#The Magpie's Stash

[herdarkestnightelegance]

Bedhead

Pairing: Astarion/ g/n unnamed Tav

Tags: the fluffiest of fluff

Length: 1k words

Summary: Tav wakes up in Astarion‘s tent for the first time.

A/N: I'm really starting to enjoy this whole Fanfiction writing thing! Thank you all for all the love on my last fanfic Magpie Stash 🥹 👉👈

Once again I have to thank @nyx-knox for the thoughtful beta-reading, helping me to smooth out the bumps in the story ✨

Shout out to @onlyancunin. You know why ❤️

::::::::::::::::::

A single strip of sunlight falls directly onto your face, waking you gently. You don’t stir but slowly, you open your eyes. For a moment you’re disoriented. This isn’t your tent, is it? Slowly you look around. No, it’s not. And then you remember. It’s Astarion’s. And now that your senses catch up you feel him next to you, his arm laid sleepily across your stomach. You blink almost in disbelief at the feeling of him still beside you.

This is new. Yes, the two of you have spent many hours together, sneaking away for moments of passion both here and in your tent, out in nature, in a couple of caves and a temple even. But usually you went your separate ways afterwards. Occasionally, you had fallen asleep next to each other but you usually woke to find him gone or already awake and half-dressed, like that first morning after the Tiefling Party. Never had you woken up to feel him still slumbering beside you before. In his tent no less.

But then you remember. Arms pulling you closer as you were about to disentangle from him, a kiss on the delicate skin below your ear and a single whispered word. “Stay?” 

So you stayed.

You turn your head to look at Astarion. But to say what you see is not what you expected would be an understatement. 

Unable to stop it, the corners of your lips curl up in an adoring grin. Often have you seen Astarion meditate on this journey. Usually lying on his back, his head resting on a pillow, hair immaculate, the ruffles on his shirt laid out perfectly, face relaxed and his fingers doing that dainty fingertips-touching-thing you’ve come to adore.

But this was not that.

Beneath a mess of tangled sheets, Astarion is lying on his stomach, one leg stretched away from him and the other at a weird but apparently comfortable angle. One arm draped over you, the other one tucked under his head, barely resting on the edge of his pillow, which has somehow wrapped itself halfway around his head. He looks completely disheveled and … utterly adorable.

It’s the light chuckle you can’t suppress that seems to wake your lover. He opens his eyes groggily, their crimson color practically glowing in the strip of morning light that had also awoken you.

In the few moments before he fully wakes from his rather unusual meditation, you see it clearly on his face: a flicker of a pleasant surprise to find you still beside him. Followed by confusion. Then a moment of vulnerability. And finally you see his trademark cocky smile slipping onto his face.

 “You’re up early, darling.“ he says in a casual yet sleepy tone. “I thought I’d all but worn you out last night.”

“Good morning to you too.“ you answer back, the smirk lingering on your face. Slowly, he pulls his arm off you and turns onto his back. His slender body stretches deliciously, and you roll onto your side to face him, unable to take your eyes off all of his beautifully exposed pale skin. When he eventually sits up, you can’t help but let out a giggle.

“What?”, he asks, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry - it’s just …” You reach out your hand towards that mop of stunning white curls that look like an exploded feather-pillow, but you pause, waiting the slightest of moments before actually touching him. You realize you’ve never really… touched his hair. Sure, you had weaved your fingers into it, tugged at it in moments of passion, but … fixing these beautiful curls seems almost too … familiar? You can’t help but worry it’ll bother him. “May I?” you ask cautiously.  

Astarion leans his head towards your hand ever-so-slightly, signalling you permission to touch his hair. “I’ve just never seen you like this, that’s all.” His curls are incredibly soft, even in their disheveled state. Has anyone ever seen him like this, you wonder.

“Like what?” he asks in a relaxed tone but you detect the slightest hint of insecurity. Inspecting his beautiful face for a moment longer, you notice the red skin and creases the pillow has left around his cheekbone and the drop of dried blood in the left corner of his mouth from when he drank from you.

“… Tousled,” you finally answer, still unsure if the word captures how endearing he looks to you in this state.

He huffs a laugh. “Well, my dear, you too are looking rather unkempt.” he says as he plucks a tiny, honest-to-god pillow-feather from the tangled mess on your own head. The two of you look at each other - all messy hair, dried blood, squished faces and sticky skin. 

You wonder what the pale Elf is thinking, what he is searching for while he is studying your eyes so intently. Because all you feel in this moment is fondness. Fondness for him, for waking up together … for whatever it is that exists between the two of you. And you think he maybe feels  it, too. Because, to your delight, a smile spreads on his indented face, his fangs momentarily glinting in the morning light before the both of you let out a laugh. He is so beautiful to you in that moment. And your heart swells in a way it has not done before, to the point of aching within the confines of your chest.

It’s Astarion who leans in first to kiss you then, running his fingers over the bird’s nest that is your hair. “I do think you look quite delicious like this, you know?” he whispers against your lips before pushing you down, pinning you back onto the bedroll as his weight comfortably settles onto you. You feel him smile into your kiss and you know it’s sincere. “So let’s see if we can mess up this hair of yours a bit more, shall we?”

[reasonsforhope]

Humans are so cute. They think they can outsmart birds. They place nasty metal spikes on rooftops and ledges to prevent birds from nesting there.

It’s a classic human trick known in urban design as “evil architecture”: designing a place in a way that’s meant to deter others. Think of the city benches you see segmented by bars to stop homeless people sleeping there.

But birds are genius rebels. Not only are they undeterred by evil architecture, they actually use it to their advantage, according to a new Dutch study published in the journal Deinsea.

Crows and magpies, it turns out, are learning to rip strips of anti-bird spikes off of buildings and use them to build their nests. It’s an incredible addition to the growing body of evidence about the intelligence of birds, so wrongly maligned as stupid that “bird-brained” is still commonly used as an insult...

Magpies also use anti-bird spikes for their nests. In 2021, a hospital patient in Antwerp, Belgium, looked out the window and noticed a huge magpie’s nest in a tree in the courtyard. Biologist Auke-Florian Hiemstra of Leiden-based Naturalis Biodiversity Center, one of the study’s authors, went to collect the nest and found that it was made out of 50 meters of anti-bird strips, containing no fewer than 1,500 metal spikes.

Hiemstra describes the magpie nest as “an impregnable fortress.”

Pictured: A huge magpie nest made out of 1,500 metal spikes.

Magpies are known to build roofs over their nests to prevent other birds from stealing their eggs and young. Usually, they scrounge around in nature for thorny plants or spiky branches to form the roof. But city birds don’t need to search for the perfect branch — they can just use the anti-bird spikes that humans have so kindly put at their disposal.

“The magpies appear to be using the pins exactly the same way we do: to keep other birds away from their nest,” Hiemstra said.

Another urban magpie nest, this one from Scotland, really shows off the roof-building tactic:

Pictured: A nest from Scotland shows how urban magpies are using anti-bird spikes to construct a roof meant to protect their young and eggs from predators.

Birds had already been spotted using upward-pointing anti-bird spikes as foundations for nests. In 2016, the so-called Parkdale Pigeon became Twitter-famous for refusing to give up when humans removed her first nest and installed spikes on her chosen nesting site, the top of an LCD monitor on a subway platform in Melbourne. The avian architect rebelled and built an even better home there, using the spikes as a foundation to hold her nest more securely in place.

...Hiemstra’s study is the first to show that birds, adapting to city life, are learning to seek out and use our anti-bird spikes as their nesting material. Pretty badass, right?

The genius of birds — and other animals we underestimate

It’s a well-established fact that many bird species are highly intelligent. Members of the corvid family, which includes crows and magpies, are especially renowned for their smarts. Crows can solve complex puzzles, while magpies can pass the “mirror test” — the classic test that scientists use to determine if a species is self-aware.

Studies show that some birds have evolved cognitive skills similar to our own: They have amazing memories, remembering for months the thousands of different hiding places where they’ve stashed seeds, and they use their own experiences to predict the behavior of other birds, suggesting they’ve got some theory of mind.

And, as author Jennifer Ackerman details in The Genius of Birds, birds are brilliant at using tools. Black palm cockatoos use twigs as drumsticks, tapping out a beat on a tree trunk to get a female’s attention. Jays use sticks as spears to attack other birds...

Birds have also been known to use human tools to their advantage. When carrion crows want to crack a walnut, for example, they position the nut on a busy road, wait for a passing car to crush the shell, then swoop down to collect the nut and eat it. This behavior has been recorded several times in Japanese crows.

But what’s unique about Hiemstra’s study is that it shows birds using human tools, specifically designed to thwart birds’ plans, in order to thwart our plans instead. We humans try to keep birds away with spikes, and the birds — ingenious rebels that they are — retort: Thanks, humans!

-via Vox, July 26, 2023

[weavingstarlight]

A gift for @breannasfluff of Wild from her Wing Bois AU! And it's a whole ding-dang painting because I am INCAPABLE of restraining myself.

If you're unfamiliar with the AU, it's basically "what if the Linked Universe boys were bird/hylian hybrids". Wild here is based on the Taiwan blue magpie (Urocissa caerulea), also known as the long-tailed mountain lady or (Taiwanese) Tn̂g-boé soaⁿ-niû

This is what they look like! (sorry I don't have the photographer's name)

And since I am an unashamed bird nerd, here are some bonus facts about the Taiwan blue magpie!

These birds are not very afraid of people and often live near human settlements. They have even been known to attack humans to defend their nests.

Magpies are omnivores and like to stash food for later.

They are relatively social birds that flock in a distinctive line formation. However, they nest monogamously.

Blue magpies are considered sacred by some cultures. In one story, the blue magpie helped carry fire back to the people after a great flood.

This painting was sooo much fun to go all-out on, even though the lighting kicked my ass! Seriously, there are so many layers of color on this page. I decided to blend Wild's designs from Linked Universe and WB, and to give him tailfeathers JUST because Taiwan blue magpies have such gorgeous tails.

8.25in x 11in. Watercolor pencils, watercolor markers, alcohol markers, colored pencils, and various pens.

[slytherin-ghost]

Could you write batfam x male reader who is talia and Bruce’s child but grew up with the league and are dating Connor but just like they are drawn dark stuff (knife, sword,daggers, collection) but also just is like a magpie and will just collect shiny things and they met Connor by walking around with kryptonaite they stole from bat cave and they just cause chaos like saying a really dark fact then hand you a random rock or button

Hi! I didn't know if you meant Justice league or League of Assassins so I did Justice league.

Warnings: Daggers, swords, kryptonite(?), fluff, pinning, cuddling, mentions of revival, mentions of death and murder

Main Ship: Connor Kent x Male!reader

No YN used in this fic

THEN

You walked around with a small piece of kryptonite that you stole from your dad's stash he kept in the Batcave. Why did you take it? Because it was shiny. You were looking for any of your brothers, who was willing to help You cause chaos.

Along your little walk you saw Connor walking the same direction as you. You smirked and hid the piece of kryptonite behind your back. "Hey Connor. Where you heading to?" You 'innocently' asked "Training." He mummers, quickly grabbing your hand as you tried to slip the kryptonite in his pocket. "Stop." He said walking away. For the rest of the walk you followed him and kept doing the same thing until Bruce, or Batman stopped you.

"I told you to stop taking these." He said taking the shiny item away from you, slipping it in his own pocket as Clark gave him a wary look. "Your lucky I let you and Damian have swords or daggers". You fake pouted before walking away to find your younger brother.

"Their going to kill each other one day." Bruce sighed "You let them have daggers?" Clark asked "Damian has swords. He has daggers. I makes him feel safe." Bruce explained "Well now I don't feel safe." Clark said "I'm not giving you a dagger." Bruce said.

FEW WEEKS LATER....

Again, you were trying to get on Connors nerves.

You guys were in the hallway alone. "Connor! I'm bored!" You whined. "Not my problem." He said pushing you away. "Well, if you don't want me to get kryptonite and bother you...." You started. Before you knew it, Connor had pinned against the wall. You smirked and gave him a kiss. He blushed for a minute before kissing you back.

"Brat." He said "Love you too!" You said.

NOW

You and Connor were inside your room at the manor. He sat on your bed as you admired your dagger collection and your shiny promise bracelet from your boyfriend. With a dagger, some shiny coins, and maybe a small piece of kryptonite you went back over and sat with Connor.

"Take it out of your pocket." He mumbled holding you close. You sighed and took the kryptonite out of your pocket.

"Did you know Jason was revived by using Lazarus pit?"

"How do you know this?"

"My mother was there."

"You concern me."

You two ended up falling asleep with you holding you dagger and shiny coins close to you.

~~~

Dick opened you door "Hey! Bruce wants to see......" He cut himself off as he saw you two laying together. Dick smiled and closed the door. "What's wrong?" Tim asked as Dick came back downstairs "Our baby brother has a boyfriend!" He announced. Bruce and Damian who weren't paying attention looked up. "How do you know?" Jason asked "Their cuddling in his room.

"Who is it?" Jason asked "Connor!" Dick replied. Damian looked at his father "Do I have permission to kill my dear brother's boyfriend for that action?" He asked. Bruce nodded "Don't kill just hurt him."

~~

Thank you for the request! My ask box is opened if you have a request!

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Puppy Love 4: Magpie Stash

Emily: (back in heaven and organizing all of her "souvenirs" giddily)

KNOCK!!! KNOCK!!!

Sera: Emily, are you in there? (Opens door) How was your meeting in Hell- (face drops at all the Vaggie paraphernalia littering the walls and floor)

Emily: ..........

Sera: ...........

Emily: I made a friend?

[seabirdtxt]

Hey, back at it with a request. I wanted to dump you with requests, but I also know that it takes you a bit to write, and I didn't want to overwhelm you ^^"""

Honestly though, with the requests I have in mind, I have a feeling they're going to become a spinoff series called "In which the Puppets learn the Creator is really, really bizarre."

With that said, this request will consist of some habits I have, and how our puppet boys would react to them! That being: reader is a night owl magpie who likes to collect a number of things. Whatever sparks their fancy, they hoard (It's why the Traveller has such a hoarding problem in the first place).

They collect some semi-formal things, like flowers and different plants, and like shiny rocks (Reader is familiar with the Language of Flowers, and I can fully see them and Kabukimono spending hours going over them. With Scara, Reader finds a piece of Rose Quartz in the shape of a heart and gives it to him, saying "You said you wanted a heart, right? Here you go! I know it isn't a real heart, but that's okay: because you already have a real one!")

But then they have the weird stuff they collect, like bones -and teeth -and scales - and bugs (Scara or Wanderer: "Why do you have this?" Reader, holding up the carcass of a beetle: "I just think they're neat!")

Or the worse part: literal trash. I'm talking broken pieces of glass and random metal parts, and like old candy wrappers that they've been keeping. (Again: Scara or Wanderer: "Get rid of this." Reader: "But it has sentimental value-!!!" S or W: "IT IS LITERALLY TRASH!!!")

But yes. Reader is a hoarder of many things.

i love this LOL i also hoard some pretty random things so like 🤝

(Might not have touched on all the same points as your ask bc i tried to keep it in-universe, but i tried to hit the major themes of each!)

WC. 1.5k

----- ⚘ -----

Flowers and Gems: Kabukimono

This collection is one of your gentler ones, and you take care to replenish it often with new blooms and interesting stones you pick up along your way. There is so much more novelty to collect here than back on earth, after all!

Kabukimono is fascinated by the variety of it, begging to be taken along with you the next time you venture out into the world to add more to your stash, and maybe take inspiration to start a collection of his own! It takes a bit of convincing, but you eventually relent and allow him to accompany you.

He follows you with wide eyes and an awed grin, asking you all about the various plants that the pair of you come across. You try to remember them as best as you can, reciting what you remember from the ingame tooltips.

“Wow! What’s this one?” Kabukimono asks, bounding up to a reddish pink bush. He delicately plucks one of the flowers, showing it to you proudly.

“That’s a silk flower!” You tell him, smiling as you take the flower from his hand. He only smiles and picks himself another one. “The people in Liyue can process them and make them into a very fine fabric!”

Kabukimono nods in understanding. “That makes sense! I know lots of kimono makers back home often talk about the quality of fabric from Liyue.”

“Fun fact,” you add, “back in my world, silk is such a sturdy material that it can resist piercing damage, to a certain extent! But it is very weak to slashing, or cutting damage.”

“That’s so interesting!” Kabukimono’s eyes go wider at the information. “I wonder if that's true of the silk from this world, too!”

“We probably shouldn’t, y’know… test it or anything,” you interrupt him before he lets his curiosity get the better of him. “We can probably ask a seamstress about it later.”

“Ohhh, good thinking.” Kabukimono agrees. He pockets his flower and looks around the area, scouting for the next object to collect. “Hey, do you have an electro crystal, yet? I heard you can only mine them using pyro!”

You let Kabukimono lead you to your next destination, already planning to press the new flower for your collection. Distantly, you wonder how the two of you are going to get an electro crystal, considering neither of you have pyro visions.

----- ⚘ -----

Beetles and Bones: Wanderer

“I went back to Springvale to ask if those hunters still had some of those ancient boar bones,” is what you say, offering a sheepish grin to Wanderer, who stares down at you with his arms crossed. In all honesty, you probably deserve the scrutiny for having somehow escaped his supervision for several hours.

“Did you at least get the, uh,,” Wanderer gestures at the cloth bag you’re holding in your arms. “Special bones you were looking for?”

“Yeah!” You exclaim, shaking the bag excitedly. It makes a rattling noise as you move. “Do you want to see them?”

You don’t wait to hear the answer, instead leading the way to your room, where part of your collection resides. You hear Wanderer step in and close the door behind you, waiting in curious silence as you carefully put your bag on your bed, pulling open the drawstring with reverence.

One by one, you bring out the intact bones the hunters were able to unearth from you. You brush off some of the remaining dust, then you begin laying them out on your bed in their approximate positions.

“That’s your special ancient boar?” Wanderer asks, sidling up to you and looking at the bones with you.

“Yes!” You finally place the jawless skull at the top of the unfinished skeleton, putting your hands on your hips with satisfaction. “I found it during a quest when I was still guiding the Traveler. I knew I had to have it in my collection when I got here!”

“Fair enough,” Wanderer nods. “Can I see the rest of your stuff?”

You are more than eager to show off the cool stuff you’ve been hoarding since your arrival in Teyvat, from smaller animal bones, to surprisingly intact shed lizard skins and molted duskbird feathers, and even some hollow onikabuto shells.

Wanderer picks up each one with care, mindful of your enthusiasm for your strange collection. He turns each object over slowly, inspecting them as you’re explaining the particularities of your collection.

“Hey, do you mind if I borrow some of these?” Wanderer eventually asks, as you’re nearing the end of your impromptu lecture. “I’ve got this Amurta elective that I haven’t started my project for, and some of these are interesting enough. I could probably write something about them.”

Your sudden silence is worrying, and he’s quick to backpedal in case he’d offended you in some way.

“Or, forget it, I mean-” he turns and pretends to scratch his nose to hide the dumb expression he knows he must be making. “I know this is all probably hard to get, so if you don’t want to risk it getting broken or stolen…”

“I would love to share it with you!!” Your sudden shout scares him out of his foul mood, and he looks at you in bemusement. Your eyes are wide and shiny, matching the stupid grin that settles on your face. Just as he’s about to reply, you leap up and scramble for one of the unopened drawers.

You proudly present a wooden box, and when you open it Wanderer can see the interior is padded and separated with thin wooden strips, creating protected compartments just big enough to fit some of the larger items in your collection.

“You’ve got to take extra good care of this stuff, okay?” You instruct him, and you help him pack the items he’d chosen into your carrying case. “I mean, I can probably find some of this stuff again, but the more delicate things are harder to come by. Promise you’ll be careful?”

He looks up at you, closing the lid of the box slowly and fastening it shut. “Yeah, I promise,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

----- ⚘ -----

Literal Garbage: Scaramouche

“You’re throwing this shit out, right?”

The noise you make, of absolute disgust and denial, is enough to make Scaramouche second guess his own words for a moment. He recovers faster than you’d give him credit for, picking up the broken clay jar and the dull shard of a broken sword. He holds up both in front of you, an accusing glare pinning you.

“Does this look like normal stuff to collect, to you?” he demands, tossing both back into the bin where he’d found them, retrieving a foil candy wrapper and a graphite pencil with no nib. Again, he discards both items with a noise of exasperation. “None of this stuff has any use! It’s all just garbage! Where do you even find this?!”

“Like,” you say, shuffling closer to your collection bin and putting the cover back on it slowly. “On the ground and stuff? I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

Scaramouche pinches the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh, but doesn’t make any move to reopen the bin. “You’re seriously testing my patience, here. Why are you collecting all this garbage? Can’t you collect something less… bizarre? Like seashells, or something.”

“I have some of those, too!”

“Not the point, here!”

You look down where your hands are pressing down on the lid of the bin, then back up at Scaramouche with a bit of a pout.

“Are you really making me throw it all out?” You ask, pitifully. He takes one look at you and grumbles with displeasure.

“That’s not what I said,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he looks down his nose at you. “You want to waste your time picking up other people’s trash and pretending it has meaning to you? Fine, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you realize you’re stuck with a container full of useless junk that nobody wanted anymore.”

“Sometimes, even the things that people feel have no practical use can be worth a lot to someone else,” you tell him. “Things don’t have to be worth anything to be wanted.”

Scaramouche chews on your words for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure, whatever you say, I guess.”

He doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so you tentatively open the bin and reach inside, fishing around until your fingertips grasp what you’re looking for.

“Are you sure you don’t recognize this one?” You ask, holding up the candy wrapper so he can see it. He scrunches up his nose at the offending item.

“Am I supposed to?”

“It’s from that festival in Inazuma,” you smile, bringing the wrapper to yourself gently. “The one you guys took me to when you found out I hadn’t been to one before.”

Scaramouche looks at it closer, out of the corner of his eye. He lets his shoulders slump and shakes his head with a huff.

“Whatever,” he says. “The rest of it is garbage, though.”

You put the wrapper away with a cheeky grin.

[audhd-nightwing]

AU TIME LADS

i don’t have an official name for it yet but so far i’ve been calling it “tim’s immortal zombie brothers au” so. yeah i’ll post the actual storyline on Ao3 but here’s some stuff that i made for it:

robin (dick, 19)

shrike (jason, 17)

magpie (tim, 14)

(ipod case and taser are gifts from steph)

robin’s weapons stash / magpie’s weapons stash

photo IDs below

[ photo 1 - clothes: face mask, hoodie & cargo pants, combat boots, utility belt

armor: knee & elbow pads, armored vest, padded gloves ]

[ photo 2 - utilities: zip ties, flashlight, rebreather

extra: protein bar, lollipop (for kids), mini first aid kit, earplugs, lighter, walkie talkie, swiss army knife, blades, taser, gum, water bottle ]

[ photo 3 - clothes: hoodie, cargo pants, combat boots, utility belt, gun holster

armor: face mask, bulletproof vest, knee pads, padded gloves ]

[ photo 4 - utilities: zip ties, flashlight

extra: mini first aid kit, gas mask, gum, cigarettes, lighter, cash, pain meds

weapons: pistol, katana, taser, crowbar ]

[ photo 5 - clothes: hoodie, cargo pants, combat boots, face mask

armor: knee & elbow pads, army vest, padded gloves ]

[ photo 6 - utilities: lock pick kit, flashlight, taser

extra: bandages, swiss army knife, camera, tablet (for hacking), earbuds, ipod, lighter ]

[ photo 7 - weapons: push daggers, karambit knives, shuriken, escrima sticks, kunai throwing knives ]

[ photo 8 - weapons: collapsible bo-staff, shuriken, tantō knife, bagh nakh ]

[tinakibed]

tina: youre like a crow, or a magpie. they collect like little shiny things and they stash them away. and theyre smart and they can solve puzzles

[seananmcguire]

Is there anywhere we can buy your music online since CD Baby went wahoonie-shaped?

She's currently closed as she deals with half a dozen major Pride events, but normally, Sevenish Magpies has my in-print CDs available:

[herdarkestnightelegance]

Magpie Stash

Pairing: Astarion/Tav

Tags: fluff, trauma

Length: 1k words

Summary: While looting, Astarion comes across items he wants to own

A/N: Another headcanon which I may have shared with some of the talented fan fiction writers out there before. So, if that’s the case, don’t come for me! But holy Hells this got much longer than I planed! I guess this is s drabble now? Or a whole ass fanfic? You tell me 😂

Thank you wonderful @nyx-knox for the beta reading! It was *chef‘s kiss* ✨

::::::::

Astarion has not owned anything in 200 years.

The only things he could call his were his wits and the clothes on his back - and both he cared for and mended meticulously.

But suddenly he’s part of a ragtag group of strangers, and he finds himself looting a temple not far from where they crashed with a damn Nautiloid after being abducted and infected by mindflayer parasites. And frankly, he’s not entirely sure what part he finds most surprising.

Finding food, weapons and healing potions is a priority. For the others. Not so much him. Honestly. Why should he bother looking for food he won’t even eat? He doesn’t know these weirdos.

But he humors them and even aids his positively helpless companions by picking locks. And as he opens the lid of a gilded chest, something catches his eye.

Beneath old parchment and a rotten carrot he finds …. pretty things? There’s a particularly sparkly ring. A skilfully bound book with gilded letters on the cover. A fine silk scarf hemmed with the most delicate fell-stitches …

He has no idea if those items are of any value. They certainly are useless for the group. But … they are beautiful. And he wants, no he needs to own them. So without giving it too much thought, he takes them.

He has no intention of selling *HIS* items to the vendor they meet at the Tiefling Camp. Hells, he doesn’t even have the intention of showing them to his companions.

He wants these pretty things for himself, he wants to keep them safe. The spawn siblings used to steal from one another all the time, so he’s used to being protective over his meagre possessions. Can’t shake 200 years of hypervigilance that easily.

::::::::

Over the next days and weeks of travel, Astarion fills up a little purple leather pouch with whatever catches his eye. Going through the diverse collection of beautiful bits and bobs for a few moments before meditating becomes a secret source of calm for Astarion. A soothing ritual, especially after the more straining days.

Which is what he’s doing now. He sits on his bedroll cross-legged, inspecting the things. His things. His little private treasure trove. That he owns.

A bejeweled comb, random gold coins, a tiny picture frame containing an even tinier painting …

The only piece of his treasure that gave him more of a bittersweet feeling had been a silver hand-mirror he had found in the goblin infested village. To be honest, he was not too mad when he accidentally smashed it in frustration the other night after talking to Tav.

Tav. Their unofficial leader. They never seem to have a problem sharing the things they find. They share their food with the group, their scrolls, and they even gave Astarion that freakish but intriguing tome they had found in that cellar. Far too generous, if you ask him.

As Astarion packs up his collection he hears coughing outside. Again. It’s been going on all night.

He peeks out. Tav is on second watch. The night is cold, and they just added another log to the fire. Still, the cool wind is picking up and Tav pulls their cloak close around their neck - which unfortunately does not prevent the coughing.

For a moment, Astarion considers just ignoring them, letting them hack up a lung. But to his dismay, he … cares? He finds he doesn’t want Tav to be cold or sick. But it’s just because he just doesn’t want their coughing to get annoying. That’s all. Obviously.

So he leaves his tent and saunters up to their leader, who greets him with a sleepy but friendly smile.

Astarion holds out his hand to Tav, holding a long piece of white fabric. He’s offering them his beautiful silk scarf with the immaculate fell-stitched hem that he had inspected a lot over the past weeks.

„You’re coughing too much, darling. It’s keeping me up and I do need my beauty sleep.” he says with mock indignation and his trademark smirk.

„Thank you.“ Tav says as they take the scarf from his hand and wraps it around that oh so delicious neck of theirs.

After an awkward moment of silence Astarion offers a final „Well. Good night, my dear.“ with a courteous bow and walks back to his tent.

He can’t help but wonder at the strange feeling in his chest. Tav can and will never know just what big of a deal this small gesture was for the pale Elf.

For the first time in 200 years Astarion gave away something that was his simply because he wanted to. He wanted them to have it. Because they needed it more than him. And not only that. He does not even expect anything in return. How in the Hells did that happen?

He’s sure it’s nothing.

:::::::

A few years from then, Astarion finds himself in the cellar beneath Tav’s and his home. He’s looking for something, and he’s sure it has to be here somewhere.

“Aha!” From the trunk before him he pulls a skilfully bound book - even though the gilded letters on the cover have worn off with time.

He opens the book - and huffs in relief. And nervousness. It’s still right where he left it between the pages all those years ago.

Hidden inside the old book lies a particularly sparkly ring.

He smiles. A lot has changed since that day they looted that temple and he found his first little treasures. Back then Astarion couldn’t fathom sharing his magpie stash - or anything, for that matter - with anyone. And now? Now he shares a home with the person he loves. And he plans on sharing so much more with them.

What better way of showing that than by proposing with the first thing he ever called his? Because now there’s only one thing, or rather person, he wants for himself. The one person he wants to share everything with.

He looks at the particularly sparkly ring.

Yes. This should do nicely.

So, and on a completely unrelated note: When does a headcanon become a full on fanfic lol?

[breannasfluff]

Meet Wild, the Taiwan Blue Magpie!

Facts about Wild:

Defends the flock and pairs up with others when fighting to keep them safe

Likes to fly behind someone else

Eats almost everything, continually hiding food places even if he doesn’t come back to it

More than one person’s opened their bag to find his snacks stashed in side. Does he remember where they all are? ….unclear

Trades things with Legend. He likes shiny things, but he's more interested in stashing food

Still the cook, but he’ll cook ANYTHING and it's sort of a toss up on if the group gets something they'll like

Reference bird under the cut!

<< Previous | Next >>

[monstersandmaw]

If you are doing the one-word prompt game, then, scarecrow for my prompt

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Wow. This one really got away from me, but then again, I probably owe you a longer story after all these years anyway! Thank you for the prompt! (heavily inspired by this haunted village ambience video on YouTube that I listen to a lot while writing).

Contents: a rather lonely male scarecrow x artistic gn reader, haunted village, a cheeky magpie, a cute rabbit, lots of soft fluff, sfw Wordcount: 2987

(prompts closed)

___

The last rays of sunlight glanced off mounded clumps of moss that choked the old, drystone wall on your left, and gave them all a little glint of gold. Part of you almost believed that if you were to risk a closer look into the cracks between the stones, you would find fairy coins and gems stashed there for safe keeping. Mud splashed up your boots from the rutted, potholed road which wound away down the hill, and off to your left, the looming beech wood whispered and rustled constantly, sending spiralling copper leaves out into the open fields to the right of the road.

Between the trees, twilight now began to pool and stretch, spreading like an ink stain over the carpet of fallen beech leaves and driving off the sun as night took its turn to watch over the woods and all the creatures who dwelt there.

A tawny owl took up a call from somewhere nearby. The broken half-refrain that sought a mate to complete the melody rang softly between the still trees, and you sighed, hoping he’d find a mate.

You’d heard about this place, the abandoned village in the valley, and had been travelling on foot for days to reach it with your sketch book in your bag and enough food to last you a week if you were careful. To your surprise, you glimpsed bright, fat, round pumpkins growing in the fields on your right, their coiling tendrils spreading merrily across the roughly tilled earth despite the place having lain barren and empty for generations. No one who lived within ten miles of this place ever dared come down this road, and yet there were fresh crops still growing in abandoned farmland.

“Full of ghosts and demons that place is,” the old baker’s wife had hissed at you that morning when you’d bought a loaf for the journey at the nearest town. “Don’t you go wandering around there…”

As you’d left that small, riverside town, with its creaking water mill and ringing blacksmith’s, a tall young man in a dark green cloak had come up to you and pressed a charm into your hands. He’d had a sharp, serious face and deep, black eyes, and people had whispered in the pub the night before that he was the witch’s son. You’d looked down at your hands and found a smooth disc made of antler with a familiar stave rune carved into it.

“To keep you safe,” he’d said, and turned away. You watched him walk a couple of paces before he stopped, sighed, and turned back to you. “I’ve been there,” he said. “To the village. Don’t take anything from there unless it’s given to you first.”

Unnerved by his odd advice, you’d just nodded, thanked him, and donned the protective amulet. It had warmed against your skin as it hung on its leather cord around your neck, and you ran your fingers over it a few times as you walked, thinking about this words again.

Now, as you peered over the planks of a rotting, dilapidated fence overlooking the village, you caught sight of a twisted old apple orchard swathed in evening mist in the wide, verdant valley off to your right, and what seemed to be a dark figure standing in the centre of it. Your heart fairly stopped beating until you realised that they weren’t moving at all, and it was only the faint breeze tugging at the corner of an old coat that was catching your eye. It was a scarecrow.

You camped that night in the only house that still seemed to have a solid, thatched roof, lighting a fire in the cold grate and sleeping in your bedroll on the flagstone floor rather than occupying the empty bed that had been left behind. It felt rude and presumptuous somehow.

After a spot of breakfast the next morning, you banked the fire and left your belongings neatly by the hearth, and looked around the small, single-roomed stone cottage before leaving. “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” you said aloud to no one in particular.

It seemed a bit silly, but it also important somehow, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a magpie flapped its wings in the rafters above and laughed at you. “No harm in saying thank you,” you muttered to it, and stumbled out of the door, embarrassed.

Your morning was spent wandering the village, getting to know the layout of the old, tumbledown buildings, but your afternoon took you to the ancient apple orchard where you found the scarecrow again, standing sentry in the centre of the trees with his arms spread wide, almost in welcome.

You came to a halt in front of him and looked up into his weathered face, surprised at how friendly his features were. Sure, his face was made of sack cloth and bits of pale straw stuck out at the cuffs and hem of his linen shirt, but the roots that had been chosen for his hands all had four fingers and a gnarled thumb, and the branches that made up his legs beneath the brown broadcloth trousers stuffed with straw were in proportion with the rest of his body. He had big, leather boots on which, like the rest of his clothes and the wide-brimmed, leather hat he wore, were in far better condition than they had any right to be after he’d been presumably hanging on his post for a hundred years or more.

“I almost want to offer you an apple,” you chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry, I haven’t come to thieve from your orchard. I’ve just come to draw the trees. I hope that’s alright. You mind if I sit with you a while?”

Obviously, you got no answer from the silent scarecrow, and although his face was warped with age, it seemed to have a kindly, almost curious set to its vague features, and the stitched mouth seemed to smile a little at the corners.

You sat with your back resting against his post and lost yourself in the careful skate of charcoal and graphite over paper, drawing the speckled feathers of a thrush as it hopped about looking for snails, the curve of the old, white gate that hung off its hinges at a jaunty angle, the lines of the roofs of the village with their ribcage rafters showing, the twisting trunks of the trees like gnarled hands reaching up from the earth to share their fruits with the world. Your magpie joined you for a while and hopped about, chattering away to himself, and you laughed as he began to play with a fallen leaf for a while before flapping off and leaving a single feather behind. You drew that too, lying in the dewy grass, but left it where it lay. The warning of the witch’s son reminded you not to take what had not been offered.

It was only when a cool breeze caressed the back of your neck like a lover’s breath that you jolted and realised how long you’d been sitting there.

The had light faded unnoticed from the brilliant pinks and oranges of sunset to the calm, quiet lilacs and blues of dusk that you blinked, and you could barely see three feet in front of you now. It was only because your paper was white that you could see the marks after all. Fog rolled in from the edges of the low-walled orchard, but despite the way the white fingers crawled across the grass, it didn’t seem threatening in the least.

Groaning and rolling your neck to ease the built-up tension and stiffness, you set your sketchbook down and clambered to your feet, joints creaking after so long in one pose, and you stretched out your back as well. You looked up at the scarecrow and frowned. You could have sworn he had been looking towards the gate when you’d arrived, but his head was bowed down now and looking in your direction.

“You’ve been watching me sketch, have you?” you said, not sounding quite as confident as you’d hoped. Perhaps he’d just moved in a breath of wind earlier. “Well, don’t judge me too harshly, hm? It’s the having fun that counts, not the end result. I’m sorry I intruded on your peace for so long though.”

Again the softest, gentlest breeze wafted around your face and the pages of your sketchbook fluttered open until they stopped on one you’d done of the scarecrow himself.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You like it?” you asked, not really believing that you were actually communicating. “I’m not sure I captured your smile quite right. I can come back again tomorrow and try again though. You’ll tell me if I’m not welcome, right?”

In a flash of black and white wings that came down out of nowhere and made you yip in surprise, the magpie landed on the scarecrow’s shoulder and gave another harsh, laughing chatter at you. He almost seemed to be mocking your startled reaction. Then he fluttered down onto the grass, hopped around a bit, and stooped to pick something up. When he flapped back up to the scarecrow’s shoulder and hopped about, he had the iridescent feather in his beak. He cocked his head a few times and then stuck his neck forwards towards you.

“For me?” you asked, reaching slowly for the feather.

The bird nodded, and as you took it, he spoke. “For you.”

Your eyes went wide and you almost dropped the feather. The black and white bird danced around, apparently enjoying your surprise. Then he made another few cawing noises, flapped his wings, and then disappeared off through a gap in the apple trees. “Well, thank you,” you croaked into the silence he left behind. You knew that corvids could imitate human speech, but that had all been very… precise.

Patting the scarecrow’s chest near his shoulder in an informal farewell, you turned to pick up your sketchbook from the dewy grass and looked back one last time at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

When you stepped over the ruined gate to the orchard the next morning, you made deliberate note of where the scarecrow was looking, and it had definitely changed overnight. Now he was looking across at his right hand that was stretched out wide on the cruciform support from which he hung. In it, you saw a flash of white and a few flashes of colour, and frowned. He hadn’t been holding anything the previous day.

As you approached, you could see better what it was that he was holding, and you exhaled slowly. It was a beautiful bunch of silvery dried grasses, with bright dandelions, red poppies, and dusky blue harebells, all wrapped around with the fluffy heads of old man’s beard that loved to ramble freely over the hedgerows and walls.

“Is… Is that for me too?” you asked. “How did you get them?” An idea lodged itself in your mind and you couldn’t shake it. He was definitely able to look in different directions, so that must mean… “Can you move?”

Only the wind answered you for a long, stretching moment. Then, with the kind of aching slowness that made your heart stop, his head began to turn. Slowly, carefully, he nodded once.

You swallowed and took half a step back, heartbeat thudding. “Is it… Is it alright that I’m here?”

Again, to your immense relief, he nodded again. He moved like the rusty hinge of an old barn door.

“Can you speak?”

He paused, and for a second you thought perhaps he hadn’t understood, but then he nodded a third time.

You licked your lips nervously and looked at the flowers. “So… are they for me?”

Yet another nod was your only answer.

“Did you gather them yourself? I mean, can you… get down from there?” The idea of him roaming around the fields while you’d been fast asleep was partly terrifying and partly rather sweet, and it prompted another question before you’d even waited for the first to be answered. “Are we the only two people here?”

A warm, amused chuckle, like the crunching of autumn leaves, sounded from the scarecrow. He shook his head slightly.

“‘No’ we’re not alone or ‘no’ you can’t get down? Or ‘no’ you didn’t get them yourself?”

The gnarled fingers of his left hand twitched and then the rope that seemed to hold him lashed to the support loosened a fraction and he held up a finger in a gesture that asked you to wait, to slow down.

“I’m sorry,” you said, stepping back again. “I get a bit ahead of myself sometimes.”

Another friendly laugh sounded and you watched the stitched gash that formed his mouth stretch upwards at the corners. His hollow eye sockets lifted a little too and his whole face expressed a gentle mirth. “I can speak…” he said in a rasping, reedy voice. “Though I have had no one but that wretched magpie to talk to for years.”

He spoke fondly enough of the creature, despite his words, and you smiled.

“I can move and get down, though it takes… effort.”

“Oh. Do you mind if I stay and draw some more?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“You’re welcome to come down and join me. I could even draw you again… see if I can get your face right this time.”

He laughed, and the ropes uncoiled on their own, gently lowering him down to the grass. He was about your height, though he stood crookedly, leaning against the support behind him. He kept the brim of his hat tilted down as if to shield his face from you, and he shifted self-consciously as you looked at him. He held out the flowers and you watched the way his hands moved like living flesh, though they were undoubtedly made of the roots of a tree.

You took the flowers carefully from him and felt oddly choked. “I can’t remember the last time someone brought me flowers.”

“There’s not much out at this time of year, but…” he shrugged. “I found what I could. You were kind to sit and chat with me yesterday, even though you didn’t know I could hear you, and the magpie said you were polite in Old Rose’s cottage…”

“Thank you.”

Setting the flowers down beside your satchel, you drew out your sketchbook and sat cross-legged on the ground nearby. He sat as well, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting his hands lie softly in his lap. For a while he just watched you and then seemed to doze as the sun rose and lent a little weak warmth to the autumn day.

After a while, you began to ask him about the history of the village and why it had eventually been abandoned, and he talked in his rasping, faltering way for hours. A rabbit snuffled through the grass as the day wore on, and you froze, not wanting to startle it. It came right up to him, ears forward, nose twitching.

“Hello,” he murmured with a fond chuckle, and the creature leapt straight up into his lap. He cradled it and you carefully turned a new page in your sketchbook to try and capture it.

Luckily, the rabbit was in no hurry to leave, and he stroked his fingers through its fur long enough that you got three decent sketches out of it before it hopped off in search of the dewy dandelions growing between the trees. When he looked up at you and found you watching, he dipped his head again in a clearly bashful gesture.

“Want to see?” you said, waggling the sketchbook.

He nodded, and you went over to sit beside him. His finger shook as he trailed it carefully around the edge of the sketch, mindful not to smudge it, and then he looked up at you. This close, you could see the weave of the sack cloth that made up his face and the crinkles where the material pulled around his mouth and empty eye sockets. “You… I… Is this really how you see me?” he asked in a whisper barely louder than the breeze through the grasses.

With a frown, you turned your gaze back to the sketchbook to look at the drawings more critically. Was he offended? You thought you’d managed to capture the gentle way he’d cradled the rabbit’s soft body, the way his gnarl-knuckled hands had gracefully stroked its fur, the fond tilt of his head as he’d regarded the vulnerable creature in his care, but you’d also taken your time to match the way he listed slightly to one side, his broken-branch spine and crooked limbs not keeping him perfectly upright. It lent him a soft, shy quality, and you nodded. “I think you’re beautiful,” you said and then flushed hot with embarrassment.

He turned his head away and then looked back again, regarding you from the dark, shadowy hollows of his eyes. “No one has ever found me beautiful,” he said. “Not even the farmer who made me. I’m supposed to be frightening, you know? All the village children used to be afraid of me.”

“I’m sure you could be if you needed to be,” you said. “If I were here to steal apples, I mean. The rabbits aren’t a threat, and the magpie is only playful.”

“You could take anything you liked,” he breathed. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“But could you if you wanted to?”

He paused. “Yes.”

You brought your hand to his cheek and found the sack cloth warm beneath your palm despite the autumn chill in the air. “Let me stay and sketch a while longer?”

“As long as you like,” he whispered back. “You’re welcome here as long as you like.”

___

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[balladofthewhitehorse]

What type of gifts does England prefer getting people? does he leave it last minute or do it weeks in advance? Does he even get people gifts at all? Does he even have anyone to give gifts to?

Although he may not look like it, England can be very sentimental. The odd workplace gift or secret Santa article that he’s forced to participate in for the good of the team that he often finds himself in service to are often vouchers or very shallow, basic gifts of some sort of biscuit tin or chocolate box. When the effort is made and the gift is willing, entirely of his own volition, it tends to take on a different and more meaningful form; England knows very well what his siblings like and what their hobbies are, remembering it even after centuries of constant fighting with them. He knows Wales likes birdsong and herbal tea, that Scotland prefers books and fishing and beetle collections. He knows Northern Ireland prefers video games to old artefacts (though England has noted, a thread of connection that runs through his eyes, to rest his hand on a centuries old tome - and to be reminded he is not just a fracture, a broken bit of glass left behind). Ireland too, is another name in England’s long memory of likes and dislikes - and he makes the effort sometimes, when he can be bothered with the effort of contacting her, of exchanging pleasantries with a thin veneer. 

She likes woollen goods and kitchen appliances. 

England isn’t a selfless or generous person by any means, but he’s efficient. Most gifts are brought ahead of time, hidden somewhere in his house. It’s whether or not he can remember where he left it is the key thing. He notices things, picks things up like a magpie - although one would remark he is more like a squirrel with the way that he stashes things for later and then forgets where he left it. As such, he buys gifts ahead of time - and gives them just in the nick of time, when he remembers that someone’s birthday or some other such occasion is coming up. He likes to do things well - however, and when he cares deeply, England is known to hunt down something of value to that person. Some have started rumours that when Portugal briefly mentioned this old map from long ago, England nearly turned entire libraries, archives, museums and universities upside down in keen search for it; England was not available for comment on this.  In terms of who he generally gives gifts too, England usually gives gifts to his family first and foremost. Portugal as well. I think the most unexpected is the rare or out-of-blue gift that he will send to France; Complicated feelings exist between them these days and England remembers way back when, eons and eons ago when he considered France family - and vice versa.

[slavetotheshine]

The Shiny Collection

Back in the days of Tumblr yore, there used to be a great collector. The various blogs featured rubber nuns, latex nurses, shiny maids, glossy bimbos and loads more. After they disappeared, I reached out to the collector via a common friend and as they had no intent on starting fresh I decided to pick up the mantle.

I have started light with a few (heh..) blogs that seemed to be natural categories to me. Here goes!

(The collection is in the "Keep Reading" section)

Slave To The Shine

I'm addicted to the gloss of latex. It has enthralled me for more than half my life, and I can't help myself. This is my core collection, all the great shots that don't immediately fall into one of my other categories.

BossyShine

Shiny ladies who are used to being in charge! For those that want to serve or simply seek a second in command, proper attire is shown!

CelebrityShine

Some people want to be shiny and famous. If the shiny bit is properly done, I'll swoop in like a magpie and gather it!

CorsetShine

Just a little nip at the waist… Here you'll find everything from small waist cinchers to heavy posture collars.

CostumeShine

Shiny Cosplay and Uniforms, be it movies, anime, video games, fairytales or simple tropes such as stewardess, cheerleader or military pinups.

CurvyShine

A collection of images featuring more generous curves than the standard fashion fare.

DomesticShine

Maids, matrons, domestic goddesses, house slaves, household objects and furniture, all in one great big bundle of homemaking fun!

EbonyShine

When hurtling through the rubberclad parts of Tumblrscape, an overwhelming majority of the models are white. I find that unfair, everyone looks good in the stuff! I decided to gather the wonderful shots of women of color I stumble upon, so more people can be part of the fun!

FeminineShine

Girly girls, anything pink, those that go for the bimbo aesthetic or those that simply look remarkably feminine in the moment. An homage to the mightly but lost glossybimbos, though with a bit more range.

HeavyDutyShine

Shiny stuff with a bit more heft, coverage, layers or severity. This is stuff for the serious players!

Medicalshine

Shiny nurses, rubber doctors and other fetish takes on the medical profession. Enjoy this collection of those that wish you well, as well as those who might want to drag it out just a little bit more!

MilfyShine

No need to go full frump just because TikTok wasn't a thing when you were in your teens!

PetPlayShine

While ponygirls are a clear favourite of mine, you'll also find puppies, kittens and the odd mermaid. If it's shiny pet-play and I like it, this is where I'll stash it.

PublicShine

Stop hiding the good stuff behind closed doors, get out and about like these ladies!

RestrainedShine

From heavy rubber bondage to latex-clad lovelies who are just a little bit tied up at the moment…

SmokyShine

Rubber and smoke, not nicotine gum! This combines two of my kinks into one superkink, but finding good new content is a bit of a struggle. Please let me know when you spot something!

StylishShine

This is where the lines between fetish and fashion get blurred, but when it's mostly on the fashion side of things I try to use this collection as the destination.

UnholyShine

A rubber nun's habit, a shiny hijab, occult outfits, any shiny stuff with spiritual connotations really.

VehicleShine

Girls and cars, it's such a classic combination. I've expanded the selection to anything that moves, but the clothing has to be as glossy as the paint!

SteelyShine

The only collection not focused on latex, these images are all Metal AF! Here you'll find anything steel or iron, from heavy bondage implements to collars that are more a fashion statement than fetish.

[rorywritesjunk]

(buggy just wants to give sunny a gift that's it, that's all. he doesn't know how to do this courting stuff)

pt i + pt ii + pt iii + pt iv + pt v + pt vi + pt vii + pt viii + pt ix

It was about five months until Buggy saw Sunny again. His captain needed something else fixed with his clothes and was insistent that Miss Pins and her staff were the only ones capable of doing a satisfactory job. Buggy really didn't care if the captain's clothes fit properly, he was more concerned about seeing Sunny.

He had stashed away a little box of gifts for her that he had obtained during raids they had completed, keeping a share for himself but squirreling away things for her that he thought she might like. And to be honest, he wasn't sure what she would like. He... really didn't know her when it came down to it, only spending a day with her when they first met only to spend a week visiting with her when he saw her again.

Was this dating? What was this they were even doing? Did she just pity him or care about him? Honestly, Buggy thought she must have a boyfriend or something already, she had to because she was so wonderful, but why was she so excited to see him again?

When he followed his captain to the shop, hoping the anxiety that had his stomach in knots and heart pounding would cease once he got there. The two entered the shop, his captain greeting Miss Pins while Buggy glanced around for Sunny. She was sitting at the table, cutting out squares of fabric for patches. Buggy swallowed heavily when he saw her. What should he say?

Sunny looked up from her work, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. She didn't hesitate in pushing her chair back from the table and rushing over to Buggy, throwing her arms around him for a hug.

"Buggy! I didn't know when I'd see you again!" She squealed in excitement as she tightened her arms around him. "I missed you!"

He turned red and glanced over at his captain. The old man was giving him a thumbs up while Miss Pins narrowed her eyes at the teenager. His captain seemed to approve but the old woman... not so much.

"I..." He trailed off as she pulled back. Without a word he shoved the little chest out to her, hoping she would take it. As mouthy as he could get Buggy was at a loss of words as he stood in front of her.

Sunny took it from him and smiled, looking at the box. "What's this?"

"It's for you, open it, okay? There's stuff in there for you!" It all came out at once, words jumbled and rushed, sounding a little more harsh than he needed to but he couldn't help it. He hated how nervous he felt and how he could feel the two adults staring at them. He would have rather done this in private but he wasn't sure how to even ask.

"Oh! Thank you!" Sunny smiled as she opened it. There were earrings, several bejeweled bracelets, necklaces with different sized stones, and a little bottle of what she thought was perfume. "Is this all for me?"

"Y-Yes! All of it, and there's more to come!" Buggy insisted as his face turned bright red.

"You're like a magpie." She giggled as she went to set it down on the table. "Giving me shiny things. Thank you." She smiled at him and Buggy was a little pleased her cheeks were pink. He wasn't he only one blushing through this entire ordeal. "I'm just glad you're safe, Buggy. I'm happy to see you again."

"Really?" He hated that his voice cracked. He hated there was an audience. He hated he couldn't stop blushing. But Sunny was smiling at him which for a moment made him forget about everything else. "You are?"

"Of course!" She reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm always happy to see you, Buggy. You're important to me."

He turned redder at that, started to sweat even, and he glanced over at his captain who was mouthing Give her a kiss! while Miss Pins had picked up her shotgun, already loading it. Buggy wondered if he could handle his own against the old woman but it was debatable.

[dailywalkhauls]

Hello

My name is Arcee and among many other special interests (listed below "Keep Reading"), I am something of a magpie myself, interested in all that shines for it is gold to me.

On this new blog I will share some of the finds from my daily physical/mental health walks, as well as older finds from my "archive".

You can submit your finds too via asks or post submissions!

Looking for co-runners for this blog! If you are interested, DM me.

Admin and moderator sideblogs

Arcee:

-> @thecrazyworldbuilder : : Worldbuilding and writing

-> @thecrazyneographist : : Neographic scripts

-> @cryptolangsguy : : Cryptolang content and community updates

-> @444names and @444namesplus : : Name stashes generated in a procedural way via Markov chains

-> @overstimcore : : Archive of my overstimcore collage creations

-> @conlangcrab : : Constructed languages and linguistics in general

-> @verical : : Calligraphic creations written in a neographic script I invented