#candle wax refill

[spartacandles]

Refill Your Sparta Candles: Sustainable Solutions for Lasting Ambiance

Explore sustainable candle warmth in Canada with Sparta Candles. Our eco-friendly candle warmers and refill solutions offer long-lasting ambiance and a reduced carbon footprint. Refill your favorite scents effortlessly and enjoy a cozy, aromatic environment. Join the movement towards sustainability with Sparta Candles.

[thecandledust]

Light Up Your World With The Candledust Refill Candle Powder

Experience the transformative power of The Candledust Refill Candle Powder and immerse yourself in a world of mesmerizing illumination. Our refreshing refillable powder is designed to reignite the flame, bringing new life to your favorite candles. With The Candledust, you can effortlessly replenish your candle powder and extend the longevity of your cherished candles. Simply sprinkle the fine, enchanting powder into the designated candle receptacle, and watch as it transforms into a vibrant and captivating source of light.

[breelandwalker]

Witchcraft Exercise - Spring Cleaning

There’s a marked tradition of cleaning and airing out the house in the springtime when the weather warms. As you’re dusting and tidying and getting rid of winter stagnation, take some time to do the same with your craft.

Clean and organize your workspace. If you have an altar space or a shelf where you keep bottles and jars and the like, remove everything from the surface and give it a good dusting. Take the opportunity to rearrange things or swap out pieces if it suits you. If you have ritual tools that don’t often get cleaned, check them for signs or rust or wear and give them a bit of love. Repair things that need fixing, if you can. If you have an iron cauldron that you use for fire magic, get a wire brush or some steel wool and gently remove any burnt residue left inside.

Sort through your supplies. If you have lots of candles and crystals and small items laying about, consider getting some small totes or craft organizers to keep things tidy. Divided storage boxes for beads or scrapbooking supplies are great for small items, and shoebox-sized caddies are perfect for taper, chime, and votive candles. Organizing things will make your space easier to navigate and also gives you a proper idea of what you have on hand. Which might help you resist impulse purchases the next time you’re out shopping for witchcraft supplies. While you’re tidying, be sure to discard any rubbish, candle stubs, wax blobs, herb scraps, bits of string, incense bases, and so forth that might be cluttering up the place. 

Discard things that are too old or worn to be useful. Dried plants and seasonings can usually be kept for 1-3 years if they remain in sealed containers. If they have no scent anymore or smell musty or mildewy, discard them and sanitize the container. If you’re using supermarket spices, you can use the expiration date on the container as a guide. Powdered material will likely last longer than whole herbs or cut-and-sifted material. One helpful tip is to put a purchase date on packets or bags of herbs when you buy them, or to put a little date sticker on your jars of herbs when you refill them. (Anyone who’s worked in food service will probably be familiar with the concept of container dating or day-dotting.)

If you make oils or tinctures or suchlike in your practice, check on these as well. Make sure nothing has gone off or lost its’ potency. Day-dotting your potion containers will help with this as well. A simple sticker with the name of the brew and the date it was bottled will help you keep track of your supplies and know when something needs to be tossed and replaced. (You can also print labels with the ingredients and purpose of the brew if you’re feeling super organized.)

Reorganize your books and resources. Review what's there and see if there are any materials that need to be weeded out, donated, or discarded. Remember that as you grow and progress, some things will become obsolete or may show themselves to be unhelpful or inaccurate. It's okay to remove things from your resource library that no longer serve you if you want to make some space on the shelves.

You can also cleanse your workspace and/or components while you’re tidying if you wish. It doesn’t have to be a full clean-slate-everything-must-go cleansing, but it can be helpful to just clear out stagnation or bring in some freshness and vitality.

Happy Witching! 🧼

Want more witchcraft exercises? Check out the masterpost here and visit my shop for spell kits, books, magical powders, and more!

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my monthly show Hex Positive on your favorite podcast app, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[hwan-g]

PUT ME IN A MOVIE 🤍 bang chan.

pair. videographer! chan x fem! reader (+ hyunjin) | genre. homemade spicy video, birthday sex, pwp basically, romance, angst | warnings. profanity, daddy kink, unprotected sex, pet names, dirty talk, dom! chan, spit kink, jealousy | word count. 4.1k

synopsis. chan will show you—he can be anything you want him to be. do anything you want. in exchange for your compliance.

Bang Chan did not like celebrating his birthday. Turning older was no cause for celebration to him, nor would it ever be. Twenty-six, to be exact. Fuck him—where did the time go? Why does he still feel like an awkward teenager, stumbling his way through the years passing? Fucking ridiculous.

Nevertheless, he looked handsome as ever in the black attire you made him wear for this unwanted party, suit vest hugging his naked upper body in all the right places, hair slicked back and away from his sculpted face, save for a couple strands falling haphazardly over his honey eyes.

You wanted all the attention on him for his special night, thinking of the way he commands a room, how he seems to be front and center in all he does, everywhere he is. A natural leader, born for the spotlight.

Most of all, you couldn’t wait for him to fuck you in it after the two of you got home, arms flexing deliciously as he gripped your ass, flashed cock ramming into you from behind. You could never not think about sex with Chan—it was the only way to be as close as you’d ever get to him, a oneness like no other, a mixing of your souls.

Upon arriving at the club Changbin worked at as security, you were immediately greeted with all his friends and coworkers singing ‘Happy birthday’ to him, confetti exploding in glittery strips from every side, Jisung first in line holding a ridiculously decorated cake with exactly three candles on it, yelling at your boyfriend to hurry up and make a wish.

Chan squeezed your waist and brought you closer, grimacing at the grandness of it all. You hit his bare arm playfully, whispering for him to ‘play along.’ So, he did. He tried his best. He even clapped after blowing the melting wax, selling the whole damn thing to the max. Jisung was happy, bringing him in for a hug, music going back to something trendy, with a heavy beat.

“You fucking owe me for this,” he whispered to you later on, and you cupped his hardening cock over his pants in response.

You mostly stayed by his side for the duration of the night, the entire VIP section reserved just for the occasion. With Changbin and Minho currently on the clock, that left the wildest members of the gang with you, currently downing what is definitely past their tenth shot. Felix and Hyunjin were entirely too drunk, Jisung following close behind. Every time Chan was forced to come with them to places that served alcohol, nine times out of ten he ended up becoming their babysitter, making sure everyone drank enough water, and had a ride home.

In that way you understood his silent demeanor, musing over his glass of whiskey on the rocks, bitterly amused glances over to his friends and their shitfaced shenanigans. You watched too, mouth full of cake, but secretly hoped someone would eventually suggest dancing, just so that you’d get your chance to showcase your sparkly dress to your boyfriend, make him want to take it off of you later. Your money was on Hyunjin—he was always down to dance, to show off.

What no one expected was you having one two many cocktails. To your defense, you couldn’t even taste the pure rum in them, the juices and syrups concealing their deadly intentions. So, it was then, a stumbling you holding your empty glass up, announcing you were going for a refill, that the tall boy bit the bait and exclaimed he was coming as well. The ash blonde of his freshly chopped mullet turned into every color of the projecting lights. You wanted to touch it, taste the colors.

Of course, that was before Bang Chan sat your drunk ass down on his lap, and gave you a warning look, one that promised things too filthy, too taboo for the public to witness. He’d do them, though, for you, because of you, his eyes betrayed, if you went too far. If you disobeyed him, broke your promise.

“Behave,” he spoke gravely in your ear, voice deep and authoritative. “Stay close to Hyunjin, don’t let any other motherfucker touch you.”

You giggled at his breath tickling you, patting his head absentmindedly. “Don’t worry, daddy, I don’t like playing with no one but you.”

He chuckled, raising a brow at your cute state. With his hands on your hips, he dragged his lips on your cheek, resting them just a breath away from your mouth. You weren’t even aware you were dry humping his thigh, making his cock stir painfully in the pants you put him in.

“Oh, baby girl, you are so fucking drunk.”

You put a hand over your mouth, almost hitting his nose, and widened your eyes. Oops. Chan hesitated to let you go, but with a slap on your ass, he finally freed you from his tight grip, helping you stand.

“Okay, angel doll,” you called out to your partner in crime. “Let’s go! Hold onto me, I hold onto you.”

Hyunjin came close, closing his hand over yours, smiling lazily down at you. His fingers were sweaty, but the warmth was comforting albeit a tad bit dizzying. Together you maneuvered your way to the bar, squeezing through people, slurring excuse me’s and thank you’s, all the while giggling to yourselves.

“You haven’t been out with us in a while, sweetheart,” he comments while waiting for your order. “Remember Maneater? Your little strip show?”

You slap his shoulder, almost falling over in doing so. He steadies you by the elbows, making sure you’re okay before pulling away. It must be your inebriated state and that one threesome a few months back that made you sad to not have his touch on you. It was not a question of infidelity, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind about your feelings and your commitment to Chan. Hyunjin has just always been there, always blurred the lines, always up for anything.

“I missed you, too,” you confess, grabbing ahold of your drink, straw between your teeth before he could even have a chance to get his.

“Should we dance?” He suggests, wrapping a long arm around your waist. “Let’s dance, darling. I’ve missed your body on mine.”

In the most Bonnie & Clyde way, relying on your entrusted friendship, and without betraying your significant others—you felt the same. He’d been your clubbing buddy way before you got together with Chan, and certainly years before anything happened between him and Felix. For old time’s sake, if anything.

Rolling your hips with the beat, you rested your wrist on his shoulder, and swayed to the music. His knee slipped between your thighs as the two of you laughed over the DJ’s silly ad-libs, sweat dripping down your forehead, tasting it in the sweetness of your cocktails. Hyunjin’s slitted eyes followed your movements, tongue running over his full lips as he quickly snuck a glance over to your section, searching for the birthday boy.

He found himself staring back. His friend looked to be in a trance, focusing on the way your body swung and bent to the rhythm, a different man leading what’s his. That had always been Chan’s weakness—watching you with someone else, how you reacted, how you molded. It got him hard, yet enraged him like nothing else. A contradicting emotion, jealousy and desire. He’s taped you getting fucked by Hyunjin, has gone over it a thousand times, palm around his rock hard length, pumping himself off to the sound of your moans, elicited by someone other than him—he’s filmed it himself.

Hyunjin was the only person he’s let near you like that, the only man he trusts with his girl. Because you like him, because your little crush has always been obvious to him, but undiscovered to you. He considers this his birthday gift, watching as the taller guy leans into your neck, whispering things he’ll never know into your ear, earning a nod and another arm draped over his long shoulders.

What the fuck you’re doing to him—he’s gonna let it all out later, in front of the camera. He’s going to show you exactly what he thinks of you allowing another man to touch you, to feel you up.

“They’re getting a little too heated, bro, don’t you think?” Jisung comes to sit next to his older friend, clinking his glass against Chan’s.

Chan never takes his eyes off you, muscles clenching, unclenching, then clenching again. He kicks back the rest of his whiskey, pouring himself another one, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before gathering his thoughts enough to respond.

“Do you think it’d be happening if I didn’t let it happen, Han?”

The brown haired boy’s mouth falls open, the words registering in his brain. Oh. Oh. He’d never thought… well, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s seen you with Hyunjin countless times, always entirely too close for two people that are just friends and have partners. Felix didn’t care, that much was clear, but for Chan—it was deliberate. It was pre planned.

“A freak, aren’t we, Channie?”

A deadly glare sent his way. “Shut the fuck up, Otaku motherfucker.”

Jisung raised his hands, laughing at the offense. “Touché.”

Getting up from his seat, Chan stretched his arms out in a circular motion, tilting his head from side to side, rubbing on his neck. What a long fucking night, and it was nowhere near done. If anything the fun won’t start until he grabs you and gets the fuck out of there, leaving everyone to their own luck. He was tired of taking care of them, tired of always having to be on top of things. All he wanted was to slip inside you, and lose himself completely. For the rest of his life preferably.

He neared your dancing figure, taking in the way your hips filled that dress, a midnight blue color that glittered under the club lighting, and made you look absolutely ethereal. Hyunjin was sipping from his drink when he noticed him, but instead of stepping back or moving away, he engulfed you in a protective hug, almost as if he didn’t want you taken away from him. Chan figured that could be the case; the two of you have always had a complicated relationship with unresolved feelings and repressed confessions. Too damn bad he sucked at sharing—if he wasn’t a possessive person, he’d definitely let you have your way. He’d give you anything you asked for.

His friend had a mischievous expression on, his smile up to no good. Chan played along, only for your sake.

“Fuck you, Chan, I was so close,” the pale haired boy pouted. “She was about to kiss me.”

You gasped, and started shaking your head dramatically, wiggling out of his arms and into your boyfriends. Chan wrapped himself around you, pressing his lips on the top of your head, swaying you softly to the music.

“I was not, daddy, I swear,” you said, and looked at him with big, innocent eyes.

Bang Chan just really enjoyed the way you felt against him, trapped with nowhere to go. He wanted you like this, always. Most of all, though—he needed to get you naked and moaning for him, he needed his fingers stretching that tight cunt of yours, he needed you alone. And your pet name for him; what started as a joke before the two of you had even slept together, his slip up of mentioning he had a kink, among other kinks, this one, and it made him instantly hard whenever it was so much as mentioned.

The way your tongue spoke that one word, the way it made him want to ruin you, his pretty fucking girl, and her naughty fucking mind.

“I’m sure you would’ve loved that, Hyun,” he says, an asshole smirk on his lips. “I apologize for stealing her from you.”

Somewhere between half truths and lying straight to his fucking face, Hyunjin crossed him with a dark stare, bangs no longer hiding the secrets underneath. His friend looked sharper, more menacing, eyes of a serpent, and that had an unmistakable death glare. Chan couldn’t find it in himself to get mad, nor did he particularly want to. He was confident in his position in your life, positive about your feelings for him. A part of him even understood and had sympathy for the gray haired boy—it must be fucking killing him to only have you in stolen moments like this, under supervision.

Seeing you turn around, Hyunjin’s face broke into a charming smile, those slits morphing into crescent moons. The softness in him was back, and Chan could see it was all for you. His smirk deepened.

“I’ll see you around, yeah sweetheart?” He spoke to you, coming to drop a kiss on your forehead, Chan releasing you ever so slightly for him to do so. An understanding passed between the two men, and they nodded at each other.

“I love you, angel doll!” You yelled after him, but he had already blended in with the crowd, disappearing from view. “Did I do something?” You frowned, your eyes still searching, before zooming in on your boyfriend.

Chan gave you a curt shake of his head, leaning back so he can take in your face. Glitter was smudging all over your cheeks, the coal around your orbs hypnotizing him, making his heart swell. “No, baby, it’s not you.”

You hummed, and gave him a peck on his bicep. “Should we go, then? I still haven’t given you your gift,” you smile, and it’s an invitation.

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be, my beautiful girl?”

You bring your hand next to your mouth and motion for him to come closer. He does. “A new camera.”

Your giddy giggle sends him over the edge. Clasping your hand in his, he doesn’t even go back to his friends, having had enough of them for one night. Instead, he makes it a straight shot to the exit, clapping Changbin’s back once, muttering a goodnight to him before bringing you in front of him, hands gently guiding you to his car.

Opening the door for you, Chan sticks you to him, leaning to kiss your exposed neck, licking the salty sweat off your skin, enjoying the scent you chose for the occasion. His favorite.

“I can’t fucking wait to have you bent over for me, angel.”

You squeezed your thighs together, that familiar ache coming back, numbing all your other senses.

Often times, Chan will pick up his camera and record you.

It’s a habit he’s had since he met you, something he does without much thought. You inspired him the most, changed his art, his style, his approach to videography. You became his muse. He’s followed you getting coffee, running errands, on date nights, or even taking off your makeup after a long day.

But his favorite fucking way to have you behind his beloved camera lenses—stripping for him. Taking off whatever is covering that magnificent fucking body of yours, with all those delicious curves, and breasts he loves teasing so much. But there have been other things, too, cruder things—coaxing you into masturbating for him, fingers hesitantly disappearing inside your dripping hole, your moans filling his ears, and the microphone on his device. Chan has filmed that slick pussy of his from every angle, has owned it over and over again, has every single sound it’s ever produced on tape, capturing, immortalizing his reason of existing forever.

This time is no different. Only thing—you’re drunk out of your mind. But if anything, that makes it all the more fun.

He unwraps his gift impatiently, taking it out of the box and turning it, inspecting it greedily. It’s a vintage camera, in black, something he’s wanted for a while now. He grabs you by the hair and gives you an open mouthed kiss, groaning into your lips in gratitude.

“I fucking love it, baby.”

You smile at his precious expression, all tenderness and adoration. “You’re welcome, daddy.”

Hair still tangled in his fingers, he brings your foreheads together for one intense second. You’ve never had to physically hear it, sometimes Chan could tell you telepathically, without saying a word:

I’m so fucking in love with you, my girl, no one will ever do it for me like you. You own my goddamn soul, my heart.

You blink back tears, as he presses his full lips on your temple. Then, he sits you down on his lap and starts working on his gift, turning it on, inserting both battery and memory card, trying it out in his big hand. You sit with your arms circled around his broad shoulders, watching him get excited over the resolution of the image, the colors and settings.

“How about you give me a little show, pretty thing?” He mutters in your cheek, voice an octave lower than usual. “Give me a twirl, yeah?” That thick Australian accent of his.

You comply, laughing the entire time you show off the dress you bought with the money he gave you, leaning over the kitchen counter, whirling around the living room, hands raised high in the air, the effect of the alcohol consumed very clear in the sloppiness of your movements. Chan loves it all, records everything. You’re a ballerina, a jazz dancer, a cabaret girl, his girl, his little dancer, and then finally his whore, as you fall over the back of the couch head first, legs hanging up in the air, dress riding up, showing the lace of your panties.

Chan leans back into the chair, one hand busy zooming into your juicy thighs, fingers sneaking their way over your wetness, and the other palming himself over his pants, his dick unbearably hard. He rubs through the fabric a couple times, watching you forgetting where you are, what you’re doing. When your middle finger presses on your clit, feet locking together, he loses it completely. Then you moan, a whiny, breathy sound that nearly makes him cum right then and there.

He jostles out of his seat, lurching forward.

“You’re going to make yourself feel good, baby?” He stands over you, mesmerized at the way you’re getting off, half asleep. He pushes your panties aside, curses at how slick your pussy looks. “Use those fingers, let me see you, angel, open up those folds for me.”

Like a puppet, you follow his words, letting him overtake, guide you through an orgasm. Chan doesn’t help you at all, only watches through his camera. Oh, fuck sweetheart, right there, press right there, I know that feels good for you baby, c’mon give me a good one, look at this fucking cunt, Christ I wanna fuck it numb, I want to fucking rip it apart, yeah, my little slut, goddamnit fucking look at you, you look so desperate, so hungry for cock. Do this for me, and I will reward you, baby girl. Come on.

Brushing over a specific bundle of nerves has you coming undone, your entire body shaking as you cream your fingers, and still —you don’t stop moving them, you go faster, moan louder. Chan has half a mind to fuck you right there, before taking you to his bedroom and pushing you on all fours over his mattress, drilling into you like that as well. He wants to ravage you, paint all of your walls white, fuck some kids into you, for fuck’s sake, what the fuck? You’re driving him insane, completely fucking mad, and so he caves, his desire stronger than his restraint.

“I wanna beat that pretty fucking cunt up, baby girl. Will you let me?”

You lift your head a bit to look at him. Your lips were bright red from being bitten, eyes fucked out, sleepy. You moaned, delirious, and rolled your hips. Chan’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. He pulled you up by your wrist, bringing those fingers in his mouth, tongue licking your juices clean, sucking on the middle finger that was deep inside where he wishes to be, all the while never dropping his gaze from yours.

“Unbuckle my belt, sweetheart,” he prompts you, and you do, unzipping his black pants, hand reaching inside his briefs.

Upon contact, Chan growls, and pulls you in by the nape of your neck for a kiss. He keeps you there, his hold tight, strained, as your palm pumps his length, the aching in the pit of his stomach growing into a full on pain. He halts your movement, and pushes you back down, getting on his knees to spit on your entrance, his hand smearing it all over, fingers dipping inside you just once, getting you ready for him.

“Please, Chan, I can’t take it anymore…”

Chan chuckles darkly, and can’t help himself—he licks one long strip from your hole to your clit, sucking it into his mouth, camera forgotten. The wet sounds you make, and your intoxicating smell all bring tears in his eyes, the dire need to get inside of you killing him, warning him.

“Tell me, angel. Beg for me,” he wipes at his eyes, getting up, camera on the ready as he teases both you and himself with his angry tip.

“I want you to fuck me. Please, please, please, please...” your word all blur into each other, as your legs bring him closer, wrapping around his thighs.

Chan smiles. His needy girl, his cockslut. “Please what, pretty girl?” He slides his entire length over your pussy, slicking himself with your cream, hissing at the contact. “Say it and I’ll give it to you, baby, you know I will.”

You whine, and it’s adorable, it’s the hottest thing he’s heard. His ego swells, as does his dick, and he pushes in just a bit, just to prove his point.

“Daddy, please stop torturing me!”

He buries himself inside with one long stroke, bottoming out, and almost dies right there, on top of you. He tilts the camera down, a clear shot of your pussy enveloping his thick cock, and hisses, hand grabbing your waist to pull you on his girth.

“Fucking Heaven—there’s no better place than your pussy, baby girl. My pussy,” he groans, slamming into you again, and again, and again. “Say it, goddamn you, say it’s my pussy.”

You’re overridden by pleasure, can barely talk. “Your pussy, daddy, only yours, fuck me, fuck me, please, fuck.”

He throws the device on the couch next to you, and grabs your sides with both hands, digging into you, this angle hitting you perfectly, your back arching in just the right way. And even then, Chan doesn’t think it’s enough, he lifts your ass and slams you on his cock until you’re coming all over him, until you’re begging him to stop, he’s killing you, he’s ripping you open.

He doesn’t fucking stop, how can he? Look at you. Instead he envelops you in his arms and picks you up from the couch, walking you to the nearest wall. With your back on the cool surface, he resumes his pounding, lips on your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, biting, sucking, hot breath panting in your face. You take it all, you fucking love him unhinged like this, lost in his mission for release.

“You’re going to come for me, daddy? You’re going to spill inside me?” You prod him, sweating, barely holding onto him.

His face scrunches in exhaustion, those arched brows coming together, transforming his face—your boyfriend, so handsome, so buff, all yours, fucking you against the living room wall of his apartment, his dick deep inside you, spurting his cum in thick, hot strips, straight in your womb, warming you up, making you all sticky and cock hungry.

No one has ever made you act as vulgar as Bang Chan. What he elicits out of you—it’s indescribable; you’d be anything for him, anything he wanted, anything he asked of you. And you have, you’ve never disappointed. His veiny hands squeeze your ass as his thrusts slow down, his breathing extremely labored, what once was slicked back hair now a mess on top of his head, all because of you.

You kiss the chest exposed underneath the suit vest, and wait for him to calm down, for his heart rate to come back to normal, for his mind to stop running, and you whisper to him—come back, come back to me Channie, it’s okay, fuck that was amazing, no one can fuck me like you do, and do you promise?

I swear, daddy. Cross my heart and hope to die. No one.

“I love you, baby girl. I love you like no other.”

tags. @ughbehavior (@straywrds), @cb97percent, @lix-ables, @j-0ne25, @hellishmoons, @hyun-bun, @skz317cb97, @koorminii, @americanokisses, @choinsaw, @danyxthirstae01.

[gojo-mochi]

What One Piece’s Characters would smell like and Parfums they use

A/N: Let’s all pretend that everyone showers regularly or something alright

Luffy:

Top Notes: Aquozone, Patchouli, and Bergamot.

Middle Notes: Sandalwood, Oak, and Green Mandarin,

Base Notes: Amber, Cedar, Pinetree, Leather, and Seaweed.

This man was born for the sea. So, as it should be, his scent somewhat matches that of the sea herself, but is mixed with the alluring wind of forests. Luffy is usually the first one to jump off the ship and run amok on a new island, barreling through dense thickets and tumbling across wet patches of dirt. The sea wind gently caresses his hair as the woods whispered their names onto his clothes. If you were one of the lucky people to be granted a hug by this rubber-man, you would first notice how his hair smells just like the sea air, salty and fresh, and somehow refreshing… just like his signature smile. As you lean in closer, the scent flows into something earthly. Sunkissed leather mixed with the tingles of pinecones and evergreen gives you a warm feeling inside that you can never forget.

Parfums I associate with Luffy: Kenzo Homme by Kenzo, No. 19 by Sukimuki, and Malbec Ultra Bleu by O Boticário.

 Zoro:

Top Notes: Olibanum, White Musk, Myrrh, and a bit of cleaner/acetone.

Middle notes: Ylang Ylang, Sandalwood, and Yuzu.

Base notes: Oud, Frankincense, and Jasmine.

No, he doesn’t smell like moss, alright. (No matter what a certain Curly-eyebrow(ed?) Cook would say). I would say his scent doesn’t hit with most folks at first glance (Just like his scary resting bitch-face). The first whiff you get when facing Zoro is the somewhat bitter and sour smell of his sword polish. When you have three swords to take care of, you must have to use a lot of polish to keep them all pristine. Chances are that the smell will rub off on you as well. Once you get used to the polish(?) (cleaner?) smell, you’ll find that it swirls into alternate hues of floral and woodsy. You’ll find yourself getting lost in this confusing stream of different scents with floral, fruity, and woodsy overlays, slowly pushing that bitter scent(s?) out. Only then will you finally get to see what hides underneath all that frowning and indifference.

A/N: I chose the floral and fruity notes since Zoro likes to drink sake a lot! And Sake is usually brewed with both flowers and fruits ૮꒰ ིྀ ⍝ ⍝ ꒱ა!!

Parfums I associate with Zoro: Haxan by Parfum Prissana, Anubis by Papillon Artisan, and Macaque – Yuzu Edition by Zoologist (A/N: A fav!!).

Nami:

Top Notes: Tangerine, Mikan (A/N: Japanese Orange/ The Fruit that Bell-mère grew!, Peach, and Sorbet.

Middle Notes: Candle Wax and Orange Blossom

Base Notes: Ink, Tea, and Honeysuckle.

As a former resident of Cocoyashi Village, the sweet, tangy fragrance of tangerine(s?) and mikan(s?) would follow her everywhere, even if she didn’t end up bringing some of the fruit trees on board. Smooth, charming, and fruity, these are the first thoughts that pop up in a stranger’s head when face to face with this orange-hair(ed?) cutie.  And they wouldn’t be wrong! Whereas those who are closer to this navigator will find her aura soothes into something comforting and homely. I imagine that Nami likes to work into the late nights or early mornings on her maps, surrounded by empty ink pots, hand stained by ink, candles almost melted to the base, and a cup of warm tea that Sanji keeps on refilling while gently trying to get her to rest. I also imagine that Nami keeps a half-empty bottle of Mikan based perfume that Bell-mère once made; it’s not the best or longest lasting perfume, but it smells like home, and that’s enough for her.

Parfums I associate with Nami: Paradisi by Jorum Studio, Sorbetto by Brocard, and Figues & Argumes by Lancôme

Usopp:

Top Notes: Gunpowder (A/N: Yes there are parfums that smell like gunpowder), Orchids, and White flowers.

Middle Notes: Leather, Nettle, and Galbanum.

Base Notes: Vetiver, Violet leaf, and Patchouli.

It hard to pinpoint what exactly “God” Usopp would smell like, though here I will try my best to explain my thoughts on it. As an almighty sniper and crafter, gunpowder and oil would be the main scents you’d get from him. The next whiff, however, will confuse most as they come across vibrant splashes of greenery among (us) a bundle of flowers. Having  his own garden on the Sunny where he grows his ‘Pop Green’ ammo and having trained on the Boin Archipelago, it would make sense that the plants he takes care of will rub off on him in some way. It has a much heavier scent, leaning more on forest vibes than the lighter and fruitier greens that Nami has. I imagine he talks to Nami and Robin while gardening and trade tips between the three of them.

Parfums I associate with Usopp: Forest Lungs by The Nue, Amour Nocturne by L’Artisan, and Nefertiti by Maher Olfactive.

Sanji:

Top Notes: Cigarettes, Spices, and Neroli.

Middle Notes: Black Tea, Pink Pepper, and Musk.

Base Notes: Labdanum, and Tonka Bean.

Sanji would tend to stay away from strong smelling parfums or colognes when working in the kitchen, as smell is a huge part of tasting food. On a daily basis, Sanji would smell like cigarette smoke, the numerous spices he had in the kitchen, and sort of lemony. When he’s off the job, he picks parfums that would at the very least leave a long-lasting impression on whoever he’s trying to swoon that day. Deep and heavy, but not uses overbearing. The subtle savor of freshly brewed black tea that Sanji made cling to his form was followed by a whiff of something earthy and slightly sweet. It makes you yearn for a closer sniff, to fully envelop yourself in this soothing scent.

Parfums I associate with Sanji: Club De Nuit BY Armaf, Royal Oud by Creed, and Eau De Citron Noir by Hermès.

Chopper:

Top Notes: Cotton Candy, Sugar, and Vanilla.

Middle Notes: White Musk, Lavender, and Eucalyptus.

Base Notes: Vetiver, Berries, and Cedarwoods.

Oh, sweet, sweet, Chopper, of course this adorable little guy would smell like the fluffy, sugary confection known as ‘Cotton Candy’. For the first whiff anyway, as this little Reindeer always has his nose on the lookout for sweets. On any island that the Straw Hats dock on to make a supply run, someone will get this little guy a snack or two. Whether it be Franky offering his little bro this cool new soda he came across or Zoro and Sanji both coming in with cotton candy in hand, arguing that Chopper should take theirs over the other (He takes both anyway). Chopper is always munching on something sweet that will ultimately smear all over the fur on his face.

Robin will routinely help him out by dabbing his face with a wet cloth. So, underneath the first honeyed layer, you’ll get a more herby and still slightly sweet smell emerging. His natural animalistic scent is mixed in with the smell of all the herbs in the medicine he makes. It is not as bitter or antiseptic smelling as you think; it is more akin to walking through a very clean forest path.

Parfums I associate with Chopper: Foxcroft Fairgrounds by Solstices Scents, Sun Men by Jil Sander, and Zucchero Filato by Kyse.

[nepzero]

I fixed new (regular sized) prayer jar candle for Lucifer as he was finished with the last one and i’m thinking about having two candles (of that size) in rotation for him and my other gods. what i mean by that, i refill the last candle with wax and make my own candle that way. at least that’s the idea for now, im not too confident in making my own candles with melting down wax etc. i just want this man to be proud of me. ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

Ave Lucifer! My Beautiful Venus!🌟🔱❤️

[spiribia]

My sky cotl ideas 🔥

- New recurring event: massive whale encrusted head to tail with darkness fungus rolls to an arduous stop at a station. Players scramble over it to burn away the darkness blooms, gaining a ton of wax. When squeaky clean, the whale will call out in gratitude, flooding you with additional currency and refilling your light, before departing. You get to be a cleaner wrasse.

- Seasonal event: during in-game night at a high point in Aviary Village, possibly for a winter month, you can fill floating lanterns with candles and cast them off to "make a wish". Other players around you in your instance can see your released lantern drifting up. A random other player who has manually opted into this program can later receive your lantern, get a free candle, and maybe read a wish message if you set one

- Historian spirit: asks you to log light imprints of ancient wall art pieces at key locations. When you return to them with your findings, they will pull up an image of each scene, prompting you with selectable options to describe what you think is being depicted. There are no wrong answers, and the images depict an original enclosed side story rather than tie into 'major' lore. At the end of the questline, the spirit will decorate the wall behind them with an original interpretive mural based on your responses (answers could maybe funnel down to 3 possible 'conclusions', which the murals will be based on), look it over, and nod with satisfaction. A reference to the lore philosophy of the game. The historian introduces a research projector, in which you can record and view crisp holograms of murals you have logged, organized into sections by the map you found them on.

[equine-altar]

Horsey Smells

A collection of ways to make your life smell more horselike.

Horse-related scents:

Apples

Leaves

Wildflowers

Honey

Woodsy scents/"foresty" scents

Grassy scents

Types of scented bodycare items:

Lotion

Perfume

Bodywash

Bubblebath

Hand sanitizer

Shampoo

Hand soap

Ways to scent a room:

Candles

Incense

Warming oil

Oil diffuser

Diffusing sticks

Wax warmer

Room spray

Plug-in wall diffusers

Important Note!! Bath&Bodywork plug-in Wallflower refills do contain toxic chemicals. Smoke created by products like Incense and candles can harm small animals, even if it's just a tiny bit. And most essential oils and products will harm a plethora of animals if exposed, so do your own research and don't expose any pets to something that may harm them. If in doubt, I recommend sticking to bodycare items.

Some product examples:

Sweet Apple scented candles by MainStays

Champagne Apple and Honey bodycare items by BABW

Wildflower & Honey roll-on perfume by BABW

Crisp Fall Night scented candles by Yankee Candle

Juicy Green Apple shampoo by Suave

Country Apple bodycare by BABW

Autumn Apple Picking bubble bath and shower gel by Find Your Happy Place

Sunflower Incense by Oakland Gardens

Simply Macintosh warming oil by Yellow House Scented Simmering Oil

[thebeautycove]

The new scented candles released by diptyque are to die for. Les Monde de Diptyque, is a luxury collection of 5 refillable wax in iconic diptyque oval shape monolithic coloured glass.

My fav: Temple des Mousses (green vase) featuring notes of green moss, bark and matcha.

[spartacandles]

Homemade Candles Collection Brings Warmth to You!

Discover SpartaCandles' exquisite Homemade Candles Collection, crafted with passion and care. Each candle is meticulously handmade, using premium ingredients to ensure a clean, long-lasting burn. Whether you seek relaxation or ambiance, our homemade candles offer a variety of scents and styles to elevate your space with warmth and charm.

[khloris-witchery]

ALTAR ANATOMY

Morning witches!!

Another one in my “I wish I had known this as a bb witch” series, this time focusing on

ALTAR ANATOMY!!

So! Right to it. First off, what is an altar? Why should I build one?

Simply put, an altar is a space set aside for your craft, deities, or spirits that is an invitation to good intent and a sacred workspace. Building one helps enhance your craft by making a intentional space. This is kind of a staple of witchcraft!!

So there are a few questions one should ask themselves before setting one up…

How much space do I have?

Who is this for?

How will it be used?

What’s important to me to have here?

Will I be able to maintain this?

Lets break these down.

Question #1- How much space *do* you have? Altars can come in ANY size or shape, however, dependent on what tools you want on your altar, you will have to be appropriate spatially. For example, a “pocket altar” in a small box would consist of a small altar cloth, some crystals, maybe a pendulum or another small divination tool, perhaps a small journal, but not much beyond that. Whereas if you have a whole table, you can spend out and be more creative! This can also be dependent on how out of the broom closet you are- say you are not out, and you have a large pentacle on a table. That might raise eyebrows, you may consider a simple pocket altar!!!

Question #2- Who’s it for? Personally I have four altars, one for *me,* one for my *spirit companions,* one for *Hestia,* and one for *Aphrodite.* Pretty self explanatory- you’ll want to consider who gets altar, as well as where and how they’re placed.

Question #3- How will it be used? I use my personal altar as a workspace and all other altars as a place strictly for offerings and ritual, but this too can be flexible! When I find a place for a proper Hecate altar, I’ll likely use it as a divination workspace!

Question #4- What’s important to *me* to have here? I’m going to list examples and suggestions below, but this is really YOUR space! If something is important to you and you think it fits, place it there! 

Question #5- Honestly one of the more important questions. If you’re not like my truly autistic ass (no negative connotation, I am autistic) and can’t maintain 4 separate altars, maybe focus on one. Additionally, start SMALL. If all you can maintain is a pocket altar that’s fine, and if you don’t think you can maintain anything at this time, perhaps wait til you can, spirits can get distressed when left alone.

ALRIGHT! Important questions outta the way. Lets get to the fun part- what goes ON an altar!Heres a few pics of a couple of my altars as examples:

IDEAS FOR ALTAR ITEMS

Herbs

Crystals

Deity statuary/ iconography 

Plants 

Bones

Items with (FRIENDLY) spirts attached

Bells/chimes

Candles & candle holders

Small cauldrons

Incense burners

Wax melters

Animal pelts

Pendulums

Cartomancy equipment

Offering bowls (REFIL REGULARLY)

Altar cloth (always a good idea, keeps space cleaner and more comfy)

Shells

Feathers

Athames

Pentacles

Chalices 

Brooms

Scrying equipment

Lights

Lanterns

Jewelry 

Pinned insects

Sacred symbols

Pictures of friendly spirits (ex ancestors, if you do ancestor work)

“Sacred everyday” objects (for example, I have a thimble, heron sewing scissors, a heron feather pen, and a crochet hook on Hestia’s altar)

Remember that these can be arranged any way you wish!! It’s the intent that counts!!

Hope this helps!!! Blessed be!!!

[catofaurora]

Photo dump from ts day! First the wait..

Then suddenly noticing others shopping. Had to restart

Glad i had candles stocked up~

Met @saqnupuas !

So cool! We played a bit with my other friend from russia

Did some much needed refill on the wax

Closed up with some good wiki peeps and a rando

[creations-by-chaosfay]

Yay! I remembered to buy thread! At some point, I'll purchase a full collection of Aurifil's cotton quilt piecing thread. Today, I bought a single 1500 yard spool of white thread. It'll be long after I go through my list of necessities on my goal list. So...a few more years. Aurifil is one of the best brands, and they have a wide array of colors. I've been using more affordable brands, like Gutterman, Coats & Clark, and Bare Essentials, and they're often found at Joann Fabrics. Except today. The only white I could find was in 250 yard spools of polyester. 250 yards may sound like a lot, but it's not a such as you may imagine. I've used an entire 250 yard spool, and half of another, in a single twin size quilt. The only time I use polyester thread is when binding little things, like coasters.

There are several other brands, yes, but this one is closer to the less expensive end. My mom uses King Tut thread brand, but it's really pricey. She buys it in massive spools called cones. Those are a smart investment because more bang for your buck, but they're not in my budget right now.

I completely brain-farted getting a refill of thread conditioner (namely Thread Magic). It works by passing thread through it, then handquilting with said thread. It makes the thread pass through the layers smoothly, reduce a bearding (batting being pulled with the thread), and less tangling. I have some leftover wax from beeswax candles I've used. I can use that when I'm completely out of my thread conditioner.

What thread brands do you favor? What type of thread? I use cotton, but have been considering linen and silk thread.

[late-to-the-fandom]

In which Prince Renathal and the Maw Walker hook up for the first time after an unusual Ember Court. Rated M for sexual scenarios (but, you know, the classy kind). Read here on Ao3 for triggers and tags

Takes place before the imprisonment of Denathrius, prior to “The Harvester of Dominion”

The trading of rumours via note was a long-standing tradition in Venthyr courts. A whispered word could be overheard, but a note... 

They were slipped from hand to hand and hidden up sleeves, subtly read while sipping from a glass, then passed on for the next guest to peruse. It was a practice as old as Revendreth itself, and one Prince Renathal detested. And this rumour - his eyes widened as he read the note's contents - this one left a particularly sour taste in his mouth.

Have you heard the latest about the Prince and the Maw Walker? It is said they're-"

Renathal dipped the scroll idly into the nearest candle flame, held it out, away from himself, watching as it burnt to ash. And then began seriously to brood.

Had the Maw Walker seen it? Of course she had, she had brought it to him, but had she read its contents first? Her demeanor as she slipped him the folded paper left no indication one way or the other, her face as expressionless as always. Renathal was getting better at reading the little tells in her smooth, lavender face - a blink, a tilt of the head, a quirk of the mouth - but it was still occasionally difficult. Venthyr faces were always expressive, if rarely sincere. Reading the Maw Walker was a challenge, and one he usually relished. But now...

Turning casually, as if contemplating the offerings of the terrace, Renathal searched for the Maw Walker's purple glow, something he found himself doing often during Ember Court sessions. There she was - refilling the Countess's tea cup at the furthest cliffside table, her face as generically pleasant as ever. No discomfort could be detected at this distance. He watched as she attended the table's guests: the Countess, her coterie of fashionable Venthyr socialites whose names escaped him, and 'Picky' Stefan, chatting away in a voice loud enough to carry across the terrace. "Ah yes, the fragrance reminds me of my many years in the Banewood! Have I told you-"

The Maw Walker had just straightened, turning as if to leave, when the Countess murmured something Renathal could not hear under Stefan's chatter. The two females debated between themselves for a few seconds before the Nightborne nodded politely, filled another cup, and took the seat at the table behind it.

Instantly, Renathal's hackles were raised. A scandalous rumor and the Countess present at the same court? He knew this Harvester of Desire too well to believe it a coincidence. If the Countess had not written the note herself, she had certainly encouraged one of her entourage to do so. And now she would try to trick the Maw Walker into giving the truth away.

Not that there was any truth to it. Which bothered Renathal almost as much as the existence of the salacious rumour itself.

He had been grappling with his growing feelings for the Maw Walker for several weeks, debating the various practicalities and possibilities of initiating a more... intimate relationship with her. Bedding the realm's champion did hold the potential to complicate his rebellion, but Renathal had decided he could overlook this. Partly because he really wanted to, and partly because he trusted the Maw Walker completely. She was practical and loyal - and therefore unlikely to abandon his cause if their hypothetical affair ended poorly - as well as exceptionally private when it came to her personal life. 

Which was exactly why a rumour such as this might offend her, before he ever had a chance to make it a reality.

Renathal glanced again at the Maw Walker, searching for potential clues. She was listening to Stefan wax on about the tea, while the drink in her own hand remained untouched. She leaned against the high-backed chair, seeming, for the moment, entirely relaxed. Hardly the posture of someone incensed by slander, but then, the Maw Walker was generally unflappable.

Renathal sighed. There was only one way to find out what she knew and what she was thinking and that was to ask her directly. He glided over to the Countess's table at a carefully dignified pace.

"My friends, I do hope we are all enjoying ourselves?"

The Maw Walker glanced up at Renathal's approach - but it was only her familiar, focused look that indicated she was assessing his mood, determining whether anything was amiss. He made sure to comport himself entirely at ease.

"Oh, assuredly," replied Stefan, to whom the question was really the least addressed. "I always appreciate the opportunity to slow down and savour the moment. The last two courts have been far too full of chaos and mess for my taste."

"There is certainly truth to that," Renathal acknowledged. "But our Maw Walker proves once again she is capable of anything, including arranging a most relaxing soiree for a change."

"Oh, it is … quite relaxing," the Countess inserted languidly. "Possibly too relaxing. One might even say... dull." She dropped the word delicately into the air like a fallen parasol she fully expected someone else to pick up. And sure enough...

"Dull?" The Maw Walker perked up instantly, setting down her undrunk tea. She did take the discontent of Ember Court guests as something of a personal insult, thought Renathal fondly. "And what might be done to liven it to your taste, Countess?"

"Hmm... well, let me see..." The Countess tapped her chin with a finger, feigning thought. Renathal was not remotely fooled. "Well... Kassir could not stop talking about the dancing that went on the last time he attended the Ember Court. He said it was lively enough to rival any castle ball..."

"I remember that," chimed in Stefan. "Yes, quite fun, I'm sure. I've never been one for dancing myself but certainly entertaining to watch. I'm afraid the refreshment at that court was not quite-"

"I was told," the Countess cut in smoothly, "that our own Prince and the Maw Walker made a particularly striking pair dancing together."

The Countess turned her head minutely as she spoke to observe Renathal's reaction, but he had spent too many centuries with this harvester to be caught off-guard. His face was a mask of impassivity to rival the Maw Walker's.

"Ah, yes..." Renathal said slowly, as if dredging up this memory from some deep recess instead of replaying it behind his eyes every night....

The way the Maw Walker had leaned into him as they moved together, allowing him to lead her through the crowd of dancers, surrendering herself entirely to his grip on her hand and waist. The dress she wore to court revealed far too much flesh to be appropriate for Revendreth, but Renathal had appreciated the chance it gave him to stroke his fingers over the warm, bare skin of her lower back. And the way she shivered deliciously when he had, canting her body closer to his as if on instinct....

"Yes... I believe I remember the court you refer to," Renathal continued thoughtfully. "As I recall, we were all of us rather caught up in the delightful music. The Lost Chalice Band can have that effect on the soul."

"The Lost Chalice Band?" queried the Countess. "Why, they're here today, are they not? And yet they do not play! Your guests are forced to entertain themselves as best they can with tea and" - she cast a haughty glance at Stefan - "the dullest of conversations."

Stefan, for whom self-awareness was never a strong suit, missed the insult entirely. He set his own cup down as if anticipating a change of venue. "Why, I'm sure our Maw Walker can easily arrange for dancing to be added to the Court’s offerings. She is always so resourceful."

Renathal's eyes glowed briefly at the prospect, but he checked himself before the Countess could notice. Was there any harm in permitting it? It was obvious the Countess had orchestrated the conversation to ensure this exact outcome - subterfuge was always her special gift - but surely it would be more suspicious to refuse now a precedent had already been established?

Additionally, it would make a perfect excuse to speak to the Maw Walker privately without seeming too obvious; determine whether she had read the rumour and establish how she felt about the idea. And, the truth of the matter was, Renathal had been itching to dance with her again for weeks now. Holding her against him for those few minutes had been a pleasure the likes of which he had not encountered for over an age, and he wanted more. The thought of indulging his craving was too good to pass up. 

"Of course, Countess, if it would make the Ember Court more enjoyable for you," Renathal said magnanimously. "Maw Walker, would you kindly inform the Lost Chalice Band their services are required? I shall make the announcement to our guests."  

Renathal allowed his eyes to meet the Maw Walker’s, forgoing a wink lest the Countess should catch it, but allowing a spark of humour to shine in their amber depths, as if the whole thing was a joke between the two of them. The Maw Walker, on the other hand, looked strangely … nervous? Renathal could not be certain. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her carefully bland smile.

“I don't think that will be possible, your Highness, Countess.” She nodded at them each in turn. “I’m afraid Chiu has misplaced her lute, which is the reason the band has not played today."

Renathal raised his eyebrows before he could stop himself, but the Countess - busy watching the Maw Walker - did not see.

"Oh, she's always losing it,” commented Stefan. “One would think musicians would take better care of their instruments.”

“One would think,” the Maw Walker agreed.

"But surely they can manage without one player?" said a Venthyr socialite seated beside the Countess. "How essential can the lute be?"

"Apparently extremely," answered the Maw Walker, a note of finality in her voice. "And a band of only two could not hope to create the proper ambiance for a dance. Perhaps next time." She rose smoothly from her seat before anyone could protest further. "This has been a most invigorating rest, but I'm neglecting the court's other guests. Please excuse me."

She gave a small respectful nod to the table at large, then adjourned as quickly as propriety allowed in the direction of the ramparts, sparing Renathal not the least half-glance on her way.

“How unfortunate,” declared the Countess in affected dismay. “I am most disappointed.” A statement very much at odds with the glitter of triumph in her beady eyes.

"Your disappointment is a crushing blow, Countess," said Renathal idly, frowning after the Maw Walker.

The Countess, much more conscious of subtle undercurrents than Stefan and highly affronted by the insincerity in Renathal's tone, rose from her own chair haughtily and flounced away, followed dutifully by her entourage. Renathal knew he ought to have been more careful with his reply, ought to care more about garnering the Countess's favor; after all, her medallion was still outstanding. But he was too preoccupied with more personal concerns.

The Maw Walker had never denied a guest's request.

Renathal had seen her go to great lengths to please even the least important Ember Court attendee. He knew for a fact she and Temel had taken extra care with this particular court's preparation, conscious as she was of the Countess's potential to help or hinder the rebellion's efforts. And while it was certainly true the Lost Chalice Band misplaced their instruments with quite unwonted frequency, the Maw Walker had always managed to locate them before. Renathal did not believe for a second she had simply resigned herself to failure this time, not with such a high-profile guest on the line. So why had she chosen not to? He could think of only one reason.

That bloody rumour....

The Maw Walker's distinct lavender outline could no longer be seen from the refreshment tables, so Renathal began a slow glide around Sinfall's center, stealing occasional side-long glances up at the ramparts. Clearly, she had read the note. It was the only explanation for her uncharacteristic refusal to accommodate a guest, and the obvious distance she was keeping from Renathal himself. Usually, they met toward the end of a court to compare notes on guest satisfaction and determine whether or not to let a session run long. Instead, the Maw Walker had purposefully removed herself from him as far as the space of the courtyard would allow. But ... was it to keep guests from reading some truth into the rumour, or because she was now uncomfortable in his presence?

Gliding up the steps to the tribute stage, Renathal surveyed the empty dance floor gloomily, remembering how very different he had felt in that exact place weeks ago...

…at the end of their dance, when he met the Maw Walker's eyes and held them, watched their blue-white depths go oddly dark. She had released his hand almost reluctantly, dropping her gaze to hide a violet flush, and anima surged to his core as he smelled on her the distinct scent of desire...

In that moment, Renathal had been so certain the Maw Walker was as drawn to him as he was to her. But... perhaps he had misinterpreted. She was so damnably hard to read.

He cast a final glance around the courtyard, distinctly unhappy with the way this evening had played out. Being denied something he wanted was still a relatively new experience for the Dark Prince of Revendreth, and while he was sometimes able to appreciate the freshness of not getting his way, other times it was simply irritating. This was certainly the latter. In a fit of pique, he decided he would end the court early without consulting the Maw Walker, since she had not seen fit to reappear. He adjusted the drape of his coat, cleared his throat and opened his mouth, just as a scream echoed chillingly from somewhere behind him.

It was not the shriek of delighted fright that occasionally rang through court when nobles got too close to attacking manifestations or when sheltered socialites were surprised by the sudden appearance of Ardenweald fauna. This was a scream of genuine terror, and Renathal knew, with a sinking in his stomach, what he would see even before he whirled around.

The sky above the ramparts was moving darkly toward Sinfall, as though storm clouds raced in their direction. But Revendreth did not have those sort of clouds, and the shadowy mass held the glint of red eyes and sharp steel. The Stone Legion.

Renathal groaned; fortunately, the sound could not be heard over the courtyard's sudden swell of noise and chaos. Honestly, what else could go wrong today? he thought dismally, as he summoned his own magic and hastened toward the Bridge of Banishment. Rumours and the Countess and now the Stone Legion ... this was turning into the worst Ember Court yet.

Renathal's mood had not improved much even hours later; standing at the table that served as his catchall desk and, currently, valet stand, cleaning the dust, debris, and drops of anima from his armor. He could have ordered a dredger to do it - there were enough of them wandering around Sinfall now - but he was restless, and needed something to do apart from pacing the room pointlessly, possibly kicking the scant furniture. It was a distinct and embarrassing possibility. Just at present, Renathal felt very much like a petulant child beaten at a game.

He supposed it had ended as well as any assault could. The Venthyr volunteer defenders, in a surprising twist, held their positions well, driving back the Stone Legion before they had a chance to claim a foothold. Personally, Renathal suspected the Legion's orders had been to sow chaos rather than carnage, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Let the defenders congratulate each other on a job well done, he had decided as he adjourned to his quarters. It would be wrong to force everyone else to feel as disgruntled as he did.

As he finished polishing the breastplate, Renathal paused, listening intently. After a moment's attention to the unbroken silence outside his room, he sighed and began brushing down one of his greaves, salvaging what anima he could from it and returning the metal to its properly shining green and gold.

And he had thought the Ember Court was doing so well... thought he was doing well. So many new contacts and support from other realms, and more Venthyr nobles each week. Renathal had been proud - perhaps too proud - of having the Maw Walker's power and unwavering loyalty at his disposal, not to speak of her affection. And now...

Denathrius had stripped him of his Court, and it appeared that stupid bloody rumour may have cost him his Maw Walker.

Renathal paused again, straining his ears to catch the sound of quiet footsteps making their way down the stone passage toward his rooms. But there was nothing. Not even an echo of the action he knew must be happening in Sinfall's main hall above. Whether the walls had been enchanted to prevent sound carrying, or the stone was just that thick, the noise of the other floors did not seem to reach to this deep corner of the structure, which was one of the reasons Renathal had requisitioned it. Usually he appreciated the privacy, but now it made him feel alone and cut off from the rebellion's metaphorical life. And it also meant he could not hear if the Maw Walker had come down from the courtyard.

It had been several hours since the Stone Legion's forces had been routed from Sinfall, but the Maw Walker had not yet appeared at his door to report, as she did almost every evening. Nor had he seen her during the battle. Renathal was beginning to seriously worry she was avoiding him, a thought which bothered him even more than his dashed hopes of a second dance, or the tantalising thought of more. All his fantasies of future possibilities aside, the Maw Walker was a friend. A close friend. Dearer to him than many of the Venthyr he had known for millennia, and the closest thing to a confidante he currently had. Everything seemed less terrible, more hopeful, in the light of her soft, lilac glow.

In a sudden indulgence of temper, Renathal slammed the greave he was polishing down on the table. It was too well made to be damaged by the wood, but it did send a shockwave of momentum up his arm hard enough to make him wince.

This was exactly why he so detested rumours, thought Renathal, rubbing angrily at his elbow. They manufactured momentary excitement out of someone else's far longer lasting distress. And if his comfortable relationship with the Maw Walker had been permanently altered by that damned note, he would find whoever had written it, Countess or otherwise, and have them condemned to a crypt for an epoch.

"Really, it wasn't all that terrible." 

The Maw Walker's voice behind him made Renathal jump. He had been so busy brooding he had not heard her arrive. Dropping his still-sore elbow, he straightened, trying his best to swallow his agitation before facing her, despite the display of temper she had already witnessed. It was not difficult. Just hearing her voice had already eased some of the tension in Renathal's neck and shoulders.

She was not avoiding him after all.

He made sure there was nothing on his face to reveal any of his former concern or his current overwhelming relief before he turned to her... and started.

The Maw Walker was an absolute mess.

Renathal had seen her battle weary before, but always in the heavy robes that functioned as her armor. Today, she had been forced to fight in the rather skimpy dress she kept insisting to a tearful Lady Rovinette, the Ember Court clothier, was considered a ball gown in her home of Suramar. Reduced to even less material than usual, the tattered ruins of the dress revealed nearly the entire length of both long, smooth legs; much of the midriff was missing, as well. The pale, swirling tattoos shining faintly against the skin of her thighs were brand new information for Renathal, and he had a sudden, powerful urge to trace his fingers over them. 

"Everyone is accounted for," the Maw Walker continued, oblivious to - or ignoring - Renathal's open stare. "No losses. Only six injuries of note, even those mostly minor. And none of them guests, so no harm done really."

She crossed the threshold into the spartan chamber that served the fallen Prince as office, study, and drawing room, kicking the door half closed behind her with a completely bare foot - she appeared to have lost her shoes somewhere in the fight - and limping to the dark velvet chaise she usually sat on when reporting to Renathal of an evening. Though, she did not usually bleed on it.

Renathal cleared his throat.

"And do you count yourself among that number?" he asked, now inspecting her leg more in concern than appreciation.

The blood was dripping from a shallow cut down the side of one completely bare thigh. It did not look particularly serious, but the limp had not escaped Renathal's notice.

The Maw Walker's face twisted in annoyance.

"No." She glanced down at the cut with a grimace and tried vainly to hide it from sight with a torn bit of skirt. "That's nothing, hardly worth healing. The worst damage to me was from those ridiculous shoes. Trust the Stone Legion to attack the one time I let Lady Rovinette talk me into wearing heels. I tripped over my own bloody feet and twisted my ankle."

For some reason, Renathal found her ire over something so trivial supremely funny. He positioned a faux-thoughtful hand across his mouth to hide the hint of a smile. The Maw Walker did not seem particularly upset with him, but he preferred not to press his luck by laughing at her when she was so clearly annoyed.

"Anyway," she continued, pulling stray pins from the remains of her elegantly arranged hair. "The courtyard is a bit of a disaster, and the decorations will all have to be replaced. But I've told Boot it's top priority and I'll gather the supplies myself. So, we should have it all fixed up by next week."

"Next week?" repeated Renathal absently, watching her tuck hair pins into some secret place in what had once been the bodice of her gown and was now strategically arranged shreds of gauzy, purple fabric.

Noting his distraction, the Maw Walker stopped and turned her full attention on Renathal for the first time since entering the room.

"For the next Ember Court," she explained.

Renathal blinked in surprise.

"My dear friend," he said slowly, "I fear we will have to discontinue that particular venture."

A few seconds of confusion ticked past as each looked at the other as though they were the one not making sense. It was the Maw Walker who finally broke the silence.

"Why?"

"You have to ask?" Renathal lifted his hands, allowing his distress to manifest as elaborate gesticulation. "Who in the realm will wish to attend after today's events? Now the nobility know Sinfall cannot shield them from Denathrius' forces most will certainly decline their invitations. And as the Ember Court exists largely to gain their support, it is ... hardly worth the effort." He dropped his arms, abruptly drained. "No... Denathrius set out to prove to the people of Revendreth that we ... that I ... could not protect them. And ... prove it he did."

Renathal lowered himself wearily onto the chaise beside the Maw Walker and felt the now-familiar tendrils of despair snake around his chest. It was a feeling he had never known before the Maw, and it was proving far harder to escape. It lingered at the back of his mind, waiting for setbacks such as today's to weaken his steadfast resolve, allowing an opening for despair to creep in and taint all his other thoughts. He rubbed his temples fiercely as if the action might push the feeling back to his subconscious.

"I disagree," said the Maw Walker. The simple pronouncement made Renathal look up. "You did prove yourself to Revendreth. You proved Sinfall can withstand Denathrius' forces. You drove them back, you protected your guests. No one was lost, or even seriously injured. What more could they ask of you?"

Renathal gave her a grateful smile that did not meet his eyes and shook his head.

"I appreciate the show of support, but I am afraid-"

"Renathal."

Her use of his name sans title made him lift a startled eyebrow. Renathal had long ago granted her the privilege, but she rarely exercised it.

"This was always going to happen eventually," the Maw Walker continued. "We can't hold court under Denathrius' nose and expect him to never strike out. We knew he would test his strength against us at some point. But...that was part of the reason for the Ember Court, wasn't it? To show people the strength of Sinfall, of the rebellion as a whole, and of you as its leader."

The Maw Walker reached out to grasp Renathal's hand where it lay limp against the chaise. Her tender touch ... the soft earnestness in her voice ... they were enough for Renathal's mouth to hang open slightly as she plead her case.

"The Ember Court has always been about displays of power and confidence, as well as hospitality. Tonight merely proved we can stand behind those claims. And with no casualties, the stories that spread about tonight will be about Sinfall's victory. Trust me, this time tomorrow the whole realm will be talking about how exciting a court it was. In three days, socialites will be bragging about being there, and everyone else will wish they were. You'll have Venthyr queuing up to attend the next court. To cancel it would be a serious mistake."

Renathal wondered if hope, like intellect, was a spell the Maw Walker could cast with her touch. Already, he could feel the despair evaporating, unable to exist in the same place as the heat she sent rushing through him as she gently squeezed his hand before releasing it.

"Besides," she added with a wry smile, "if you cancel the Ember Court, you will have to break the news to Temel because I certainly won't."

Renathal's small snort of laughter was weak but genuine.

"That would be a fate nearly as terrifying as the Stone Legion," he joked darkly, and she giggled, a brighter sound than Renathal's and one which raised his spirits considerably.

Making the Maw Walker laugh was - he had discovered - something of a rare talent, and Renathal relished his ability to conjure the sound more often than most. He sat up straighter, angling himself to face her more directly.

It was not unusual for them to sit here together. Many evenings, when their talk had drifted away from business, had found them both settled comfortably on this overlarge piece of furniture, probably intended for Denathrius.  Although, noted Renathal as the Maw Walker shifted, she was usually much more fully clothed. He was conscious of how very easy it would be to brush against her smooth, bare leg and have it seem an accident.

Something of his dark thoughts must have shown in his face because the Maw Walker cocked her head at him and said, “What is it?”

Renathal wondered if he dared broach the subject still nagging at him after such a thoroughly inauspicious day. Clearly the Maw Walker was not uncomfortable around him, whatever her actions during court might have indicated. Perhaps the status quo was best simply maintained. But ... that urgent longing to have his hands on her again, to feel her lean into him, trust him to lead her body through exquisite movement... it echoed through him like a song he could not forget.

“Oh... it is nothing. Merely…” Renathal drummed his fingers against the arm of the chaise. “It was a shame that Chiu's lute could not be found today. Quite unusual for you to be unable to locate it..."

The Maw Walker blinked at him.

"Well, obviously, I could have found it if I looked. I thought it best for the band not to play today while a certain rumour was making its way around court."

Renathal met her eyes swiftly.

"So ... you did read the note?" 

"Of course," she confirmed. "I brought it to you, didn't I? I know your feelings on rumours, and seeing how this particular rumour might catch fire the more we were seen together, I thought it prudent not to give it any additional fuel."

It was such a practical, obvious explanation, Renathal silently berated himself for ever considering any other possibility. The Maw Walker was always so attentive to everyone's wants, especially his own. She had simply made the assumption he would take greater satisfaction in a rumour being extinguished than in dancing with her; which was a fair one, if incorrect.

"I see," he said carefully. Glad as he was to have the mystery settled, it still bothered Renathal inordinately to have the moment he wanted stolen from him.

The Maw Walker's eyes narrowed.

"Did I make a wrong choice?" she asked. "You seem..." - she cocked her head again- "...unhappy."

The way her eyes picked apart each piece of his face in turn, it was as though she were translating Renathal from another language, and it occurred to him abruptly that they were two different species, however similar their basic body structure may be. Not that such a thing bothered him. Personally, he found the Maw Walker all the more attractive for how unlike him she was. But she was not obligated to feel the same.

"No, no." Renathal shook his head. "I am sure you acted for the best." He swallowed. It was a gamble, but… "Only ... I was rather looking forward to another dance. And to be robbed of something so pleasurable on account of a rumour ... I confess, I was disappointed." 

Silence met this admission. A silence of a few seconds, but they were impossibly long to Renathal who could not bring himself to lift his gaze until-

"So was I."

-her simple words ignited a hope like a candle flame in his chest. He met the Maw Walker's eyes, hers intent but unfocused, as though contemplating something. Before Renathal could think of the proper response, she stood up.

"Come." The Maw Walker held out her hand, lips quirked in amusement. "I don’t want to be accused of robbing the Prince of Revendreth of any sort of pleasure."

It took Renathal a moment to understand. By the time he had, the Maw Walker was already grasping his wrist, pulling him to his feet. Anima pounded a rhythm in the most sensitive parts of him as she placed his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder, resting more weight on him than last time - and Renathal remembered her ankle.

"What about your injury?" he asked.

"What injury?"

Renathal had half a foot of height on the Maw Walker, more without shoes, and she had to lift her chin to look him in the face. Her eyes sparkled with barely restrained mirth when she winked. Her high humour sparked life in his own, so sadly subdued all day. 

“And... how shall we dance with no music?” 

“Hmm ... that is a quandary...”

The Maw Walker assumed an expression of exaggerated thought, then took a deep breath through her nose and began to hum loudly. Renathal could not help laughing, and she smiled around her slightly off-key song. He waited a moment to catch the beat before tightening his grip and beginning to move her across the stone floor in slow, easy steps.

It could only generously be called dancing. Between the Maw Walker's limp and her attempt at musical accompaniment, it fell to Renathal to support nearly all her weight. Fortunately, they could only go a few strides in any direction without hitting an obstacle - the chaise, the table, the scattered bits of rubble - so there was no room to attempt any more complicated maneuvres. Twice the Maw Walker tripped on a torn length of her own skirt, interrupting her humming with peals of laughter, and everywhere she limped, she trailed drops of red blood from the still-dripping cut on her leg. Renathal was sure they looked ridiculous and was equally sure neither of them cared. 

"What is that song?" he asked, when her humming drifted away.

"Oh, just ... something from home. Suramar," she clarified as though Renathal might have forgotten. "It was popular when I was very young, played often at courts. I quite liked it. It always made me wish I had someone to dance with."

Her voice grew thoughtful, and Renathal held his breath. Whenever conversations turned to her homeland or her past, the Maw Walker tended to find an excuse to leave. This time, she merely sighed softly and settled herself more firmly against Renathal's chest. He was suddenly very aware he was dressed in only his shirt sleeves and trousers. 

"Surely, you did not lack for partners?" 

The Maw Walker huffed a little soundless laugh.

"I was always rather selective about my partners."

She tilted her chin to meet his eyes again. Hers were now several shades darker, and the surge of anima at the base of Renathal's spine made him certain he was not imagining the double meaning in her words. His lips parted as he searched for the best way to ask the question burning a hole inside him, but he only managed to say her name before -

"Maw Walker? Are you down here?"

Both of them jumped. The voice echoed from the hall outside Renathal's rooms, and now footsteps were audible, rapidly approaching the door. It was Sinfall's ceaseless refrain. Someone else with a task for the Maw Walker, calling for her aid, seeking her out no matter the time. And she always answered. 

The footsteps stopped outside the cracked door, and Renathal grimaced, the idea of losing this moment almost too much to bear. He groaned quietly, relinquishing his grip on the Maw Walker's waist, and was shocked when she tightened hers in return. She glanced up at Renathal's visible confusion, mouthed Shhh, then waved her free hand in an arc in front of them. Instantly, the same blue mist she had conjured in the Maw sprang into existence, shielding them from sight. 

The sparkling, opaque light made it difficult to see the door as it slowly creaked open, or clearly identify the Venthyr who stood on the threshold. But it was obvious, as the intruder turned from side to side to inspect the room’s corners, that whoever it was could not see the Prince and the Maw Walker standing practically on top of each other in the center of the room.

After a few moments, and another call of her name, the unknown Venthyr retreated back into the hall, shutting the door behind them with a muted snap. The Maw Walker maintained her spell for several more heartbeats - that Renathal could feel with the way her chest was flattened against his - before allowing the blue light to dissipate.

"Shirking your responsibilities?" he asked, but there wasn't the slightest reproof in it. For the Maw Walker to choose him over others, over her work throughout the realm, made him giddy.

"Not at all," the Maw Walker replied, replacing Renathal's hand on her waist and peeling herself from his body enough to comfortably move her feet without stepping on his. “I just think I'm best suited here at the moment."

She squeezed his hand, reminding him to move, and Renathal resumed their makeshift dance, now without any semblance of music and barely any discernable rhythm. It was no more than an excuse to stay touching one another, and Renathal was sure she knew it as well as he.

"Oh?" he asked, his voice pitched deeper.

"You need this." When she caught sight of Renathal's raised eyebrow, the Maw Walker continued, "You carry the weight of an entire world on your shoulders. You need to shrug it off sometimes. You deserve a moment to just ... enjoy something. And if this is what you want, and I can give it to you, then you shall have it."

The Maw Walker's voice was forthright, her tone business-like and unemotional, but there was an invitation there, Renathal was certain. It was in the rapid beat of her heart as it pulsed against him, and the way she shivered when he trailed the hand supporting her back slowly down her spine. He could feel his growing need for her, wondered if she could feel it too with how little clothing separated them.

"And what of you?" His voice was a low rumble, and the Maw Walker lowered her head to try and hide her violet flush, forcing Renathal to speak against her dark hair. "You hold the fate of the entire Shadowlands. All of reality relies on you. Surely, you deserve to enjoy yourself as well." 

The Maw Walker's hmm communicated disagreement. Renathal was unsure what she meant by it but that was a mystery for another time. At the moment, all that mattered was that she was wrong.

"You do."

He pronounced the words like an edict, and they held a distant echo of the power of dominion, his for so many eons. Not even the Maw Walker could broker an argument. Renathal ended their stilted perambulation and removed one of his arms from around her. He tilted her chin up with two long, careful fingers, forcing the Maw Walker to meet his gaze as he uttered her name.

"What would you most enjoy?"

"Honestly ..." She closed her eyes as she admitted, "Being here ... with you. This is the most I've enjoyed myself in ... in a very long time."

The Maw Walker exhaled deeply as if the confession were a weight from which she had been freed. And Renathal could sense it distinctly on her again: the heady perfume of desire. He would know it anywhere, but from her it was flavoured differently.  Whether because of her race or her arcane magic or the fact that it was filtered through her mortal body, he was not sure - but he knew he wanted to drown in it. He leant down until his face was close enough to hers to feel her warm breath.

"I also enjoy your company. Immensely. I should … like to enjoy it more."

Renathal spoke as plainly as he could, mirroring the Maw Walker's forthright approach to truth he so admired. It made her smile.

"I would be amenable to that," she replied.

Her eyes flicked to his lips. And she was still smiling when Renathal kissed her for the first time.

It occurred to him again after their lips met - tentatively, exploring - that the Maw Walker was not Venthyr. Her lips were soft, her mouth as warm as the rest of her, her taste heady and unfamiliar. Renathal wondered what he felt like to her. He would be so much colder and sharper, he knew. But this wary train of thought evaporated as the Maw Walker's kiss grew more eager. Her hands crept delicately up his chest, skimming his face, threading their way through his long hair, and he allowed himself to sink into her. 

Renathal was a master of control, but this was a temptation the likes of which he had never faced. The Maw Walker's warmth suffused him, starting at his mouth and leaving trails of thrilling energy everywhere she touched. He could not stop his hands clutching at her waist, canting her hips closer to him as she stood on tiptoe, trying instinctively to feel her heat against every part of him.

And if he thought he would be content with a dance, a kiss, Renathal had gravely underestimated the depth of his own desire. He needed all of her. Everything.

"Would it be considered ... bad manners if I asked you to stay?" he asked, voice ragged, when she broke for air.

"At this point," said the Maw Walker breathlessly, "I think it would be worse manners not to."

She tried to smile at her own witticism but it came out hungry, and Renathal could only growl his approval.

It was hardly the graceful seduction Renathal had been imagining. There was a rough scramble to remove clothes; her hands tugging at his shirt, his claws ripping off the remains of her dress. Every movement was full of an open desperation that would usually mortify him. Sex was as much an art form as anything else. And while he may not have the illustrious reputation of others in Revendreth, he had never allowed himself to be anything less than perfect in his various conquests. 

But Renathal could not remember his body ever feeling so on fire. Was this how it was for mortals? Primal and necessary? The sensations were all-consuming at the cost of his focus. But if the Maw Walker was disappointed at the relative inelegance of his movements, she hid it extremely well.

Any further fears she might be uncomfortable with how different Renathal was from her own kind - the cold of his skin, the points of his teeth, the sharp edges of his nails as he dragged them down her naked legs wrapped around his hips - were soothed by her exquisite cries. He was shocked at the variety of sounds he could draw from the normally recalcitrant Maw Walker as he pinned her to the chaise and explored her body.

The nuance of expression ... the generosity of volume ...

Renathal had expected to have to work to discover what she liked. Every other aspect of her was always a challenge, and one he enjoyed. But here, underneath him, the Maw Walker abandoned all fight. She surrendered herself to him completely, giving his hands and mouth free reign of her body. It was so exhilarating, Renathal could not bring himself to hold back for more time, could not resist the way she opened her legs and offered herself to him. He could only give himself to her with equal enthusiasm.

Thought intruded just once when a sharp cry as he entered her made Renathal worry she might be hurt. He shook back his long white hair to inspect the Maw Walker's face with concern, but there was no indication of pain. Just open, panting lips and eyes, wide and desperate.

"Don't stop Renathal please," she moaned all in one breath, pronouncing his name like a prayer.

It made Renathal's head swim, his eyes cloud over in anima-fueled lust, but he mustered enough self-control to pause for a few seconds. The Maw Walker arched her back, crying out in exquisite anguish at the lack of friction, but this was essential.

Renathal leaned down to speak his words against her lips like a kiss: "Do not let me hurt you." And he could taste the smile around her own laboured breathing as she whispered back, "I'm not ... so delicate." Her legs locked around his hips as her body pleaded with his for more, and Renathal vigorously granted her request.

It had been centuries. Or more. Renathal could not recall precisely when he had last done this, and he knew however long ago it was it had never been quite like this. Which must be why he could not control his frantic rhythm ... why he could not contain himself any longer when she suddenly sobbed his name against his ear ... why he felt so entirely sated and pleased with all of reality when he finally sat back against the chaise, letting the dregs of swirling anima settle in his limbs. And why he felt almost immediately ready for her again as he watched her naked form roll off the chaise beside him and bend to pick up the remains of her gown. 

Some of Renathal's general good feeling ebbed when he realised the Maw Walker was dressing - or rather, wrapping the shredded fabric strategically around herself to meet the bare minimum for modesty. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat, immoderately pleased when she stopped her work to let her eyes wander his own bare body distractedly. He stretched out an arm to drag her back to him and she complied, sitting astride his lap, moaning softly when she felt how much he still wanted her. 

"Stay," Renathal ordered gently, tracing her pale, swirling tattoos. The Maw Walker shuddered at his touch. 

"Surely tempting others is a sin."

Renathal chuckled, low and gravelly, and buried his face against her throat, speaking into her lavender skin.

"Not if it is an offer made sincerely."

The Maw Walker ran her fingers tenderly through his hair, and Renathal groaned softly. It had been an impossibly long time since he had known any touch so sweet, so careful.

And there were reasons for that, he reminded himself. But he refused to dwell on them now. She was not Venthyr, she was not of Denathrius. She was something entirely outside the Sire's control. And she would never betray him. 

"I can't stay, and neither can you," said the Maw Walker, breaking through Renathal's thoughts. “People will be looking for us in earnest by now, and it wouldn't be wise to worry them." Renathal reluctantly lifted his head, and she smoothed the hair of his goatee back into place with a smirk. "Unless you'd like the next rumour to be about how the Maw Walker absconded with the Prince."

"Mmm..." Renathal hummed unhappy agreement, tracing her teasing smile with his thumb. "Practical as ever."

With a small kiss to his palm, the Maw Walker pulled his hand away, withdrew from his lap, and drew him to his feet. She bent to fetch his clothes for him where they had fallen, smoothing them out with a wink, and Renathal knew she was trying to force him to smile, knew she did not want to leave him melancholy once again. He tried his best to look as relaxed as she did.

Renathal knew she was entirely correct; they had been unaccounted for far too long. It was actually shocking no one had interrupted them since he had neglected to do anything so sensible as locking or barring the door. Although, he supposed, as he fastened his shirt, would either of them have noticed if someone had entered? He eyed the door suspiciously, still working at his buttons. It would not be a good idea for their tryst to become common knowledge in Sinfall - especially after all the Maw Walker's work to quash the rumour - but at the moment Renathal was finding it hard to care. All he was concerned with now was what came next.

The Maw Walker clicked her tongue in mock dismay as he missed the same button for a third time. She came to his rescue as always, moving his hands out of the way and fastening his shirt with quick efficiency. Something about the domesticity of it touched Renathal deeply, in places that had been abandoned for many ages. He fought the sudden instinct to draw her to him again, to refuse to let her leave...

He swallowed hard, and tried to mirror the Maw Walker's amusement instead.

"Thank you." Renathal gave his words an ironic edge and an accompanying mock-formal nod.

"Thank you," she replied with a wink. "This was exceptionally pleasant. We should do it again sometime."

His eyes widened slightly, and the knot forming inside him unraveled. Again. That was exactly what he needed to hear. For whatever reason, the Maw Walker had awakened something in him he had either forgotten or never fully known. An all-consuming hunger, a desperate need. And this moment, as blissful as it was, had barely whetted his appetite. Renathal had not had his fill of the Maw Walker, not by half.

The Maw Walker gave him a chaste kiss on his sharp cheek by way of goodbye, but Renathal snaked an arm around her waist to stop her. With the promise of more to come, he could feel his good mood and dark humour returning.

"Consider this part of your regular duties, then," he said with an arch smile, adopting her business-like tone of address. "After all, we are both very important, very put-upon leaders." He punctuated his words with a final kiss of his own, not quite so chaste, drawing out the time before he had to release her lips. "I believe our mutual satisfaction will prove quite important to the war effort."

The joy in the Maw Walker's full-bodied laughter continued to ring through Renathal like the echo of a bell for a long time after she finally left. 

Read Part 4: Interrupted| Visit the Masterpost

[footballffbarbiex]

today i have a lot on. but i'm determined to get through it before i head to the etihad.

SO

Bedroom:

strip the bedding off and put through the wash. ✔️

put the clothes from the floor into the wash

take down any cups and this mornings cereal bowl✔️

dust and vacuum

clean off the chest of drawers from the shit that's building on there.

melt a wax melt ✔️

Lounge:

dust. ✔️

vacuum ✔️

karcher the windows

clean the tv unit✔️

clean the fireplace✔️

light a candle✔️

Kitchen:

empty / refill dishwasher ✔️

take everything from the sides and clean all the surfaces✔️

put everything back where it belongs (incl the stuff that shouldn't have been on the sides in the first place)✔️

clean cooker top. ✔️

clean sink✔️

vacuum and if time, mop.

[msockriter]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: ISO// WANNA TRADE??.