There was something nice about the cold. While Asher had grown up around the snow, it was different to this - the way he could feel the wind blowing in off of the ocean, even this far into town, the way the snow always seemed... more real. Purposeful. That mightâve been something special about Monarda - he never figured it out, but always appreciated it. Heâd gotten himself a cup of coffee from the Little Bite after his shift that morning and made his way into town, sitting down on a bench that didnât have too much snow accumulated on it yet, and just let himself relax, hands wrapped around his coffee, letting the cold nip at his nose. âWeatherâs nice...â heâs not sure if heâs talking to himself or to a passerby - if someone chooses to respond, heâll be grateful for the conversation; heâs learned from experience that, in this town, small talk can turn into something much more.
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[sohan pague | 21 | he/him | trans man] if it isnât ASHER NIELSEN ! you know, ASHER ! theyâve lived in monarda for TWO YEARS. some people say that theyâre BUBBLY & OPTIMISTIC, but that they can also be SECRETIVE & INDECISIVE. last i heard, they were working at THE LITTLE BITE as a BAKER ! iâve also heard the rumor that theyâre a WITCH. if youâd ask me, they remind me of MESSY HAIR, FILLED NOTEBOOKS AND UNSENT LETTERS, & RECKLESS DECISIONS ! i wonder what monardaâs got in store for them today!
okay hereâs my second son whom i love !! tw for a vague mention of transphobia, not heavily touched upon !
He grew up in the Midwest, always out of place, where things were never quite right. He had friends, and plenty of them - he had always been an eager child, eager to learn, eager to please, eager to engage with others around him - but none of that really mattered in the end. What did matter - what matters to this day, is himself, is Asher. The person that he could never be there, the only person heâs ever been here.
He moved to Monarda when his parents thought they were sending him off to college at the University of Southern Maine. He took the near-blank check heâd given them for tuition (filled out thanks to a small lie - Iâm not sure if you should make it out to the bursarâs office or the university as a whole, Iâll take it and figure it out) and put a down payment on his shared town square apartment. Monarda just felt like the right place to go; heâd always known of his magical abilities, even if his mother never chose to teach him, always putting it off, saying it was something to save for later. The draw to Monarda was impossible to ignore. Maybe people would teach him, and, even if they wouldnât... well, he wouldnât be alone.
With just the things heâd packed for college (a few sets of clothes - the only gender-affirming ones heâd owned -, his guitar, some shoes, and some toiletries), he settled down in Monarda just over two years ago now.
He started off bouncing from job to job for a year, was a server at the Monarda CafĂŠ for a few months, then did some freelance graphic design, then, when the Little Bite opened, he took a job as a baker there. Heâd baked plenty in his childhood, it had been a comfort to read recipes and know that they were exactly right, and all he had to do was follow the steps to the letter - he figured that this job would just be that on a bigger scale, and heâd been right. Thereâs more handwriting on cakes, but he can manage that, too.
He truly does enjoy his life in Monarda, and has no plans of leaving any time soon. This is the first, and, in his mind, only place he can truly be himself -- Asher, the witch.
âyep.â he nodded slightly, lips curling up in the slightest of smiles; it still went better than he expected, not yet having to explain what he was planning to do with said pen, even though he prepared a little speech about it in his head before. his gaze kept wandering around, not wanting to just stare as the other was looking for a pen; he mightâve been a bit obnoxious, but had no intentions of coming off as rude - and staring was probably that least polite thing he couldâve done at the moment.
âi mean, i accidentally managed to snatch someoneâs lighter a few days ago and havenât seen them since, so⌠yeah, itâs just an instinct to pocket a lighter you have in your hand, and i totally forgot about it until a few hours later when i found it in my jacket and now i kinda feel bad about it, but this aside, your pen should be safe with me.â he let out a small, nervous chuckle, realizing that he was rambling on without little to no sense at all. âblack will be fine.âÂ
âi meanâŚâ he took the pen, clicking it on to try it out by drawing on his hand, on the little free space he had between his tattoos; it seemed to work well, and he shouldâve thanked for it and moved back to his table probably, but he kept idling, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. âthey tend to run out, or dry up? i dunno, iâve been using the same one for ages before it decided to die on me so iâm by no means a pen expert.â
âItâs Monarda,â Marcus replied with a little shrug to the fact that the other had managed to accidentally take someone elseâs lighter. âYouâre bound to run into them eventually. Itâs not like we get a ton of tourists here, so, whoever they were, theyâre probably local.â He didnât mind the rambling - heâd had plenty of people ramble at him before, and heâs sure that itâll happen again - he can handle other peopleâs burdens, even if they are something small like feeling bad about taking someone elseâs lighter on accident; handling othersâ burdens is practically in his DNA.
Offering the black pen up and dropping the blue one back into his bag, Marcus watched as the other used the pen on his hand in what space he had between his tattoos. âI like your art,â he complimented - though he didnât have any tattoos of his own (his pain tolerance was far too low for that), he always admired them on other people.Â
âWell, thatâs from... five years ago, give or take, so... if it doesnât work, I warned you in advance.â He didnât really need to use a pen at work - most people came in the door of Le Jardin with a craving that Marcus already knew about, so why waste the paper on writing it down? And itâs not like he had much else to handwrite in his daily life anymore. His handwriting had never been excellent, his ability to do art even less than that. âMaybe yours is just out of ink. Is it one of those nice ones that you can replace the ink in? Or did it, like... break in half or something?â
âOh hi,â Emery said as he heard the door bell ding as the customer came in. âSo glad to have you here is there anything I can help you with?â He said in his best professional voice with a customer service smile, since no one had come in for the first half of his shift heâd been glad to finally see someone join him. Granted he was glad to see anyone even if they werenât a customer, especially if they had a pet with them, because more likely than not heâd be allowed to pay for them.
Asher hadnât been living in town for all that long - just a handful of years - but one of the things that kept him was the oddly unnamed bookstore. Because, after all, name or no name, it did still sell books - more books than any bookstore in his hometown could ever claim to carry. He looked over from one of the shelves heâd first seen when he walked in the door at the sound of someoneâs voice. âOh - um,â is there anything he was looking for? Not in particular. âI really just came to wander,â he admitted with a little smile. âItâs a nice little space that youâve got here - a lot of options to pick from.â
at this point lynx was fairly sure that he spent more time staring out the window of the little bite than actually working; the commission dropped in his inbox a few hours ago, written in a very polite manner by a young teen, asking for a hand drawn portrait of their beloved family cat, called toodles. the name still had him smiling to himself, alongside the picture of the cat with his tongue sticking out, displayed on his laptopâs screen, yet he couldnât get himself to start working on it - as if all of his inspiration suddenly evaporated, leaving him with no thoughts and his head empty. he was idly doodling in his sketchbook, lines and shapes and other little things, until the scritching of pen on paper turned into unpleasant scraping that almost felt like claws ripping into his brain; of course his pen had to run out at the worst possible moment, without him having another one on himself. fucking greatâŚ.
so he finally turned away from the window, looking around to pick out someone to bother with his bullshit; his gaze finally settled on someone on the opposite corner of the cafe, who seemed to have a few seconds to spare, leaving all his belongings behind, he approached them, nervously picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. âhey, sorry⌠hi, do you have a pen i could borrow? just for a few minutes, i swear iâm not gonna run off with it.â
Marcus had ended up at the Little Bite more out of boredom than anything - his next shift at Le Jardin didnât start until three, and, until then, he didnât particularly want to sit in his apartment alone - that would be awfully lonely, even if he would be doing the exact same thing, sitting and watching a movie. But the coffee and the pastries at the Little Bite were better than anything he could make on his own, magic or not, and it wasnât like he was going to sit around at his place of employment and wait for his shift to start, family business or not. So he ended up at the little bakery on the coast, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs relaxing as he took a sip of his coffee. He was just about to pull his laptop from his bag when he saw someone approaching his table, looking up at them.
âA pen?â he repeated, twisting his lips to the side slightly before pulling his bag from where it sat on the floor beside his feet. Rifling through it - it was disorganized as ever, despite all of the times in the past that heâd told himself to clean it up. Part of Marcus was almost sure that there were still old high school assignments crumpled up at the bottom of the bag, five plus years later. That was kind of embarrassing, but oh well. He felt his fingers bump up against a few things that felt vaguely pen-shaped, and he pulled them out - a pencil, and two pens, one black, one blue. âI know you arenât gonna run off with it, itâs a small town, Iâll probably run into you later this week, and that would just be embarrassing for the both of us. Blue or black?â he offered after dropping his pencil back in the bag, holding the two pens up for the other to choose from. "I mean, Iâm not sure if they work, because theyâve been sitting in there for, like, half a decade, but they should. Pens donât just... stop working, right?â
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[lĂŠo daudin | 23 | he/him | cis man] if it isnât MARCUS SEVERIN ! you know, MARCUS ! theyâve lived in monarda for TWENTY THREE YEARS. some people say that theyâre UPBEAT & OPENMINDED, but that they can also be SHORT TEMPERED & WARY. last i heard, they were working at LE JARDIN as a SERVER ! iâve also heard the rumor that theyâre a WITCH. if youâd ask me, they remind me of RAIN HITTING AGAINST OLD GLASS WINDOWS, A CUP OF SOUP THATâS BETTER THAN ANY ONE YOUâVE HAD BEFORE, and LEAN ON ME by BILL WITHERS ! i wonder what monardaâs got in store for them today!
hi everyone, and welcome to monarda ! iâm s, sophie, el, whatever you want to call me, and i canât wait to get to know all of you :) get to know some more about marcus below the cut !
Being born into a big family has always been his greatest blessing. Having two parents, many siblings, and plenty of aunts, uncles, and cousins in town, practically in walking distance from his apartment in town square, is something that Marcus will never take for granted. Like most Severins, he grew up in Monarda and doesnât really have any desire to leave. After all, leaving town means leaving his family, leaving the life he knows and loves.
Outside of Monarda, magic isnât as well known, if itâs known at all. For all that Marcus knows, thereâs no stirring the sugar into your coffee without the use of your hands, no sight of a knife chopping a pepper without supervision, no food quite like anything his family makes, where itâs somehow the best food youâve ever tasted every single time you eat it. He doesnât want to give any of that up.Â
Itâs easy, in Marcusâ mind, to stay. Comforting, in fact. Many of the people he went to school with still live in town, and thereâs not many secrets that you can hide from the people whom youâve known your entire life. Transparency is easy with them. Thatâs why heâs wary of newcomers, though - they have to be hiding secrets. He doesnât like not knowing peopleâs intentions, though he tries to be welcoming to everyone.
Overall, though, heâs an optimistic person - he does believe that everything will work out for the better, no matter the scenario they end themselves up in.
marcus fun facts !
here are some things about him that people in town would know !
he grew up playing soccer and was on monardaâs soccer team through middle and high school.
he was always better at english and history than he was at science and math in school.
despite the fact that heâs one of the younger severins, or maybe because of it, heâs one of the loudest - he wants himself to be known.
he was relatively well-liked in school - heâd consider most people his age to be his friend.
heâs bisexual and unashamed to admit that
he has an apartment above le jardin in town square, but he does go home for dinner with his parents and siblings frequently.
marcus had good grades in school, but he never really wanted to go to college, the same way he never really wants to leave monarda.
wanted connections !
best friend - someone who grew up in monarda and is practically inseparable from marcus at this point - if marcus isnât at home or at work, heâs most likely with them.
rival - can be a witch or a human, these two are rivals ! they mightâve played soccer together, or maybe it was just a gut feeling theyâve had since kindergarten, but thereâs just something about the vibes, you know?
an ex, perhaps? - they mightâve moved out of monarda (for college? for other reasons?) while marcus stayed behind, or there mightâve been a split for another reason, either way, they dated, and it didnât work out.
all of his old friends - i just want them to be a little squad always there for each other you know? marcus is a severin, after all, and comfort is his Thingâ˘, but friends are a big source of comfort for him, too !!
