, that was the sound of the shower. Alright then.

Suzanne places her mug back on the table.

- Jack, sweetheart, we need to talk to you.

Coach takes a sip of coffee and sits back straight.

- …Alright? says Jack.

- We’ve seen the way you look at Junior, says Coach in a matter-of-fact voice.


(more under the cut)

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The End of the World

12x10 coda

Long after the beer in their bottles had warmed, long after Sam had excused himself to ‘do some research,’ Dean and Castiel sat at the table in silence. Dean shot furtive glances at Castiel, who had taken to rubbing his thumb around the opening of his bottle.

The silence was deafening.

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world, you know,” Cas said abruptly.
Dean blinked. After today, Cas could be referring to just about anything.

“My death,” Cas continued, thumb moving in slow, methodical circles around the top, “It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

“Cas…” Dean’s voice was rough, thick with worry. He’d heard enough of what the angel, and Lily, for that matter, had said to him. Not to mention nobody could hold a self-grudge quite as well as the angel.

“You saw how today went,” Castiel continued evenly, “You almost died. Again. Because of me.”

“Pretty sure you weren’t the one coming at me with an angel blade,” Dean replied, weakly trying (and failing) to interject a tone of humor.

Cas scoffed. “It doesn’t change the fact it was my mistake that dragged you into the mess to begin with. It was my mistake Lily Sunders was dragged into it too and…” he paused, thumb on the edge of the rim, balancing over a precipice it seemed. Cas sighed, his hand fell away from the bottle. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing for you if I was gone.”

The floor seemed to fall away and Dean had to stifle a gasp. He’d spent most of his time nursing a not-so-subtle anger at Cas and when Cas had returned it, Dean had taken that as a sign that Cas was fine. And yeah, Cas offering to let Lily take him down would have been worrisome, but Cas was smart, he was kind, he was just saying what she needed to hear…wasn’t he?

Castiel proffered a small smile, looking up at Dean at last. “At least you wouldn’t have to worry about my stupid ideas anymore, right?"  

It’s said with some humor, like Cas expects Dean to agree and smile right alongside him. Dean just felt sick to his stomach. Taking a shaky breath, Dean stood. Made his way to Cas. Knelt at the angel’s feet, anchoring himself by putting both hands on Cas’ knees as he looked into the angel–his angel’s eyes.

"I would never recover.”

Cas blinked. “What?”

“If you die, man. I…I wouldn’t recover.”

Castiel sat frozen in place, his hand still next to the empty beer bottle.

“It might not be the end of the world, but it would be the end of my world. Cas, I had to face that today, with the banishing symbol and you have no idea–” Dean was breathless now, trying to say the things he could rarely bring himself to even admit, “I know the angels say we treat you bad. And I–I do and I’m sorry, man, but I can’t lose you. Not again.”

Hanging his head, Dean tried to say the other things, the other, far more secret words. The sort of words that the angels would likely claim corrupted Castiel beyond repair. So he wouldn’t say them. He couldn’t. A silent I love you was all he could give Cas.

But as he struggled, a strange thing happened. The faintest of touches on his hands. Dean looked down, really looked, to see Castiel’s hands hovering over his own. They locked eyes. Castiel let his hands drop firmly atop Dean’s.

“You’re worth falling for, you know.”

I love you too.

Vanessa Nadal and Lin Miranda

In the courtyard, where the students hung out on hierarchical red brick steps, Mr. Miranda always sat in the coolest spot. “Lin was in the center, at the top, with his boombox and his cool friends,” said Laura Weidman, a fellow Hunter student. She added: “He’s a dreamer, a ball of energy. Everything is fun and a joke.”

Still, throughout his senior year Mr. Miranda could never manage to talk to Vanessa Adriana Nadal, a Latino sophomore he admired. “She was gorgeous and I’m famously bad at talking to women I find attractive,” said Mr. Miranda, now 30. “I have a total lack of game.”

Ms. Nadal, who lived in Washington Heights, was mathematical, opinionated, a great dancer and independent. She did not sit in any particular spot on the red brick steps. “She was never looking to be popular,” Ms. Weidman said. “She danced her way through the hallways and studied like crazy for exams.” Ms. Nadal went to M.I.T., Mr. Miranda to Wesleyan University.

On Facebook, he learned that Ms. Nadal was working as a scientist at Johnson & Johnson in Skillman, N.J., developing anti-aging products. But more important, she listed hip-hop and salsa as interests. So he sent her an instant message inviting her to his next Freestyle Love Supreme show.

To his surprise, she showed up, and even joined him and several friends afterward for drinks. “It was a huge group so he didn’t talk to me the whole night,” said Ms. Nadal, now 28. “I didn’t think he was interested in me.”

But, he added, “if she’d just paid attention, she would have known from my darting, furtive glances.”

“I was so shy I asked a friend of mine to get her phone number,” he said.

Weeks later, he called and invited her to another show. “When he came onstage, I thought, I really like this guy,” Ms. Nadal recalled. “He was up there free-styling and weaving rhymes together. It’s pretty impressive. He’s really, really smart.”

Again, she went out afterward with Mr. Miranda and a big crowd of his friends, all rappers, artists and break dancers. She wasn’t intimidated or lost in the group, which impressed him. “She knows she’s dope,” he said. “She’s beautiful but not vain. She’s smart but not arrogant. It’s like, all killer, no filler.”

Two months later, at a big crowded party, he didn’t exactly say, “I love you” but almost. “At some point, we met up for a kiss and he said, ‘You love me,’ ” she recalled. “I was like: ‘How presumptuous!’ I was a little angry but I couldn’t deny it.”

Ms. Nadal added: “He gets me in a way that no one else does. I’m a scientist at heart. I try very hard not to let my emotions cloud my judgments and he’ll see through that and see what I’m really feeling.”

[Source]

Model Sessions (m)

“You’re such a masterpiece… a masterpiece I want to get a taste of.”

Synopsis: Your nude modeling portfolios are due in a few days and, with all your sketches an absolute mess, Namjoon offers to help; though, his idea of aiding your lack of skill is different that what you thought…

[cr.]

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader // artist!au

Genre: Smut/Fluff

Word Count: 6.7k

Includes: Blowjobs & fingering ,’:^)

A/N: my friend and i had a talk abt her nude modeling portfolio, then with my thirst for joonie, this spiraled out

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5

VFD in every book | The Grim Grotto

Dreadneldritch

No pets were allowed on campus.

The freshman orientation guide was very, Very clear about this point. Absolutely, positively, no pets allowed. (minor exceptions to be made for service animals.) And yet here she was, 3 weeks into her first semester, sitting on the ground, staring at a cat. It was staring back.

Dread had always been fond of animals. She had never been allowed to have any pets, (her father was allergic to most things with fur, and her mother just hated animals) but she had always wanted a cat. Multiple cats, preferably. And now she was sitting on the steps of her dorm, in a college where No Pets Were Allowed, staring at the most precious little ball of fur she had ever set eyes on. She knew far too well about the other rules (she was on her second roommate, now, and the delicate horns curling from the thing-that-was-not-her-first-roommate’s face had left an… impression.) She was very good about remembering iron, salt, and not to say please or thank you. But this was a very cute cat, and she was willing to risk a little bit.

It meowed. She held out a hand, and it walked right up to her, and “oh my goodness you are just the cutest thing!” she squeaked. The cat seemed satisfied.

She was, to say the least, conflicted. The rules were very clear, and the rules were generally right, but this was a very small cat, and she did not have very many friends, and really, she already knew what she would do. “C’mere, you.” She scooped up the cat and it snuggled into her jacket. “I’m going to name you Eldritch.”

—-

It was about three weeks later that things got… actively weird. She had managed to smuggle in, via the Walmart (which had no employees that day, she left the money on the counter and hoped that nothing Else would take it) a litter box and cat food. Eldritch seemed to settle in fine, and she traded her roommate 3 dollars and a cool rock in return for not telling anyone about the very, very illegal pet currently snoozing on her lap. The roommate, whose name was Chalkboard, seemed to like the cat. Chalkboard even gave the cat a cat-toy. When Chalkboard vanished (decided to take the “fake your death to avoid breaking up with your s.o” advice a little too much to heart), Not-Chalkboard did Not like the cat. Dread caught Not-Chalkboard making what looked like a very rude hand gesture at the cat on multiple occasions, although it’s hands were strange and​ it was hard to be sure. It was when Not-Chalkboard, after having a Very Intense staring contest with the cat for about 6 minutes, saw the error of its ways and vanished, leaving Chalkboard in its place, that Dread began to think something might be up. Eldritch said nothing, as cats are wont to do, but it purred a great deal when Chalkboard let it sit on her lap while she was doing her homework. This was, to say the least, Rather Suspect. Nothing more was said about it.

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9. Cuddling // Klance

« {Part 9 of my Valentine’s collection.} »

a/n: have some more gratuitous cuddling! except this time keith is the one getting all cuddly, and lance is narrating. enjoy!

Here’s a fun fact:

Keith is clingy when he’s tired.

Lance discovers this in the “rec room” one night after a long day of fighting Zarkon’s forces on a weird fish planet called Adigo. He’s sitting on the couch watching Pidge and Hunk play a weird Altean version of pool when Keith comes into the room and rather unceremoniously plops on the couch, landing next to Lance. Like, right next to him. “Hey,” Keith says.

“…Hey…” Lance replies, because, okay, this is a little weird, but his mama raised him right. He’s polite. Mostly.

They slip into their usual tense silence as Pidge and Hunk continue to compete at space billiards, or whatever it’s called. It’s Hunk’s turn, and he’s trying to line up his corkscrew-shaped cue with little success.

“Who’s winning?” Keith asks eventually.

“Pidge,” Lance answers.

“Hm.”

“Yup.”

Keith yawns.

He yawns three more times within the next minute—not that Lance is counting. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees Keith shift from a slouched position, to a sideways lean against the back of the couch, to a strange, half-slump half-crouch with his knee drawn up to his chest. Finally, he sighs, puts his leg down, and leans back into the couch all the way. There’s a fourth yawn.

“Are you… tired?” Lance asks.

“Hm,” is Keith’s only reply. Lance figures that means ‘yes’.

It’s then that Lance starts to noticed Keith eyeing his shoulder with an expression Lance can only interpret as baleful. It’s weird, to say the least—even for Keith. At first Lance thinks that Keith is just giving him that look because he’s feeling pissy or something, but it only takes him a couple furtive glances to realize that no, Keith is definitely aiming his glare specifically in the vicinity of Lance’s shoulder and upper arm. Lance leans forward experimentally. Keith’s eyes follow.

Just as Lance is gearing up to say something about how creepy Keith is being, Keith scoots closer and says, “I’m tired, and this couch is uncomfortable as shit. Don’t make this weird.” Then he leans his head on Lance’s shoulder.

He leans his head. On Lance’s shoulder.

What the fuck.

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Clues To My Heart - Jughead x Reader

Here you go! It’s slightly longer than usual!
I tried my best to make it as sweet as possible without it being overly sappy for someone like Jughead :)
Enjoy!


“Jughead,” you seeth, eyes ablaze, “Get the hell out of my sight,”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in what looks like to be disappointment, his eyes filled with hurt and anger, but turns around and leaves anyway. You deflate a little, the argument that just happened sapping the energy out of you and you collapse onto a nearby park bench. It started innocently enough but it somehow just grew out of proportion, and into one of the worse fights you’ve ever had before. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you stubbornly wipe them away, unwilling to let your emotions get the best of you as the words he said to you echoes in your head.

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Give You the World

“You, you are art—the most beautiful piece of all.”

Synopsis: If there’s one thing that inspired you to keep going in life, it was a simple picture painted on a wall by a street artist named V. It changed your life—he changed your life and all you want to do is meet him. But what if V is closer than you think?

Originally posted by mvssmedia

Pairing: street artist!Taehyung x Reader // artist au

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 11.6k

A/N: re-uploaded once again :) this fic will forever hold a place in my heart haha


Just once.

You want to meet him just once in your life: the furtive street artist whose work stains the dainty town and sparks inspiration within you. Scattered among the nooks of your small town are his pieces of art that stand on an equal par to a diamond in the rough. Though, others beg to differ and claim that his “excuse of art” should not taint the pure streets of such a beautiful suburb. You believe that people should open their eyes to the beauty that is the wide world of art, an intricate way to express a whirlwind of thoughts and emotion, each piece holding a unique story.

To encounter the man behind the alluring masterpieces seems like it would occur once every blue moon. To meet the artist who has inspired you and motivated you in ways day to day people cannot would be an honor, especially if the only factor known about him is his street name, V.

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haircuts

“Maybe I should cut my hair.”

Lup looks up from where she’s using her wand to poke at the fire. It gives off a sputtering spray of yellow sparks and she flinches away, pulling the wand out of the fire before it catches alight.

Taako’s sitting about a quarter of the way round the fire, legs folded underneath him as he fiddles with a long, long lock of dark brown hair, loose from the braid he usually tucks it into.

“Why?” she asks, straightening up. The fire flickers onward, no larger for her futile attempts at stoking it with her magic, casting brighter light across Taako’s face. He chews furtively at his lip but doesn’t answer her right away.

That’s fine. Lup’s not a patient girl by any means, but she can be patient for her baby brother. (He’s the baby brother by about five minutes, truth be told, but it’s Lup’s job as the older twin to lord that over him.) They always accommodate each other like this, making changes where normally anybody else would be shoved away or told to suck it up. They’ve only ever had each other; they’ll only ever need each other.

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