#aschcregen

Eadwulf moves to the dresser, pulling out a pair of comfortable sleep pants before glancing at Caleb. None of his clothes would have fit the other well at all so it just as well to find him already in the blankets.

 @aschcregen​     :     ❝      i   owe   you,   i   owe   you   everything.

 THE   THING   IS,     she   might   not   be   smart   like   him   or   beau,   and   she   might   not   be   able   to   read   someone   like   caduceus,   and   she   might   not   have   fjord’s   gilded   tongue,   but   she   notices   things.   an   artist’s   eye,   sadness   trapped   in   the   corners   of   his   mouth,   carved   into   his   arms   where   it   scarred   over,   fragments   of   memories   he   drip   feeds   her   most   of   all.   she   knows   that   the   others   know   more   than   she   does,   but   she   also   knows   how   he   looks   like   when   he’s   being   fun,   when   he   indulges   her,   so   for   now,   it’s   a   fair   trade.

 just   for   now,   though.   she   is,   after   all,   a   very   good   detective.

 caleb   is   earnest   now,   and   something   in   her   aches.   for   a   moment,   a   vicious,   cruel,   selfish   moment,   she   imagines   cutting   icky-thong   into   tiny   little   pieces   and   feeding   them   to   the   fire.   this   man,   this   wonderful,   beautiful,   selfless   man,   who   gives   them   all   so   much,   and   thinks   of   himself   so   little.   but   jester   is   a   cleric,   and   the   traveler   taught   her   how   to   heal.

 THERE’S   STILL   THE   TASTE     of   salt   on   her   tongue,   though   it   mixes   with   blood   into   something   sharp   ;   bone   deep   exhausted   in   ways   that   feel   familiar,   victory   a   bittersweet   thing.   two   almost   gods   down   and   nobody   to   pat   them   on   the   back   but   each   other,   and   that’s   fine   too.   she’s   had   more   than   enough   of   fairy   tales   jumping   out   of   the   pages   of   the   books   to   hurt   her.   if   she   closes   her   eyes,   she   can   see   essek’s   tiny   house   in   uthodurn,   can   see   nicodranas   bathed   in   morning   light,   can   see   emon,   can   see   ⸻   caleb.   she   opens   her   eyes   and   he’s   there,   wet   and   miserable   like   a   wet   cat   and   impossibly   beautiful.   her   chest   aches   with   it,   so   she   shuffles   closer   to   him   on   the   wet   sand,   nudges   his   shoulder   with   hers.

@aschcregen​​ asked: ❝ that feels nice. ❞ ( for Astrid )

                   Lips curling into a small smile, Astrid looks down while her hands keep brushing the now much longer ginger hair off his forehead while golden magic shines from her fingertips, bright like the sun. “You should be more careful out there,” she looks up, gives Eadwulf and the rest of Caleb’s colorful bunch a nod and they scatter.

The Nestled Nook was dimly lit and quiet. The ween hours of morning were not too far off, and with no desire to meditate, she sat at the bar with an untouched glass of expensive wine in front of her, and a book propped up against the counter in her grasp. She spent most evenings reading away in the bar and while she was perfectly capable of reading in her room away from prying eyes; something about watching the bustling workers and the clinging of dishes mixed with the idle chatter that brought a sense of serenity. Like she was home. 

As she turned the page, she noticed a gleam of copper brown hair. A young man, she estimated, filthy and weathered was not all that far away. 

Lark’s piercing emerald hues bore into the young man, she could have sworn he had been reading the back cover of her leather bound book, but she couldn’t be sure. 

In a rare act of extrovert behavior, Lark canted her head ever so slightly towards the stranger and studied him. 

“ I take it you enjoy reading.” she spoke before closing her book and sliding it over to Caleb to read the title. It was some fantastical love story with a happy ending. 

“ I am Lark. It’s a pleasure to meet you...uh...” she furrowed her brows a bit and allowed her sentence to trail off so he could introduce himself. 

@aschcregen​

*   —   THE  CLASSIC  ROMANCE  OF  A  GOOD  RAINSTORM

 WHAT’S   IN   THE   RAIN   ??     the   sound   of   thousands   of   voices   laughing   like   the   chiming   of   bells,   whispers   of   old   fairytales   and   stories   from   far   and   wide,   rapture,   just   like   the   sky   ruptures   with   the   weight   of   the   downpour.   magic,   just   like   she   finds   magic   in   anything   and   everything,   eyes   wide   open   to   the   beauty   of   the   world.

 and   caleb,   now.   there’s   a   quip   at   the   tip   of   her   tongue,   for   all   time’s   sake,   something   about   stinky   wizards   and   bathing,   but   the   island   is   alive   and   vivid   around   them,   green   hypersaturated   with   the   glaze   of   water,   and   then   he   turns   to   smile   at   her,   palm   extended,   and   her   breath   catches   somewhere   between   her   ribs,   snags   on   the   bone.   so   when   @aschcregen​​   says,         ❝     come   on,   come   dance   with   me   in   the   rain,     ❞         all   she   can   do   is   laugh   and   follow.

 it’s   like   there   is   nothing   but   the   two   of   them   in   the   whole   world,   surrounded   as   they   are   by   the   canopy   of   raindrops.   their   clothes   drenched,   hair   tangled   and   heavy   with   water,   but   steps   light   as   they   spin   in   the   clearing,   ozone   in   the   air   making   her   think   of   his   spells.   and   oh,   it’s   like   she’s   seeing   him   anew.   like   the   rain   washes   away   everything   she’s   thought   she   knew   about   him,   about   them,   leaving   her   with   nothing   but   his   charming   smile   and   the   way   he   makes   her   feel   like   she’s   seen   and   heard   and   important.

   Honestly she hadn’t been convinced he would do it – it had been an IMPULSE decision after she realised he hadn’t actually been listening to a word she said (not that it had been important, mind), his head deep in the book that had been in his lap. Had being the operative word. With deft fingers Jester had snatched the book from his grasp before jumping back, just out of reach. 

   The price for its return had been simple: a finger tapped against her own cheek, the book hidden behind her back. It was entirely childish, she was fully aware of that. And yet… The past few weeks had been so serious, so foreboding, that for just a few moments she needed to forget how much rested on their shoulders. 

   A small giggle had left her lips when he stood, fully prepared to commit to a game of keep-away. What she wasn’t prepared for, however, was the way her heart seemed to skip a beat in anticipation, or the warmth that radiated from the exact spot his lips pressed against her cheek. Jester’s eyes fluttered closed, determined to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible. It was the kind of warmth that came from standing by a fireplace, wrapped in a knitted blanket while the last specks of snow melted from your hair.