ornate box

So when do we reach the point when all our technology can be happily disguised as more beautiful/ornamental items? I mean when will headsets start looking like garlands of flowers and when will TVs be flat and look like mirrors or works of art and when will it be easy to mistake my microwave for a tiny crackling fireplace?

I mean when will our routers look like beautiful books or ornate wooden boxes? When will our speakers double as vases and when will the voices of those little AI boxes like the Echo or Google Home issue from tiny trees or fountains, helpful spirits for your home?

Villain (FrostIron Prompt Fill)

Okay lol so this is for @ajanamyth who suggested Loki wooing Tony, and Steve being upset.
Not sure if this is exactly what you had in mind babe, but this is what happened!!!


“Stark.“ Loki landed on the ground and stomped towards Tony. "Call your team off, or I will be forced to hurt them.”

“Will you?” Tony shot back, and raised his arm to aim the repulsor right at the Trickster God. “Because every time we do this sort of thing, you end up retreating.”

Loki narrowed his eyes and stalked even closer and Tony smirked. In his suit he was the same height as the overly tall bastard, and he completely enjoyed not having to look up to talk down to him. He even opened his faceplate so Loki could absolutely see the smug look on his face.

“So maybe–” he continued with a short laugh. “–you should take all that bluster and bullshit you carry around with you, and that ridiculous cape and maybe just–WHOA!”

Tony ducked and scrambled back a few steps when Loki summoned his magic and shot a bolt of energy at him.

“God it’s so rude to interrupt me when I’m monologuing!” Tony snapped and fired a few shots off, hating how much he enjoyed the effortless way Loki seemed to dodge them.

They fought hard for a few minutes, trading blasts and snarky one liners, until Tony popped a repulsor that should have blown a hole in the Demi gods chest, but instead Loki just wrinkled his nose and disappeared–

— and reappeared right in Tony’s space, so close that Tony stumbled back into a wall, and Loki pressed close to him, a curious look on his face.

“You are adorable when you are cocky.” That low voice was suddenly entirely too close to Tony’s ear, and Tony had to swallow back his initial reaction (which was definitely not a moan. It wasn’t) and had to lick his lips, which only drew that green gaze down. “I much prefer your brand of courage to the rest of these quivering mortals.”

“Tell me, Anthony.” Tony’s full name rolled of Loki’s tongue sounding entirely too good. “When you take this suit off–” Loki glanced down. “Do you prefer to wear silk or–”

“Tony!” The shout distracted Loki, who turned just in time to see Captain’s shield flying toward him.

Tony’s face mask slammed down and he was blasting away in a split second, and Loki barely managed to dodge the shield, sending a fierce glare at the Captain before shimmering away into nothing.

Tony flew off towards the tower, unsure of why his heart was pounding a little too hard, and why he couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face.

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To Newt, With Love

Request: “Hi-Hi! I’ve read your newt x reader stuff and they are so nicely done, I like your style! Could I request for angsty newt x reader, pure angst. Sadness and all that. If you don’t mind of course! Something like ‘reader likes newt but newt is stupidly oblivious and he still hanging on leta/is with tina most of the day. At the end, the reader just 'poof’, out of touch. Thank you!”

Word Count: 2,643

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

The midnight blue dress draped over your body shatters the beams of golden sunlight streaming through your window, sending specks of glittering light all over the white walls of your bedroom and the pastel green sheets of your bed. You hardly notice, though, as you struggle to clasp a delicate silver necklace around your neck. The fine chain, soft as gossamer, tangles around your fingers, fighting your attempts to secure it. The struggle proceeds for a minute before you can drop the chain and watch it shimmy into its place in the dip between your collar bones. A beautiful gift from an old friend.

An old friend you’re visiting in five minutes, if the godfather clock standing in the corner is correct. A bundle of nerves flutter in your stomach. You haven’t seen Newt in months. Any time you wrote and told him you’d be able to make time, he’d been too busy. Then NEWT exams rolled around and every spare second of every day was dedicated to scrawling out notes and rereading the same chapter five times until you could nearly recite the entire textbook word for word. The grueling effort paid off, though, earning you high grades in every subject.

Today, you celebrate with your best friend of seven years. The two of you agreed to meet at your house at noon before traveling out to Hogsmeade to enjoy butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks and then find a dancing hall. You know Newt has a fondness for dancing unmatched by many others, even if he may be reluctant to admit it.

One more glance in the mirror satisfies you. Not a hair is out of place, your elegant silver earrings brush the tops of your exposed shoulders, and the dress gleams, not a hint of lint on it. You step from the mirror’s gaze and cross the room, enjoying the clacking of your heels against the wood floor. On your dresser sits an ornate black box. Swirls carved and painted white loop around the wide case, meeting on the top to circle around Newt’s full name.

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last night i had a dream i was at home with my dad and we were watching tv and an ad for fidget spinners came on and i went “fidget spinners are so dumb i’m so glad no one in our family owns any” and he looks at me nervously and goes “haha yeah of course not” and i could sense something was off so i ask him if everything’s okay and he just looks so guilty and ashamed and stands up, brings me an ornate wooden box from his room and opens it to reveal three golden fidget spinners and goes “these have been family relics for decades… you are old enough now” and hands the box to me and i have been thinking about that dream all day

incomplete list of christmas gifts given between the empty cup family this year:

- an obnoxiously fluorescent elf hat, from magnus, to hearth. it has bells. (followed by his actual present, a beautiful ornate box carved from wood, found at an antique shop)

- the most plentiful and smelliest lush bath bomb set for samirah, from ‘santa’

- a humongous fluffy plaid blanket, like really ten times bigger than it needs to be, to magnus, from ‘santa’ again

 - a bedazzler kit for blitzen, from alex, meant as joke but blitzen genuinely loves it

- a subscription to Ceramics Monthly magazine for alex from yet again ‘santa’. she thanks hearthstone and blitzen directly, already flicking through the pages of the first issue

- “you can’t ruin the illusion!” magnus gasps, hand dramatically on his chest. “it was from santa!”

anonymous asked:

In light of Valentines day; could you do scenarios of the Chocobros, Nyx Ulric (if you can) and Cor proposing to their s/o? PS love the stuff you've been writing. :D Tis amazing and brilliant just like you!

I changed up one of them (heheh) just a little bit. Also, I got writer’s block for Cor, I’m so sorry! I’ll do a one-shot for him sometime soon based on this prompt to make up for it. And I still have yet to see Kingsglaive, so for now it’s just our four favourite boys.

This one is pretty long, since it’s a bunch of scenarios, so it’s under the cut. Enjoy! And Happy Valentine’s Day <3

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A Penny For Your Thoughts, £400 For Your Meal

its now been a clean 2 weeks since i posted the last thing so here we go i guess,,, next thing i post should be the angus thongs au so i hope this tides you all over xxx

my love to @alrightevans @alrightpotter and @prongsyouignoramus for helping me get it from the mess it was when i wrote it 18 months ago to this


8:50. Avery glances at the bill and goes down to his car to retrieve his conveniently forgotten wallet.

8:59. Malfoy goes down to see what’s keeping him.

9:29. Nott slips out to answer an important call.

9:44. Mulciber dons his coat to take a piss.

9:51. Severus excuses himself for a quick fag, and Lily is left sitting alone at their table with a growing sense of suspicion.

9:53. Lily finally convinces herself to look at the bill, and her stomach drops to her knees.

11:41. “Ma’am?” the waitress asks, and Lily was sure she’d seen the worst of the girl’s frown, but she was wrong.

“A-another glass, please,” she mumbles, and the waitress’ eye roll and impatient huff says it all. There are eight or nine completely full glasses in a little grove in front of her already, and she doesn’t exactly have a plan of action, but at least this is buying her more time.

She’s buying herself more time, with money she doesn’t have.

“Of course,” the waitress spits, and sweeps away.

This close to midnight, Lily’s fairly confident they’d like to shut up shop shortly. She tears her eyes away from the frankly excessive amount of wine sitting full in front her, and glances around the previously bustling dining hall. She almost, almost pegs herself as the last diner, but there’s a man about her age on the other side of the room. He has a dozen or so desserts scattered around him, each as untouched as every one of her wine glasses. He gives her a tight smile as they make eye contact, and turns back to his food, pensive. Lily does the same.

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I love Blackwall’s wood carving so much though.  I like to think that Rainier the cocky fighter didn’t carve, didn’t have time for anything so small or common.  No, the carving is something that is particular to his incarnation as Blackwall, learned slowly and with much quiet cursing around many a solitary fire.  It’s the occupation of a man very accustomed to being alone, but more than that, it’s a choice to put something into the world now, something simple and useful and beautiful.  Little things.

What did he carve?  He had no home; he can’t have kept much with him.  Did he make rough little poppets for children in the little villages where he stopped?  A quick spoon for a beggar seen eating with their hands?  A carved headboard for a widow he stayed with for a little while?

Did he do a bigger project once in a while?  An ornate box, maybe.  He knew he was taking too long, should move on, but maybe he just wanted to see what he could do now, to stretch out, to marvel that his hands had learned to create as well as to kill.

I love Blackwall’s carving.

Tipsy cuddles (Gil x Reader)

Hey sweetheart! If you could do a Gil x Reader that would be super great! I was thinking of caring best friend Gil (who the reader happens to have a crush on and vice versa) walking in on the reader drinking in her Auradon dorm. She’s like afraid he’ll get her busted but instead he asks to join her and then night ends in tipsy cuddles and sweetly admitting feelings to each other. Thank you so much in advance!

A/N: I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to update. I’ve been sick for the last few days and I’m having trouble getting inspiration for requests. So if you sent one in I promise I’m working on them I’m just in a bit of a rut. They may not come out in order either.(Depending on what gives inspiration) I hope you understand.

When you were chosen to go to Auradon you were lucky enough to be able to have your best friend by your side. You and Gil had grown up together. You were the daughter of Chernabog, therefore, you could talk to the dead. Gil was there to help you when you first discovered your power. Ever since then you’d been in love with him.

When you first arrived at Auradon you mainly stayed with Gil and Harry. Dizzy had found friends closer to her age and stayed with them most of the time. So it was just Harry, Gil and you. You still wore all black because it was one of the few things about yourself the rules didn’t force you to change.

When living on the isle a lot of people refused to speak to you because of your father and the fact that you talked to people who weren’t there. So you used rum you stole from a shop to lighten the stress of living in those conditions. You figured that once you got to Auradon life wouldn’t be stressful anymore but it seemed like for every problem on the Isle there was one in Auradon too. You couldn’t speak to the dead in front of people; something about it freaking other students out, and you couldn’t do anything like you did before.

When it all became too much you went to your room and drank rum that you brought over from the Isle. You had Uma use magic to make it last and brought a small bottle with you. It was well hidden in your black ornate lock box you had made when you were eleven to keep your belongings safe from thieves.

So today when you tried to join the tourney team and they turned you down because you weren’t male, you lost it. You stormed up to your dorm, slammed the door, and went straight to the lockbox that sat neatly on your desk. You whispered the ancient dialogue from the curse your father would use to wake the dead and the box popped open. You reached inside and grabbed your rum and began chugging the bottle.

You may have been drinking two minutes before the door burst open and Gil barged in.

“Hey (Y/N) I was wond- Are you drinking?” he asked as he finally took notice of you sitting on your bed holding the bottle.

“Please Gil, you can’t tell anyone. This is my escape! I swear I don’t do it often! Just when the stress is too much.” you pleaded. He looked at you apprehensively, then sat next to you on the bed.

“What do you mean the stress?” he looked at you in confusion. You took another drink before answering him.

“Here in Auradon you always have to be perfect. I can’t be myself and what they want,” you explained as you offered him the bottle. He takes a swig and then responds.

“Well, have you talked to Ben? What are they making you do?” He asked and takes another drink.

“I’m not allowed to speak to the dead anymore. I have to act like I don’t hear them. They are already hurt souls and the so-called heroes around here won’t let me try to help them.”

It goes on like this for about an hour before you put the rum away and return to lay on the bed. You sit in silence as you lay your head on Gil’s chest.

“It’s stupid they’re trying to change you. You’ve always been perfect.” Gil breaks the silence, slurring his words slightly.

“Yeah, sure.” you roll your eyes.

“I mean it. You’re perfect.” he moves your face up to stare directly into your eyes.

“Never change Gil, no matter what.” you say smiling at the boy you love.

“You better not change either. I love you too much to let you do that.” he grins at you.

“You love me?” you giggle.

“I always have.” he replies.

“I love you too.” you lay back down on his chest.

The rest of the night is spent giggling at each other’s stories and falling asleep with the boy of your dreams.

anonymous asked:

125, MariChat? (PS. Prompt 17 reminds me of this song called "Are you gunna kiss me or not?") *Anon because I'm shy as heck*

I went and looked up that song because I’d never heard of it and was nicely surprised to discover how much I like it :) So thanx for that

I’d say “don’t be shy” but as someone who frequently sends asks on anonymous because of shyness that would be highly hypocritical of me.

125. “I don’t deserve this gift, Y/n. You have to take it back” from this prompt list

“You are objectively the most insane person I’ve ever met.”

“Look, if you don’t like it, I can always get you something else.”

“Something else!? You are insane!”

“Is it that bad?” Chat asked, looking hurt as he picked an imaginary piece of lint on the leg of his suit.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Marinette told him irritably, “it’s just…I don’t deserve this gift, Chat. You have to take it back.”

“Take it back?” he snapped, “Of course you deserve it. Am I not allowed to spoil my girlfriend a bit at Christmas?”

“Spoiling me would be getting me a roll of fabric or something. This is…just insane!”

“Stop saying that!” he bit back at her. He looked extremely offended that she didn’t seem to want his gift. But even so -

“Chat,” she started gently, “these are very large, very real diamond earrings. They must have cost a fortune. Where do you even get that kind of money?”

“House cats are usually well taken care of,” he smirked, “You could say I never really want for anything. Anything material anyway.”

He said the last part with more of a sneer than a smile and her heart went out to her poor Chaton.

“Okay, look. I…have other reasons for being unable to accept these,” she said, “I’m not going to be able to explain myself very well but just know that…I never wear anything but these ones-” she gestured to her earlobes with a twinge of fear shooting through her for drawing attention to them, “-for sentimental reasons.”

“Oh, I didn’t think about that,” he said, his ears flicking atop his head as if undecided whether to be happy she had a genuine reason or upset that he hadn’t even considered that she might have a good excuse before getting angry at her.

“Besides,” she added, “you wouldn’t want me to be afraid to wear them in case I lose them would you?”

“I guess not.” He still looked conflicted.

“How about this? I can go exchange them for another piece of jewellery. Something less terrifyingly expensive, but that still costs enough to be considering spoiling. Then I’ll give you the difference back so neither of us feels guilty.”

“I guess,” he said, tilting his head in consideration, “Though I really wanted to pick something out for you, I guess I can’t go in as a superhero without drawing attention. I’ll get you the receipt.”

“An excellent choice Mademoiselle,” the sales assistant said to her as she advised him of the pendant she would like to purchase.

She had spent the better part of an hour debating with herself whether or not the subtle little piece of white gold jewellery was still too expensive for her conscience before ultimately deciding that the design was just too perfect to pass up.

The small thin chain was heavier than she had anticipated, but then this was real gold and as she placed the pendant in her hand she admired the little white gold cat. It was nothing but the basic shape of a cat’s head, pointy ears and little metal whiskers sticking out from the main body but the face itself had a very small black diamond set in the centre.

She watched the sales assistant place the pedant into a very ornate little box and place that inside a slightly larger one before bagging the merchandise for her.

“Now you said you wanted to exchange the earrings for them,” the man asked.

“Yes, my boyfriend spent almost nine hundred euros on them and I’m afraid to lose them. He said to exchange them and he’d take back the difference?” She wasn’t worried about this sounding suspicious. Apparently Chat had an account here and had called them earlier to advise them of what she was planning to do.

“Absolutely. You have the receipt?”

She passed the slip of thicker than average receipt paper to him and watched as he typed some of the numbers into his computer. He took the earrings to a spot behind the counter as he waited for the computer to process the transaction.

“That appears to be it,” he said, “Now do you have Monsieur Agreste’s debit card or shall I place the five hundred and fifty euros onto his account here?”

“Excuse me,” said Marinette, her voice strained to avoid breaking into a scream, “did you say Agreste?”

Note: WHY AM I SO EXTRA. I made this in honor of @oftempestsandteacups and @ofdvorakanddastardlyschemes for their wonderful creation, “You and I Have Begun to…Knit”! But, being me…I had to add a backstory to the story and…here we are, a little over 2k words later! I just adore the both of them, and I wanted to do something, well, extra for them! :)

Will looked at his reflection in the mirror, running his hands down his electric blue suit. It was too much, but Hannibal had somehow convinced him otherwise—as he had done everything else. He looked well—happy even—but the scars upon his face told his story; their story. Sometimes they were hard to look at, and Will had caught himself steering clear of mirrors altogether.

Will knew how he looked. The scar on his forehead was nothing compared to the vicious, jagged, line that Dolarhyde had given him. Hannibal’s mark was carefully made—despite the action—and the scar was light. Dolarhyde’s mark was a deep purple-ish red color and it was harder to hide; even with his longer beard. So, Will had tried not to look. Hannibal eventually picked up on his reluctance, much to Will’s dismay.

Now, with every given opportunity, Hannibal would parade him in front of any mirrored surface. He would speak words of love in whispered Lithuanian, pressing himself flush against the younger man’s back. He would press sweet, tender, kisses against Will’s flushed skin and smile when he would try to look away.

Hannibal made him feel beautiful. He had made him see the beauty of his scars, despite the harsh words others—soon to be victims—would spew whenever they would venture out. Their scars led them to each other. Despite the pain, years apart, and mental exhaustion, they found one another fully. They found each other the moment their feet fell from the earth and into the sea.

“You’re thinking,” Hannibal noted and Will half jumped. The cannibal’s lips tugged with a smug smile and Will rolled his eyes, leaning into the embrace as Hannibal’s hands replaced his own on his velvet suit. Hannibal plopped his head on his shoulder, looking at their reflection in the overly guild mirror.

“I tend to do that,” Will told him simply, his hands wrapping around Hannibal’s forearms tenderly. He held onto him like a life-raft, and Hannibal’s eyes lowered into slits. He hummed and Will felt his face heat up. He looked away, earning a tsk from his lover.

“My darling,” Hannibal half cooed, his hands roaming along Will’s expensive suit, “You look good enough to eat.” Will groaned long and hard at that, pulling away from Hannibal’s laughing person.

“God, do you sit for hours pondering horrible puns? Are you planning on publishing, or something?” Will asked as he walked away, feeling the heat of Hannibal’s eyes on his back; and his smile. He plucked a small package off of their dining room table—the present he had been so adamant about the second Hannibal had said anything about his birthday.

He was forty-two. Big deal. One step closer to death. Will did not even know Hannibal’s birthday, and it was a rather dark subject when it came up. So, if Hannibal was forcing him into a monkey suit, and spending an outrageous expense, then he would do something too. Or make something, as it were. Hannibal, luckily enough, had loved the idea. He had insisted that he do the same, and Will was enthralled…If not a tad hesitant. He did not know what he would do if Hannibal’s gift turned out to be a severed head, or anything of the like.

“I have yet to decide,” Hannibal mused, earning another long groan of reluctance. “If I do, would you help me with a title?” Will gave him a sharp look, his eyes twinkling despite himself.

“Oh yes, I can see it now,” Will said and waved his free hand through the air, mimicking a reporter. “Elusive serial killer Hannibal Lecter and former FBI agent Will Graham caught after publishing a novel on cannibalistic puns! More at seven!” Hannibal laughed hard then, and Will found himself chuckling along at the thought.

“I imagine Jack would be rather shocked—if that is even the word for it—considering we have been dead for two years.” Hannibal said, a whisper of venom in his voice at Jack’s very name. Will shot him a warning look, darker this time. He slid his present in his back pocket.

“I find myself bored of this talk,” Will sighed, changing the subject. “Do you have your gift?” He turned and blinked in shock as Hannibal stood before him like a wall. Though they had spent the last two years together, Will still found himself tense when Hannibal would do this. He was deathly silent, reminding Will of the dangers of living with a predator like Hannibal Lecter. Though, as Hannibal simply pulled him into a light, lingering, embrace, Will felt himself relax completely. Trust him, completely. “You know that I hate that,” Will hissed into Hannibal’s chest, and Hannibal simply hummed, half swaying the both of them in a mock dance.

“You do the same, love. Even if you do not notice doing so. Yes, yes, of course I do. I have long awaited this day.” Will rolled his eyes and pulled away, looking at him with a soft smile.

“It’s just a birthday, Hannibal, really…To go this far, it still baffles me.” Hannibal smiled and pulled Will closer, his arms wrapped around Will’s waist, pressing them tightly together.

“It’s not just a birthday, Will. It’s your birthday. It is a day that I have worshipped in silence since we met. Now, it is a day that I will continue to worship for as long as you live.”

“As you live…as we,” Will added, feeling a hot flash of fear in his gut. Needing to be closer, Will pressed their lips together, his sudden fright transferring through his tongue. Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck, gasping as the older man slid his tongue against his own. They worshipped each other that way for quite a while, both fighting for dominance and submitting all at once. It was Will that pulled away first, pressing his fevered cheek against Hannibal’s own, their breathing both sharp. “We’ll be late,’ He said, as if that really mattered, and Hannibal chuckled breathlessly in agreement, pressing a quick kiss under his jaw.

“We can cancel it,” Hannibal murmured uninterestedly and attacked Will’s neck with his teeth. Will gasped and felt his head tilt back in utter submission. Hannibal smiled, victorious, and before Will knew it, Hannibal’s hand snaked itself into his back pocket and plucked his gift free.

“Hey!” Will cried rather joyfully, watching as Hannibal turned it to and fro in the palms of his hands, as if trying to decipher its contents through touch alone. Will had no doubts that he could do exactly that. “No guessing! You haven’t let me touch mine, so give it back!” Will extended his hand, eyebrows high. Instead of returning the gift, Hannibal backed away and went over to their fireplace. Curious, Will followed and he let out a huff of surprise when Hannibal fished an incredibly ornate box from the center vase on their mantle.

“Are you twelve?” Will found himself asking, and Hannibal laughed over his shoulder, the younger man feeling a hot wave of love through his heart at the sight of his lover’s sharp canines.

“You make me feel as if I were so,” Hannibal said lovingly as he walked over and placed the gift carefully in Will’s hands. It was light, Will noted. So, it wasn’t an arm or anything…then again. Will gently shook the box, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. Hannibal half rolled his eyes.

“It’s nothing that is living.”

“Yeah, that really does not help.” Hannibal bit his tongue cheekily as he watched Will gently explore his creation in awe. “God, Hannibal. The wrapping alone is gorgeous. Are these all…stags? How do you expect me to open this?”

“With your teeth, if you’d like! Just open it.” Will looked at him and gestured to his gift that Hannibal had tucked in his own pocket.

“Well, go on then. We’ll do this together. Like a Band-Aid.” Hannibal laughed again but gingerly retrieved Will’s present and looked at it adoringly. His hands held it like it was something holy. Whereas Hannibal’s gift was so incredibly Hannibal, Will’s wrapping was simple, and very Will—the color however fitting: a brilliant crimson. Hannibal’s was a deep forest green, the man taking the time to sketch stags of multiple different sizes on it in jet black ink.

“I find myself reluctant,” Hannibal said suddenly, his eyes watery. Will immediately looked up, noticing his tone. He walked closer and placed his free hand on Hannibal’s neck, noticing how he trembled. Will frowned.

“It’s just a gift, Hannibal. One of many, must I remind you.”

“It’s not just a gift,” Hannibal sighed with a soft laugh. He looked Will dead in the eyes. “I can feel your love through its every crease and fold. I can feel it, Will.” Smiling, Will pressed his lips against Hannibal’s cheek.

“I’m glad…I can feel your love too. Even through its frills. Here, you go first.” Hannibal smiled at that and Will’s heart swelled. Hannibal nodded and began to gently unwrap his gift, still rather teary-eyed.

“Oh, Will…They are stunning,” Hannibal gasped as two crimson and maroon cufflinks tumbled out onto his palm. They were hand-made, as they had requested, and Will’s craft was utterly brilliant. They were carefully knotted, and the toggle itself was made of fine dark wood. Each stitch was filled with meaning, and Hannibal could feel Will’s very soul in the palm of his hand. “Is this a ‘blood knot’?” Will nodded bashfully and Hannibal smiled wide.

“I made them in honor of us,” Will told him, as if Hannibal did not know the significance already. “As we are officially as one; conjoined, as it were. It’s a knot stronger than all others, and I could not find a better fit. I told…someone…once that you always name the bait after someone you cherish. It was always you, Hannibal. It will always be you.” Hannibal looked at him with so much love Will thought he could drown in it.

“Will you do the honors?” Hannibal asked him, extending his wrists, and Will happily obliged. Will noted that Hannibal’s suit was cufflink less, then, and pursed his lips.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“Hmm, I did not. I forgot.”

“You ‘forgot’? Dear me, Dr. Lecter, the audacity! What would high society think?”

“Nothing too terribly rude, they’d hope,” Hannibal teased and Will rolled his eyes again. “Go on, it’s your turn.” Will nodded and began taking great care in not tearing the wrapper too much. They would have it framed, Will would see to it. Will inhaled sharply at the very sight of Hannibal’s gift. He tenderly pulled two forest green gloves out, his face one of utter shock.

“They’re for when you go fishing.” Hannibal commented, watching as Will examined their every stitch. “You like to feel what you do, and I very much would not be able to feel them; especially in the dead of winter!” Will chuckled and Hannibal continued, “They should keep the heat in whilst not limiting your movement in anyway. Do you like them?”

“I love them,” Will said softly, touching the fine knitting, his fingers tracing the horns that ran up the thumb. “Hannibal…the stag. My stag?” Hannibal nodded, stepping closer.

“Yes…the stag of your dreams.” Hannibal told him and gently touched his arm, eyes soft with empathy. Will went into his arms easily, sighing with content, the gloves tucked close to his heart.

“It’s weird seeing it outside of my head,” Will explained, a sharp laugh spilling from his lips. “I can see it now.” Hannibal squeezed him slightly, humming.

“I see you, Will. Know you.” Hannibal reminded him, pressing his cheek against his tuft of chocolate curls. “Happy birthday, my dearest Will.” Will closed his eyes with a smile as Hannibal began to hum a silent song, rocking their bodies together gracefully. They would definitely have to cancel their dinner now, being as late as it was, but they could have cared less. Standing in the center of their living room, surrounded by one another, they found their peace with the world. They had each other; now and forever.

Holy crap - Once Upon A Time is complicated as hell. I tried rewatching one episode to reacquaint myself with the character and couldn’t think of a plot. By the time I’d rewatched most of his episodes, I was convinced that there was no way for me to keep this piece canon-compliant. So I didn’t. For this particular one-shot, forget the details about Jefferson getting stuck in Wonderland after helping Regina. Apart from that this story should be fairly easy to follow. This is the first OUAT Imagine, courtesy of fuckyeahheedustan, and I hope it is alright. Enjoy, my darlings!

Prompt: Could I request one where the reader was his friend and they had feelings ext. before the curse and obviously doesn’t know him now but she falls in love with him all over again? maybe flashbacks and stuff :D and of course fluff as you’re amazing at that XD

One-Shot: The Hatter and the Dressmaker

Grace tugged and tugged but the branch wouldn’t release her. Whilst she had been running through the forest, she had not paid attention to her surroundings and thus it came as a shock when her cloak snagged on a twig and halted her movements. Clutching at the burgundy material, she simply couldn’t free herself and when the sound of footsteps reached her ears, she feared that she was found.

However, the voice that called out to her was female – soft and kind.
“Are you alright?” The woman asked, seeing her predicament and hurrying over. She was dressed in a white lace gown that was complimented by an olive green corset. Over her shoulders was a light brown cape. No wonder Grace hadn’t spotted her sooner, she was practically camouflaged. The woman wandered over and placed a basket down by Grace’s feet. With a little effort, the pair of them were able to free the girl from the clutches of the bush.

She then looked up at the woman and smiled.
“Thank you.” Grace said.
“Not at all.” But then the woman in the cape frowned. “Oh, but you’ve ripped right through the material.” She tutted, getting to one knee and examining the tear.
“My papa can fix it.”
“Nonsense. A good seamstress doesn’t go anywhere without a sewing kit.” She smiled, reaching for the wicker basket once more. The seamstress pulled out a small ornate box and lifted the lid, retrieving needles and thread.
“It’ll be as good as new in a jiffy.”  

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Requested by anon:  babe!! your fic I Put The “I” In Lie is soooooo good. if you’re still taking request could you do a Daniel version but maybe make it where he didn’t actually cheat. im still screaming about how good it was.

In honor of my birthday being in three weeks, I added that too! I hope you like it.

Request a fic/story here


Words: 1,678

You sat in the middle of the living room of Dan and Phil’s home. It was a quiet and cool night and were lightly wrapped under a white linen sheet. You were sat with a book and a glass of Ribena sat on the table. It was ticking towards midnight and you were waiting on yours, Dan, and Phil’s couch for him, he had been out for a good part of the day. A smile crept its way onto your way as you reached a particularly fluffy part of the book you were reading.

A noise from the kitchen grabbed your attention. You slid the book part of the way down your face, just below your eyes. You slipped your makeshift yellow and doodled bookmark onto the page, then shut it. You put the book down onto the coffee table and crept into the kitchen. In the room was a dark figure making not so subtle munching sounds in the corner. You quietly slid farther into the room and switched on the light. A man in Star Wars pajamas quickly came into view.

“Phil?” you whispered to the man. He turned and a surprised look on his face. He was caught red-handed by you with a box of Dan’s Crunchy Nuts cereal.

“Hey, Y/N,” Phil mumbled awkwardly. “Don’t tell Dan.”

Phil placed the cereal back into the cabinet and turned to you. You had your arms crossed across your chest and tried to look stern but failed. You chuckled lightly and grabbed the box from out of the cabinet.

“I think he deserves it,” you said. “I haven’t seen him all day. He didn’t even tell me where he was going. Phil, do you think he’s somewhere he shouldn’t be?”

“Dan? No, I’m sure he just got caught up in something stupid,” Phil mumbled through bites of cereal. His remark barely swayed the feeling in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t usually the paranoid type, but you hadn’t seen him all day and a mixture of worry and insecurity messed with your head.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. You seemed just a little off to him. You didn’t feel the need to push his worries, or yours, further.

“Yeah, just tired,” you lied. You rushed out of the kitchen and into your bedroom. You slipped on pajamas and slipped into your and Dan’s space themed bed. It was an odd pick for a grown couple, but it bothered neither of you any.

You woke to the feeling of someone shaking you. Your eyes opened and you were greeted by the smiling face of you boyfriend, Dan. He was already dressed and looked as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep.

“Good morning sleepy head, and happy birthday,” He whispered. He pecked you on the cheek and nearly pulled you out of bed. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and let them adjust to your surroundings. You had honestly thought Dan had forgotten today was your birthday but were happy to see him.

The feeling in the pit of your stomach returned. Where had he been yesterday? The day he had kept you waiting. You shrugged it off and search the house for him. He jumped from behind and gave you a near heart attack.

“Get dressed! Get dressed, we have a lot to do! I have the whole day planned,” Dan chirped excitedly. He lightly pushed you into your bedroom and shut the door. You had a hard time stifling a laugh.

You shuffled through your closet and thought for a second. You weren’t sure of his plans, so you went for something between formal and casual, a skirt, with leggings and light tank-top. You were never one for makeup and decided today was not the day to start.

You walked out of your bedroom and Dan just stared at you. “What?”

“Nothing, you just look beautiful,” Dan smiled. You rolled your eyes and took his hand.

“You’re a dork,” you said. He led you out of the house and eventually into a taxi. He read the list of things he had planned in an unwaveringly happy tone.

“First, we get breakfast. Then, we go to as many stores as you’d like and pick out whatever. Then ride the London Eye and get a late lunch, I have reservations. Then, I have a surprise planned for you,” He said, last part with a wink. You smacked his arm lightly, then felt odd. That was a bit much. Was he trying to make up for something?

“All that, for me?” You asked. Even if it wasn’t to make up for something, you didn’t want him to waste money on you.

“Yeah, of course, I love you and I’m not always the best-” You shut him up with a light kiss on the lips, much to the taxi driver’s discomfort.

“Shut up Daniel, you’re going to make me blush,” You mumbled, your cheeks beginning to flush pink. He laughed and grabbed your hand.

The taxi soon pulled up to a little cafe. It was a homely looking place, light blue in color and almost on the outskirts of London. It had a nicely decorated front door and a few glass windows.

“Wow,” you said, surprised at the place. Dan looked a little sad, a frown beginning to form on his face.

“You don’t like it?” He asked, quietly. You rubbed his shoulder and smiled.

“Of course I love it, silly,” you smiled. You hugged him tightly, then went inside.

The meal was nice, and the waitress nicer. You had both enjoyed your meal over laughs, and admittedly a few blushes. You felt overly blushy today and it was making Dan all the merrier. You two were currently at the first store of the day looking at antiques, with the prices here, you had no intention of buying anything. That is, until you found an ornate music box from the 1850’s. It was light purple in color and had a light orchid carpeting at the bottom of it, you didn’t recognize the song playing, but enjoyed it anyway.

It was around 50 pounds, but you really didn’t want to bother Dan about it. After the nice breakfast, he had done enough. He was looking about the place, then noticed you near the music box. He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you.

“You like it?” He asked you. You turned to look at him, his face a few inches from yours. You didn’t want to lie.

“Yeah, but it’s too much,” you said. He dropped his hands and carefully picked up the music box.

“It’s really pretty Y/N. It’s only fifty pounds, I spend more on shoes sometimes,” He reassured you. You tried to object but he was already at the counter before you could do so.

“You really don’t have to!” you called out to him. You rushed over and the lady was already packaging it up. You crossed your arms and sighed, he really was a dork sometimes.

“Too late,” he said handing you the bag. You rolled your eyes and took it from him.

“Okay, but I’m not buying anything else. You can cancel your lunch reservations too,” You said sternly. He just shrugged and led you out of the shop.

After going to a few more shops, and you refusing to buy anything, Dan gave up and took you onto the London Eye. It was later in the afternoon than you had expected you to be, but still too hot to function. You got into one of the gondolas and cuddled up close to Dan on one side, the other remaining empty.

He ran a hand through your hair. The same feeling at the pit of your stomach was still eating away at you, but you hadn’t wanted to ruin the day. Now that the excitement had calmed down in Dan’s face, you caught yourself staring at his features and thinking. He looked more focused and anxious than he had all day. You lightly sat up and his brown eyes followed you. You grabbed his hands.

“I need to ask you something, and it may sound stupid after all this, but, I need to get it out,” you admitted. He nodded as if to say go on. You took a deep breath. “Where were you yesterday?”

A look of “oh no” crossed his face. He looked as if he had never expected the question to come up.

“I, uh, well, that’ll technically be answered when we get to my surprise,” Dan stammered. His reply hadn’t settled your nerves, one bit, and in fact, had worsened them.

After a far more than anxious ride on the London Eye, you and Dan returned home. He grabbed your hand and led you to the door, he stopped and knocked made an odd sound. He opened the door and all way quiet. Then, a cheer could be heard as the lights came on.

“Happy Birthday Y/N!” everyone in the now lit room cheered in unison. The people in your view were an assortment of your family members, friends, Dan’s YouTube friends, and Phil. You had a look of pure shock on your face as you ran to greet everyone.

“What is all this?” you asked Dan. You were grinning from ear to ear in a way that made Dan slightly afraid you were going to break your face.

“A birthday party,” He answered nonchalantly. You engulfed him in a hug and your fears had been settled.

“Is this was you had been doing yesterday? Inviting everyone?” You asked. You felt stupid when he nodded, and it was plain to see on your face.“

"What did you think I was doing?” he asked worriedly. You shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter, let’s have fun.”

Unimaginable Light

HakYona Week Day 1- First
Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona
Ship: HakYona
Rating: G+, T
Notes: I’m determined to get through HakYona week but don’t expect anything on time lmao

Yona rolls the bottle of sake between her hands nervously, just listening to the sound of the ceramic grating against the wood of the little table in their room. 

She knows Hak will be back soon- the sun has been down for long enough that he should be returning from washing up after training any minute now.
She has everything laid out perfectly- from the meal she prepared herself to the incredibly fine drink she can’t help but fidget with and to the small, ornate wooden box that sits tucked away under the table next to her. Everything is perfect. She has no reason to be nervous in the slightest. And yet-

Hak had given her a look when she had asked him to eat supper in their room as opposed to the dining hall where the two typically feasted with the Dragons and Yun. Despite the odd request, though, her husband didn’t question it, and for that Yona would be eternally grateful- she didn’t think she had it in her to be able to come up with a convincing lie.

Gods, there was no reason for her to be this nervous! Hak would be excited! After all, haven’t they been talking about this for years? Haven’t they been trying for years? Isn’t this-

The door creaks open and Yona practically leaps out of her seat, nearly spilling the sake that she manages to grasp firmly at the last second, having been too distracted by her worried thoughts to remember it was in her hands. Across the room Hak stares at his wife as he shuts the door behind him, eyebrow quirked in question.

“Ah, Hak! Welcome back!” Yona greets as she gives the man a far too formal bow, only adding to Hak’s confusion. She gestures to the table, still standing beside it, “p-please, sit down.”

He does as she requests, albeit a bit reluctantly, shrugging off his surcoat before taking the place Yona’s laid out for him. He watches Yona carefully as she then returns to her place across from him, reaching out to pour the liquor into his cup. “What are you doing?” He questions, eyes narrowing as he looks from her hand to her face, taking in the way she bites her lip in concentration.

“I’m pouring your drink?” She responds as she finishes, sitting back on her knees and pointedly not making eye contact with her husband. “Is that- not okay?”

“It’s okay, I guess.” He murmurs, raising the cup to his lips, “it’s just… not something you usually do.” He downs the drink in one go and immediately Yona is there again to refill it. “Are you trying to get me drunk or something?” He asks, his tone joking, “you know, you don’t have to go through all this trouble if you want to have sex- a simple ‘Hak, I want you' would be more than enough for me.”

Yona’s face burns red at his remark, still embarrassed by how casual he is about their lovemaking even after all these years. “Th- that’s not-!”

She goes to pull away but Hak catches her wrist in his hand, keeping her from retreating. “Then what?” He asks seriously, voice low enough that it sends shivers down Yona’s spine. “You’ve been sick on and off for days and you’ve been nervous and jumpy since this morning. And now this? What’s going on?” Much to Yona’s surprise Hak lets go of her wrist and suddenly rises from his seat, walking over to sit next to his tiny wife. “Yona,” he asks, and she can feel the concern radiating off his body as he moves his hand to caress her cheek, “whatever’s going on- whatever the doctor said… please, you can tell me.”

A gentle, calming sigh escapes her lips as she leans into Hak’s hand, her own finding the box she has stashed away under the table. “I have something for you,” she tells him softly, reluctantly pulling away from his touch to hold out the box to him with trembling hands.

He takes it from her warily; fingers ghosting over the intricately carved, richly stained patterns that adorn it. He recognizes instantly that it’s very old- certainly something that has been passed down through quite a few generations, judging by the gold work of the latch. It’s beautiful, truly, and something that holds a unique air of royalty to it, just as much as Yona herself does and Hak can’t help but wonder what’s so important- yet so small- that it could call for such an important box.

“Please just open it,” Yona tells him, and he can her the impatience in her voice. So with his thumbs he nudges the latch until it gives a gentle click and carefully urges the top open as to not damage the antique. 

Inside sits a golden headpiece, situated precisely on a silken cushion dyed in a purple that pales in comparison only to Yona’s eyes.

The first thing Hak notes is how tiny it is- barely even the size of his hand. Its dainty golden leaflets are accented with fine stones in floral patterns and around the sides dance four wispy, delicate dragons; frozen in time to hold the beautiful crown on its owner’s head.

Distantly, Hak thinks he knows this crown. Perhaps it was one Yona wore many, many years ago back when they were first meeting. It’s not something she would have worn long into their friendship, in any case- it’s far too small to be meant for anyone more than a few year old.

But… why is this the thing that’s sent his wife into a tizzy all day? Why has she gone through so much ceremony to present to him something that isn’t even for him? What could she possibly be trying to say by showing him a child’s… crown…

It takes a moment for him to process it, but when he does Yona can see it on his face. His otherwise uninterested eyes widen to about the size of their dinner plates and his set jaw goes slack with the realization of her intent. His gaze shoots from the crown to her face to her stomach and then back to her face, where she gives him a shy, almost sheepish smile.

“Hak,” Yona says softly as her hands slide down to caress her still flat abdomen, “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

A heavy pause hangs in the air as Hak just… looks at Yona, letting her words ring in his ears. Pregnant pregnant pregnant he hears, over and over again, a baby. We’re going to have a baby. We’re going- a baby.

Slowly, he sets the near forgotten box on the table and suddenly Yona can’t read his clouded eyes. His silence concerns her and, briefly, a pang of worry rattles through her chest. “H-Hak-”

But everything- every doubt, every fear, every nervous feeling that had been eating away at her all day- is washed away the moment her husband’s hands reach out to cup her face oh so sweetly, letting her relax into his touch.

“Yona,” he breaths, blue eyes locked with her’s so that she might see the way they swim with joy, “Yona.” Her name, again, like a prayer, as if he’s unable to process anything else. Though this time there’s the slightest hitch in his voice and before Yona realizes it he’s gathered her up into his arms and is very softly crying into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says through quiet sobs, as Yona’s arms reach around to hold him against her, “I’m just- so happy.”

Yona gives a hushed laugh but Hak knows her far too well and can hear her happy tears coming as she cards her fingers through his hair.

It takes some time for him to calm himself- for both of them, really, to compose themselves enough to look each other in the eye again. It’s Hak that pulls away first, just far enough to kiss Yona’s tears away to the sound of her light giggles. When her face is more or less dry he wipes his own on his sleeve and then presses his mouth to her’s.

“A baby,” he says between kisses, “we’re” kiss “going” kiss “to” kiss “have” kiss “a” kiss “baby”.

She smiles against her husband’s playful mouth, heart swollen over with joy. “We” kiss “are.”

“I love you,” he tells her, pausing his kisses to catch her eye. His hands slide from her hips around to her abdomen, caressing her still taught stomach carefully. “This is-”

“A dream come true,” Yona finishes, her own hands moving to cover her husband’s. “It really is.” She squeezes his hands lightly, pressing her forehead to his “I love you, too.”

A Good Thing

Dean Winchester x Reader
Words: 1.5k
Warnings: slight language, pure fluff
A/N:  This is for @jensen-jarpad’s blog/birthdaycelebration (Happy Birthday!!!). I hope you love it!!

“So get this…”

Dean groaned as he heard the beginning of something he knew he did not want to find out the rest of. Those three words were an omen from his little brother. Ever since they’d were younger, that phrase had signaled the findings of a case of sorts. Years before, he would have been cool with it, ready even, because there was nothing more relaxing and mind-clearing than a hunt back then.

Now, life was different. Dean had a much larger - well, technically smaller - focus. Something much dearer to him than the satisfaction of ganking some back-alley demon two states over. Don’t get him wrong, the thrill of the hunt still exhilerated him, bringing back new life, but not nearly as much as what was trudging towards him at the kitchen table.

Dean didn’t notice the child behind him until he felt tiny hands tugging at his arm. He turned in his chair, met by a sleepy-eyed little girl clad in pajamas.

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To the Ends of the World [1/?]

A/N: It’s finally hereeee! This is the sequel to my S4 Canon-Divergence fic, Days of Future’s Past. There are a lot of dynamics and backstory within Days that carries into this story so I’d heavily advise you read it before this one, other wise you’ll spend most of the time scratching your head wondering who the characters are and why x is happening. For those who did read Days, welcome back to the universe! I have been dying to get back to this world and finish out our heroes’ story! Many thanks to my amazing beta @ive-always-been-a-pirate for giving this a look over! 

Banner made by the ever lovely @thesschesthair!

Six months after the events in Days of Future’s Past all is eerily calm for the heroes - until Maleficent finds a way to circumvent the prophecy that foretells her demise. Emma and Killian must now race against the clock to save one of their children from a fate worse than death while battling their own internal demons. With long held secrets revealed and love tested, can the Charmings and Jonses save one of their own and finally defeat Maleficent before she becomes an unstoppable evil?

Rated: M
Prologue - Ch 1


On the shores of a vast and still lake, beneath the canopy of stars that had bore witness to the creation of all realms, stood a lone figure.

She would have been considered a vision if any mortal had been there to witness her presence, her beauty unparalleled except for that of Aphrodite’s. Her features were soft with her skin glowing alabaster in the moonlight, her black hair cascading down her shoulders and a stark contrast to the white gown that hugged her form. For centuries Mankind had written poems and songs about her, weaving her name and title into their tales until she was nothing more than a legend in their world - a faceless and forgotten woman. But they would never know the true depth of her being. She had been a fixed point in the cosmos since the dawn of time, born from the raw magic of the world and placed as its guardian before Mankind had even winked into existence. Power that not even the Dark Ones would have been able to comprehend flowed through her veins and seeped into the very air around her.

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Skyrim Setting: Refugees Rest

Along the road out of Skyrim east of Windhelm, leading to a pass in the Velothi mountains to Morrowind there is a tower covered in flags. Despite the tower’s location in Skyrim, the flags are of Dunmer origin. Several of them have Daedric lettering. The tower itself is not in good condition. Its foundation is beginning to collapse, and the tower leans slightly to the side. Across the road, a broken and abandoned wagon lies rotting in a patch of mountain flowers. Snowberry bushes flower around the base of the tower. A wooden signpost stands in front of the tower with a short plinth at its base. “Decree of Monument” the top of a bronze plaque declares in both Cyrodiilic and Daedric lettering.

4E 20

This tower once served as a meeting place where those brave souls who achieved safe passage to Skyrim would find loved ones, and leave notice for others who could not be found. Let it stand in honor of those who had the strength and spirit to accept Skyrim’s Offer ‘untithed to any thane or hold, and self-governed, with free worship, with no compensation to Skyrim or the Empire except as writ in the Armistice of old wheresoever those might still apply, and henceforth let no Man or Mer say that the Sons and Daughters of Kyne are without mercy or honor.’

We, the Jarls of Skyrim, hereby decree this site as monument to the struggle of those who fled their native home of Morrowind in the time following the Red Year.

Inside the tower there is a small shrine with burnt out candles, wooden beads, and the remains of incense reverently placed in front of a three sided, prism shaped altar to the Three. To the side there lies two damp-warped books. The walls of the inside of the tower are completely covered with rustling sheets of paper with messages in Daedric script written over every available inch. A flight of stone stairs leads up to the roof, and the open rooftop portal lets in a ray of sunshine that illuminates rain ruined notes along the walls of the stair. Though most of the notes are ruined, some are legible.

I cannot stay in Vvardenfell, and I refuse to stay with my family in Tear after what I have seen them do. I am going to find work in High Rock. Do not worry for me. I miss you.

Fathusa Girethi

I took the boat to the mainland with the last of the refugees. I could not wait for you any longer. The boat did not survive the trip, so I could not come back for you. I’m so sorry. I hope you and your strider are alright.

Talmeni Drethan

I found your son. I’m taking him with me to Leyawiin to be apprenticed at his request. You can find us there. I hope you are safe.


It is a miracle we made it through the pass, the ash storm was so thick, but we are all safe, thank the Three. I think they will saint the woman who led us through the pass. As soon as we were safe she turned back to help another group. The talk around the camp is that she has corprus, but she has been making the trip through the pass for months helping travellers. She reminded me of you. I know it is selfish of me, but I wish you had not stayed behind to help the ones up at the tower. I miss you terribly. Please be alive.


I am taking the tribe to Windhelm. They have set aside a section of the city for refugees, and they will need a good merchant or two. Come soon.

Falura Llervu

Up the stairs, on the roof of the tower there are even more flags, and a cracked and weathered chest. Though worn, the chest is of sturdy Redoran make, the kind even Dunmer in other houses actively seek for valuables.

The chest contains a long, embroidered wedding dress that looks like it had once been beautiful, but is now mildewed past the point of recovery. Underneath is a thick ruby necklace with the figure of a scarab that looks as though it might be enchanted, a jeweled ceremonial dagger in a tooled leather sheath, and a smaller, ornately carved, lacquered wooden box–all family heirlooms. Inside the little carved box there are faded, yellowing papers and a small sack of gold. The papers appear to be deeds to property in Ald’Ruhn that is likely no longer in existence, an old map that is likely out of date, and contracts that are likely long expired.

Behind the tower is a graveyard. It has several graves and stone urns, and a large circle of stones that looks like it once held ashes, now long blown away. The graves are unkempt, and there are vines growing out of one of the urns. One child sized grave has a patch of yellow flowers growing over it.

This snippet is dedicated to @ghartokpadhome’s character, Saint S’en the Preserver.