#partially calligraphy?

[aseuki]

Posting it on main too, but here's my contribution to the @hoshinokaabi-secretsanta with a gift for @mastercrowned!! All of the given prompts were So Delightful, but in the end I had to go with drawing Morpho ordering a Kirby Burgie (or maybe 10) asdlkgjn

version without the text bubble under the cut!

This whole event was a Delight to participate in! Had I more time and energy I would have Defo scribbled out more, but for Now pls enjoy my Favorite part of the image that Unfortunately got masked by the completed piece which is.

Scrungle Dee

[niteshade925]

April 13, Xi'an, China, Shaanxi Archaeology Museum/陕西考古博物馆 (Part 4 - Sui and Tang dynasties):

This is another star of the museum, a Tang dynasty (618 - 907 AD) bronze mirror, the back of which is decorated with carved luodian/螺钿 (mother of pearl). Near the edge are various birds, while the inner ring is arranged in a "sunflower" shape. Kinda wish I can see a modern replica of this one without all these marks and discolorations from the passage of time:

A Tang dynasty yupei/玉佩 (jade pendant). Unlike the Western Zhou dynasty yupei in part 2, this type is most definitely supposed to be hung from the waist. This one in particular was one of a set of two (both worn on waist, one on each side), and these were part of the formal wear of first to fifth rank officials during Tang dynasty:

Luo Wanshun's Epitaph/罗婉顺墓志. As mentioned in the first Beilin museum post, ancient Chinese epitaphs have a two-piece structure, consisting of a tablet and the protective covering on top. This is the protective covering on top, with the large inscription identifying this as the epitaph stone of Luo Wanshun, engraved in seal script/zhuanshu/篆书:

And here's the actual body of the epitaph. This particular epitaph was drafted by one of the "Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup"/饮中八仙, Li Jin/李琎 (he was also the nephew of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang/唐玄宗), and the calligraphy was provided by the famous calligrapher Yan Zhenqing/颜真卿:

Tang-era pottery figurines of the Chinese zodiac animals. This set is sadly incomplete, but the way these zodiac animals are partially anthropomorphized is pretty interesting. From left to right, these are tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, sheep, and dog (yep that is a dog head, apparently). Not sure why rabbit and dog figurines are missing their ears though, maybe the ears broke off and are lost?

Sui dynasty (581 - 618 AD) green-glazed boshanlu/博山炉 incense burner. Note the panlong/蟠龙 dragon curled around the base:

Left: Sui dynasty white-glazed ewer with a chicken head-shaped handle. Right: Sui dynasty white-glazed vase. The curves on this one is *chef kiss*

More Sui dynasty white glazed pottery, but the most incredible thing is the white porcelain cup in the middle. The lip of that cup is 1mm (~1/32 in) thick, and the sides are so thin, it's almost see through:

Tang-era sancai/三彩 glazed conjoined flasks that is shaped like a pair of fish. Similar twin-fish motif can be found in numerous traditional Chinese holiday decor, and symbolize auspiciousness, wealth, and surplus--especially surplus, since fish in Chinese (鱼) is pronounced yú, and "surplus" in Chinese (余) is also pronounced yú. This is why the phrase 年年有余 ("may there be a surplus every year") is often paired up with imagery of carps, children holding giant carps, or a twin-fish motif.

Absolutely beautiful Tang-era wall mural of a tiger, which was very sadly damaged over time. But from the pieces left, you can still appreciate the raw power of the tiger captured by these lines:

Another beautiful Tang-era wall mural depicting men on horseback playing "polo", called maqiu/马球 (lit. "horse ball") in Chinese. It's unclear whether the maqiu depicted here originated in China in late Eastern Han dynasty (25 - 220 AD) or was brought to China via the Silk Road at the beginning of Tang dynasty, but anyway this sport was very popular during Tang dynasty, and there were many female players at the time too.

The women of Tang dynasty as depicted by pottery figurines:

A small model of Tang-era triple que/阙 gate towers. Que gate towers first appeared in Western Zhou dynasty (1046 - 771 BC) and have been a part of Chinese architecture ever since. Que gate towers usually come in pairs, one on each side of the gate, and they were used to display status.

A map of Tang dynasty Chang'an city laid on top of the current map of Xi'an city, showing the imperial palace (top center), the East Market/东市 and West Market/西市, and the 108 districts (called fang/坊):

A Tang-era chiwen/鸱吻 (螭吻 is the original name, 鸱吻 is the alternative name, another alternative name is 蚩吻, but the pronunciation remains the same for all three) roof ornament. These are the pairs of horn-shaped pieces on the top of the roof of traditional Chinese architecture. These ornaments are made to represent the Ninth Son of the Dragon, called Chiwen/螭吻, which looks like a dragon-headed fish and has the power to control water, thus it's used in traditional Chinese architecture to ward off fires:

Sui-era gold gilded handle of a stone sarcophagus:

A pottery jar found buried in the tomb of Crown Prince Jiemin/节愍太子 (Li Chongjun/李重俊, son of Emperor Zhongzong of Tang/唐中宗 Li Xian/李显), partially shaped like a pagoda and decorated with various Buddhist motifs such as lotus petals and elephant heads. This is speculated to be a representation of a granary, which would hold grains for the crown prince in the afterlife:

And last but not least, a Sui-era pottery camel bearing sacks that have the imagery of the Greek god of wine Dionysus upon them, which shows the great amount of cultural exchange that took place back then:

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

With a kiss we will paint a flawless view (part 2)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. This is part two of two. NSFW!!

This fic is dedicated to @madbadpadawan. 

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series, and the sequel of Come close and whisper my true name.

*****

Tomorrow dawns and Mihawk has disappeared.

You wake up nine hours later, after one of the only nights of interrupted sleep you have been blessed with in the last six months; pleasantly rested, you reach towards the other half of the bed, searching for your lover’s firm and warm body… and you don’t find it. The room is empty save for you, you realise as you open your eyes and slowly, awkwardly sit up on the bed, and no sound that could betray Mihawk’s presence in your study or in the bathroom can be heard. 

A look at the clock on your bedside table makes you realise how late it is; Mihawk, who occasionally treats himself to a morning spent lounging in bed with you, must have raised to make you rest as long as you could. He has probably eaten breakfast already, you think as you stand from the bed, distinctly ungraceful as usual, but after you’ve spoken to your mother regarding a request you have received from the city’s prefect and written a few important letters, you can reach him in the gardens to keep him company as he trains with Yoru, and discuss the matter you have avoided for two months…

You’ve almost reached the bathroom’s door when you notice the folded piece of paper on the chest of drawers, with your name written on it in a calligraphy you would know anywhere. You take the note, open it, and your good mood evaporates.

Beloved (name),

You look so beautiful sleeping in my arms, leaving your bed is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Forgive me, but I have to leave for a few days for a very important matter; I promise I’ll be back soon, before our baby comes, and you will understand everything. 

Please take care of you both. I love you more than I can express in words.

Yours forever,

Mihawk.

The tenderness in those words is intense enough to move you, but the content of the brief message hits you like a metaphorical punch in the belly.

He has left. You can’t believe it… he said he’d remain for the rest of your pregnancy, to make up for the time he had spent away and because he wanted to make sure you’d be alright, well look after, and now this. Where in the world - where the fuck has he gone, and why?!

Your heart is spinning, so much that you have to quickly return to the bed and sit; you know stress could harm your baby, so you force yourself to breathe, slowly and deeply as the doctor has taught you, as you re-read the content of the piece of paper in your shaking hands. A very important matter, he wrote, without explaining further. Is this a Warlord mission? He has been challenged to a duel by another swordsman? Has he returned to Kuraigana to take care of some personal business? Whatever the case you would have supported him, encouraged him to go wherever he needed to; the last thing you want is to keep him chained to you or to stop him from pursuing his interests. Why didn’t he tell you? Didn’t he trust you? Or he simply thought there was no reason for you to know?

You will understand everything, he also wrote, which does comforts you a little in the following days, since apparently Mihawk does intend to tell you where he went in time, but only partially; he means to stay away for a few days, and you know that nothing will ever stop your lover from returning to you, not even the whole Marines army or the end of the world, but sometimes accidents happen, and even the strongest swordsman in the world can get hurt, or sick, unable to ask for help. What if the Marines have recruited your lover for another mission, and find a way to keep him away for longer than he expected? What if something happens to your baby, and Mihawk has no chance to meet them before they…?

You’re now eight months pregnant; still early technically, but many children are born a month in advance, and while you don’t technically need Mihawk to give birth, since your mother has sent for the best midwives of the kingdom and will be there as well, to keep you company, the mere idea of having to go through it without your lover’s solid presence only a door away scares you. You know how excited he is to become a father, and that he has done his utmost to comfort and support you in the last two months; not to have him there feels wrong in some indescribable but persistent way: if your little family is not together at the beginning, who knows what could happen in the future…?

You’ve never felt so alone in your life and, worst of all, you can’t even find comfort in the person who has always been there for you. Your mother is the only person in all the island to know where Mihawk has gone, and why; she admits that on that morning, after leaving your bedroom while you were still fast asleep, your lover spoke to her, a brief but important conversation whose content she has sworn not to reveal to you. “You’re going to know soon enough.” she tells you, deaf to your protestations; while her expression remains serious, her eyes are sparkling with a joy you dearly wish you could share, rather than being tormented by grief and fear “You have no reason to worry, my love; your man is fine, and will return soon enough. Everything will be clear.”

Everything will be clear; you will understand everything. Why do the people around you insist on keeping the truth from you? Don’t they see that, rather than reassuring, their words only serve to frustrate and worry you, in the moment of your life in which you need it the least?!

You know you are overreacting, that you have every reason to trust both Mihawk and your mother, the two people in the world who love you the most, and that it costs you nothing to be patient and wait for them to explain what they are plotting, but you can’t help it; naturally rational and clear-headed as you have always been, ever since you’ve become aware of your pregnancy you feel completely prey of your emotions, afraid of every little thing, unable to find joy in an experience many describe as the happiest of their lives. 

You’ve always been able to take care of yourself; you’ve risked your life countless times, and you’ve always emerged victorious, even when the people trying to make away with you were the worst scum of the sea and outlaws with the blood of dozens of victims on their hands. While aware of the danger, you’ve never trembled; now, on the other hand, you have to force yourself to take a brief walk in the gardens, fearing a few minutes of strolling could harm your baby. You feel fat, and old, and unattractive; no wonder Mihawk decided to leave, you find yourself thinking sometimes, and while you know he would never betray you, you couldn’t fully blame him if he found himself looking at other, younger and fitter, women…

“It’s going to be alright.” you murmur to your child, holding your belly and wishing they were already here, safe and sound in your arms as you try to reassure them like you wish someone were doing with you “Your father will be here soon; he promised, and he never breaks his word. Wait until he’s here before you come out, alright? I know I can do it on my own, but… I don’t want to.”

And in the end Mihawk does come back, as he had promised he would. Today you have awoken alone in your bed for the fourth time; it’s the middle of the afternoon, and sitting on a bench in the gardens you try to focus on the letter you’re writing, the paper placed on a thick book resting on the top of your belly. It is quite an important missive, the answer to a loan request you received from the lord of a nearby island, but you can’t focus, your head hurts and you feel dead tired even if you had just woken up from a three hour nap.  

A sigh escapes your lips, and you’re wondering whether you’re up to finish this little task or you’d better return inside and go back to bed, when suddenly you feel it… you feel him.

He has returned. He hasn’t called your name, nor did you hear the sound of his footsteps; you have simply perceived his presence, like he could perceive yours if your places had been exchanged, not unlike the two opposite poles of a magnet; you naturally react to each other, a shiver on the back of your head that warns you not of an oncoming danger but of the presence of your lover.

And that shiver you feel it now, and a moment later the book with your half-finished letter on it falls to the ground as you grab the backrest of the bench to stand, turn, and finally see him. 

Mihawk is standing maybe three steps from you; he is still, apparently content with just looking at you, but smiles when he sees you turn to face him. “(name).” he murmurs as he moves to approach “My love, are you…?”

“Where the hell have you been?!”

Your lover stops, clearly taken aback; he has seen you upset, angry or worried many times since you first became acquainted, but you have never raised your voice, screaming at him as if he had committed some grave crime. “(name), darling, I…”

“Don’t darling me, Mihawk! Do you have any idea what the last few days have been for me?” you ask when you are finally face to face; you are still screaming, long enough for the residents of the fortress to hear, but you don’t care; you’re beside yourself, relief and irritation fighting inside you, and while you never seriously thought Mihawk had abandoned you, you want him to understand that you needed him by your side, or at least to explain fully the reason for his absence rather than simply leaving a note “I had no idea where you were, and when you would come back! My mother would not tell me anything! Do you realise your child could be born any day? What place in the world could you desire to be at rather than here? You had said you would be by my side, and one day I wake up and you’re not there! Do you realise how it made me feel? Knowing that you could be gone with no explanation the day I simply sleep a little longer?”

You sob, not daring to meet your lover’s eyes. “I’m pregnant, Mihawk.” you add; he obviously knows very well, if only because you’re twenty-five pounds heavier than normal, but you want him to understand that the presence of your child has not only affected your body, but your mind as well “And I know it’s a perfectly natural process and I have received the best care, but I am scared. Terrified. Scared of what could happen to me, and to lose our baby, to discover they are not healthy, or to lose you. I don’t want to sound like a brat, and I know you’ve already reassured me a thousand times… but I’m not at my most rational right now. And now I feel horrible because I’m screaming at you and you don’t deserve it, and…”

And then you start to cry.

Which is terrifying, because you know if there is something Mihawk cannot stand are shows of weakness, and even though your relationship is way too deep and close for his opinion of you to change because of a tantrum, you wish your stoic, cold-blooded lover could respect you as an equal as well as love you. 

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean…” you stammer, and a moment later Mihawk’s hands are resting on your shoulders.

“Don’t; I’m the one who should apologise.” he murmurs softly, his beautiful yellow eyes full of pain “May I?”

You rush to nod, and a moment later you are held in your lover’s comforting embrace, his arms closed around your shoulders as he kisses your forehead. “I’m sorry.” you murmur again, leaning against his chest; you’ve never been so tired, so much that you could fall asleep standing “It was unfair to accuse you; you’ve always been present and attentive to both me and the baby, and I know you will keep to be.”

“Of course I will; I have told you nothing will ever take me away from you, and I intend to keep my promise.” Mihawk points out gently “I… must have underestimated the effect my absence would have; I thought you’d be fine, since it was only for a few days and it’s still a month before the baby comes…”

“I am fine; nothing bad happened, but to wake up and not find you there has been a very unpleasant surprise. I don’t want to keep you chained to me, or on the island; I know you have your life and your duties, and you’re free to pursue them. Just… warn me the next time, alright? For my peace of mind.”

Mihawk promises he will; he’s more handsome than ever, the cut of his black coat emphasising the width of his shoulders, his short hair tousled by the wind, and you smile when he kisses you, not on the forehead this time. “So am I forgiven?”

“You are; and I’ll try to keep the tantrums to a minimum from now on. Are you alright? Did you… do what you had to?”

Your lover nods in response, suddenly tense. “I did. And… it’s something that does concern you. Can we talk for a moment?”

You lead him to the bench, where you and your lover sit (with a bit of an effort on your part) hand in hand; you wait for Mihawk to speak, and in the end he does, not exactly hesitating but oddly careful as he chooses his words.

“I didn’t leave for a Warlord business or any other matter related to piracy; I… I went home, to the house I was born in and lived until I was seven.” he explains “I don’t think I ever told you, but my father threw me and my older sister out of the house; the two of us were left with almost nothing, even though years later Yoru bought the house back from him, and she lived there until… until she passed.”

You nod mutely, only partially surprised; in the many years of your relationship your lover has rarely discussed his childhood and family with you, but you do know how close he and his sister were and, in turn, how much he despised his father. 

“As I said, my father didn’t even grant us an income to live by; as far he was concerned, we could starve to death in the streets, but Yoru did inherit a few things from our mother, things that were legally hers even though our father did try to claim them for himself, to gift the woman he married as soon as he had gotten rid of us.”

The more you hear about the old lord Dracule the less you like him; no wonder your lover doesn’t like to talk about his past, even now that he knows there is no secret he can’t share with you.

“Yoru feared she would have to sell those valuables to support us, but fortunately it was never necessary; her things were still at our old home, where no one has ever been since… since she died. Including me.” 

You take his hands in yours. “She is buried there, is she not?” you ask in a murmur; your lover nods, and he doesn’t tell you how it was, how it felt to see his beloved sister’s grave for the first time in years, to be reminded, as if he needed to, of the fact she might have been alive if he had been there to protect her - a guilt your lover has borne in his heart since he was barely an adult, and that he will never allow anyone to release him from.

“She is. Her rose garden has grown, the vines and the flowers almost completely covering her headstone. I think she would have liked it.”

You remain silent, still completely in the dark regarding the reason for your lover’s sudden absence but confident you’ll know soon; perhaps, you think, he returned to his family’s home to take some memento to gift to your child, some old toy or family keepsake he wants his heir to inherit.

You’re only partially correct. 

“Anyway, I went there to look for something, and I did find it.”

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes.” Mihawk tells you “Please.”

You do, more and more confused, and from the sound that reaches your ears you realise he has moved - stood, perhaps, and of course Mihawk is not the sort of person who would simply depart leaving you there, but you really don’t understand why…

“Open.”

You do, and everything becomes clear.

His having returned to his family home, to retrieve something that had belonged to his mother and sister - two women, like you.

His having spoken to your mother -since your father has passed- before leaving. 

Mihawk is not standing; he is kneeling, in front of you, a tiny velvet box in his raised hands. 

“Lady (full name), wi…”

“Yes!” you exclaim, and then slap a hand on your mouth, blushing furiously. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine…”

“No, it’s not.” you stammer, unable to believe your own blunder; this is one of the most important conversations of your life, and you interrupted your lover as he proposed! “I… please, say what you have to, I shouldn’t have, I… I am just so happy…”

Mihawk grins; you can almost physically see tension abandon his body as he is assured of your answer. “(Name).” he starts again; no title, no second names you’ve never used, simply (name), because that is what you’ve always been to him, not a noblewoman, not the future ruler of a wealthy fief, but a woman, a friend, a partner, someone he has come to trust and respect and love, and who he wants to share his future with. He smiles, or at least you think he does, because tears have filled your eyes and your exceptional eyesight is for once failing you… “Body and soul, heart and sword, I am yours and I swear I will be forever. Having you as the mother of my child fills my life with joy; but having you as my wife would make me the happiest man on land and sea. (name), will you marry me?”

You accept.

A moment later you’re embracing, holding each other for a long moment, simply enjoying the feeling of each other’s body in your arms - a feeling of belonging, of pure and perfect syntony between two people who have chosen each other, and who know love is only one of the many things that bind them: trust, loyalty, respect - that is what you feel for Mihawk, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. In the end, your lover finally slips the ring -the ring of his mother, the ring of his sister; you’re the third woman to wear it, and you love him at least as much as the two who came before you did- on your finger; it’s beautiful, a golden band with an elegant oval stone that, Mihawk says, is the same colour as your eyes.

“It fits you perfectly; I knew it.” he murmurs as he kisses your fingers; you have never seen him smile like that “I hope you understand this means I’ll have to move here permanently; married couples do live together after all.”

“Well, I’ll have to put up with it…”

“On second thought, I can always go back to Kuraigana and keep our baby for half the time…”

“Don’t you dare.” you murmur, locking your arms behind his neck “You’re mine now; and I’ll never let you go. Is that alright, lord consort?”

Mihawk assures you that he can work with that, and then he’s kissing you, your first kiss as an engaged couple, which makes it even sweeter and more special than all the ones that preceded it. Blissfully happy, you’re about to tell your lover -your fiancé- how happy his decision to come live with you makes you, but you don’t have the time. Mihawk suddenly breaks the kiss to look at you. “Are you… alright?”

“Of course; never been better.” you answer, somewhat surprised “Why?”

“I think you… had a little accident…”

Your gaze follows his downward, to the small leakage falling between your feet from under your skirt; you blush furiously, unable to believe it had to happen now, that you’ll forever remember this day as the one you got engaged in and then immediately peed on yourself, but this is not a simple accident due to pressure of the baby on your bladder, this is something else…

“Mihawk?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I need you to go call the doctor and tell him to get ready.” you tell him calmly - too calmly, perhaps “It seems your child will celebrate our engagement with us.”

No woman in your family has ever died in childbirth; it was your mother who told you, no doubt in the hope that the thought of being part of such a positive streak would reassure you, and it did… even though you also couldn’t help thinking that a series of successes does have to end sooner or later, it’s a simple matter of probability, and perhaps you are doomed to be the one who fails where all your ancestors have succeeded.

“It’s too early. It can’t happen now… it’s still too early!” you keep saying as Mihawk’s strong arms carry you to your bedroom, as if it changed anything, as if pointing out the untimeliness of their arrival could convince your baby to go back to your womb and remain there for a month more “I can’t do it, I can’t…”

Nobody answers; nobody even pays attention to your words, too focused as they are on the needs of your body. Your mother, who rushed to your side as soon as she was informed of the impending birth of her grandchild, moves away the duvet, making space for Mihawk to gently depose you on the bed, while the doctor places the heavy bag with his tools on the bedside table. It’s only the two of them; your mother had arranged for two other physicians, specialised on childbirth and with extensive experience in delivering healthy babies, to come take care of you, as well as several experienced midwives, but given the fact your child has decided to be born a month earlier than expected, none of them is here at the fortress - or on the island, only a call away. You do trust your doctor, who has taken care of your and your mother’s health for many years, but having only him and his assistants, both younger than you, attending you fills your heart with dread.

“Help the lady (name) with her dress.” the doctor orders, but as the two assistants move to approach, Mihawk stops them with a peremptory gesture of his hand.

“I’m scared.” you murmur; that is not something you admit easily, especially with your lover, whose level-headedness in times of danger you always admired and envied, but this is a moment you’ve never experienced before, and you’re terrified, for your baby and for yourself as well “Mihawk, I can’t do it, I’m sorry…”

“But you have to.” your lover gently points out as he takes your face in his hands “You know it, the delivery of a baby is not something you can’t stop or postpone. Clearly our child is as impatient to meet us as we are to meet them.”

The thought does make you smile - only for a moment; you grasp his hands in yours, feeling like a castaway who clings to a rock in the middle of a stormy sea. “If I were to die…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Not saying it won’t make it less likely. If I were to die, please take care of our baby; it’s not their fault, but sometimes… parents resent them… I know you’re not that sort of man, but I don’t want our child to pay the price for what we have done…”

“Mihawk.” your mother intervenes softly before your lover has time to answer, resting a hand on his back “You need to go now. There’s nothing else you can do for her.”

As he faces your mother’s quiet determination, even your lover, who is not afraid to argue with the Marines’ commanding officers and has faced the most dangerous pirates of the Four Seas without trembling, seems unable to argue. “Take care of her.”

“Of course; I’ve done it since she was born.” your mother points out gently, and your lover nods in thanks before turning to you once more to kiss your forehead.

“I love you.” he tells you “I know how strong you are; please, darling, for our baby.”

Your heart breaks as you see the door of your room close behind him. Your mother, busy thoroughly washing her hands and arms in a basin, returns to you, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it gently. “Well then, let’s deliver this baby.” she then says briskly “If it’s going to be the same as when I delivered you, we’ll hear them crying in ten minutes.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been here; it feels like days, but the sun has barely begun setting out of the window, which means your delivery has been going on for a few hours at most - the most painful and terrifying of your life. 

You do not hear them crying in ten minutes.

You’re bathed in sweat, your underskirt (the only item of clothing you are wearing at the moment apart from your bra; your mother has offered to help you put a nightgown on, to preserve your modesty, but you were already too in pain to care) soaked in blood and who knows what other bodily fluids as you scream, in pain and fear and frustration, feeling your own cramps-stricken body revolting against you.

At first it seemed like your baby had changed their mind, preferring not to be born after announcing their arrival a month in advance; you have been asked to stand, walk around the room and then return to bed twice already, and while your contractions are closer and closer, nothing has happened. 

Your child is breech, you have heard the doctor whisper to your mother, and then something else that has made the usually calm and self-possessed woman go white in the face, something that has to do with the umbilical cord…

Oh, Gods, you understand after a moment; your baby could end up strangled if you force them to pass through your canal. You order yourself not to push, which is easier said than done, given the fact your body is screaming in pain, begging for permission to release the foreign body that is causing it so much torment. 

You can’t remember the last time you ate; your mother has given you some water to drink with a straw, which helped placate the dryness in your mouth, but you feel weaker by the minute - too weak, perhaps, to help your child, too weak to fight the blood loss that has filled the room with an unpleasant metallic stench.

“Is Mihawk still there?” you ask, your voice reduced to a whisper. You’ve screamed so long, and so loud, your throat hurts, and your mother nods; you have seen her smile when she saw the ring on your finger, but you didn’t have the time to talk about it. You’ll later learn that Mihawk didn’t exactly ask for her permission to propose to you; given how much he respects your strength and independence, the last thing he wanted was to treat you as an object whose ownership your mother would formally hand over him, regardless of your opinion; well aware of how close the two of you are, and that having her oppose your union would have pained you enormously, he simply asked for her blessing, that your mother was happy to grant, knowing equally well how much your lover cares about you. 

You’re engaged. Your child is being born. The most perfect happiness is so close you can almost touch it, but still out of your reach; you don’t want to lose all of it, you’ve never wanted something so avidly and intensely in your life, but you have the distinct feeling that the matter is not fully in your hands, and no matter how much you fight and try to resist, things are about to get very ugly soon…

“He is; he’s walking up and down the corridor like a lion in his cage.” your mother answers in a brave attempt at levity “He has asked me to tell you he can come in, if it pleases you.”

I know how strong you are; please, darling, for our baby.

“No. This is something I have to do by myself; and I don’t want him to see me like this.”

Your mother seems ready to argue, probably to point out the baby is Mihawk’s as well as yours and your lover will not blame you for wanting him close in such a difficult moment, but soon after you’re screaming again, blood pouring out of your body. You know it’s impossible, but you could swear you can feel your childcry in pain, and it’s the most horrifying, heart-breaking sensation you’ve ever experienced. 

It hurts so much, mother. Why are you doing this to me? It’s not my fault, I didn’t ask to be born; why are you making me suffer? Will you not help me?

You do want to help them, you wish you could tell your baby as the doctor and his assistants try desperately to free them of the noose around their neck; there’s nothing you wish more, even if it meant sacrificing your life; you just don’t know how, and maybe you’re not strong enough to fight for them…

You look at your mother, paler than you’ve ever seen her, who holds your hand; simply turning in her direction makes your head spin. “I’m not feeling very…” 

You faint. 

“Hello.”

The man smiles at you, a smile you’re pretty sure you recognise even though you don’t know from where, as he sees you approach, walking unsurely in the void that surrounds you. 

“Where are we? What place is this?” you ask, without returning the greeting - quite unkind of you, probably, but you’ve never been so confused in your life. 

Rather than walking, you feel yourself floating, unable to see a path or a floor under your feet. All around you shadows shift, sinuous and impalpable like the silk veils of a dancer; diaphanous as they are, you still can’t see through them, nor around nor above or under you. They surround you, gently advancing or backing away to make space as you move; you perceive no threat, no danger, as if you were surrounded by waves as you swam into open water, but when one of them brushes against your arm you feel yourself shivering. Cold, your mind supplies vaguely; grey; sick, the sensation too different from anything you’ve ever experienced to compare. 

The man waits until you have reached him before answering; he’s still smiling, even though melancholy fills his eyes. He’s younger than you, dressed as a pirate, a Log Pose on his wrist. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I am not.” you quickly answer, instinctively feeling the need to prove yourself to this stranger “I just want to know where I am, so that I can return home.”

“I’m afraid that might be easier said than done. Do you know what happened to you?”

You struggle to answer, trying to think back to the last thing you remember. “Well… I was giving birth… but there was something wrong with my baby’s position, I felt so weak and I had lost a lot of blood…”

And then the truth hits you. “Oh… I died, didn’t I?” you ask, lowering your gaze to your stomach; you can’t see your body very well, at once not naked and not covered by any specific item of clothing, but your belly feels empty, void - a surprisingly unpleasant sensation. “But my baby is not here, which means…”

“Your baby is alright; for now. And you’re not dead, (name); look here.”

Before you can ask the man how he knows your name (have you met? You’re almost sure you know him, even though you’ve never seen him) his pointed finger draws your gaze towards a structure in front of you, that you had somehow failed to notice until now: it’s a stone arch, perhaps thrice as tall as you and equally wide, deceptively innocuous in its natural immobility, the stone’s surface covered by glyphs. You soon perceive a pull towards it, invisible hands pushing you towards it and the unknown opening at the other side, but you dig in your heels, already aware of its real significance.

“This is the threshold.” the man explains, confirming your fears “To what, there are a thousand names to describe it: afterlife, heaven, hell… you can call it however you like. It’s the place where people go after they die, and since you’re not fully dead, but on the brink between this life and the other, you can see it even though you haven’t passed it.”

“But you did?”

“I did; many years ago. But when I felt you were approaching, I decided to come meet you.”

You’re talking to a dead person, while half-dead yourself; it’s without a doubt the weirdest experience of your life, but at the same time you can’t tarry on it, too focused as you are on the problem at hand.

“If I haven’t passed the threshold… does it mean that I can go back, live?” you inquire, and your interlocutor nods, serious as he regards you. 

“You can.” he concedes “But you need to be aware of what your choice involves. If you let go now, you’ll die, but your baby will live; with the matter of your survival out of the way, the doctor will be able to save them. But if you go back… I can’t tell what is going to happen; they might survive, they might not, and the same can happen to you.”

“I see…”

Silence falls as you consider your options; you can only ensure your child’s survival if you let yourself die now; if you persist, there’s no knowing what is going to happen.

“If I die and they survive… what will become of the baby?” you ask in a whisper, and the man looks at you kindly. His kindness, this is what you remember the most, as well as his smile; this is how you recognise him.

“They will be fine. Your lover will never forget you, and never love again, but the presence of the child in his life will comfort him, and your baby will one day become the ruler of your island, and a great fighter. You’ll be proud of them, (name).”

Mihawk. You hadn’t forgotten about your lover, you never could, but hearing the man mention him brings tears to your eyes. You don’t want to lose him; even if you’re already been together for years you still have so many more in front of you, years you want to spend by his side, as you raise your child together and enjoy the beauty and intimacy of your love. Lines like I can’t live without you and If I lose him my life isn’t worth living belong to romance novels, not real life, but you need him, you need to be with him, because Mihawk is yours and you are his, and perhaps you are not owed a future together, but you’re determined to fight the Gods themselves to earn it.

Unfortunately, your decision doesn’t concern only you and Mihawk. Could you sacrifice your life to save your baby? You certainly can; you’ve wanted this child for so many years, and you know they’ll be looked after. The mere prospect of not seeing them grow, and never seeing Mihawk again, breaks your heart; but you would never forgive yourself if you didn’t put your baby’s well-being before yours, regardless of your chances to conceive again. 

This is what you need to do; you could decide on the spur of the moment or reflect on it for a whole day, you’d know the best thing to do anyway. On the other hand…

I know how strong you are.

He knows, because you are; or at least you can be, if something important is at stake.

Please, darling, for our baby.

Mihawk has asked you to look after your child, and you want the same, now and for every day you have left to live: you will protect them, you decide, ensuring they are born safe and sound and then protecting them from any danger they may meet. Up to now you’ve allowed your fears to control you, the painful memories of the loss of your firstborn and the dread of having to fight a battle in which none of your weapons (including your beloved derringer, as usual hidden behind your pillow) could help you survive; but now you have to be strong, for yourself and for your family. You know that people don’t decide to die on the birthing bed, nor is the matter fully in their hands, and you can be the most headstrong and determined woman who ever lived, that still wouldn’t exempt you from the risk…

“I’ll go back.” you announce, and the shadows around you seem to draw back for a moment “I don’t want to put my baby in danger, but… I can’t abandon them, or Mihawk; I’ll survive for their sake as well as my own.”

Your interlocutor doesn’t seem surprised by your decision; he simply smiles, and moves to keep facing you as you take a step back, away from him, away from the threshold, and then another, at first struggling against the pull and then more and more easily. 

“Thank you.” you murmur; you wish you had more time, but having met him, and that he decided to come talk to you when you needed him the most, counts more than you could express in words “I miss you so much, every day; I wish you were there with me, especially today.”

“I’m always with you, (name); always, even though you can’t see me.” he reassures you; his smile has turned sad as you both prepare to say good-bye, but there is pride in his eyes “Give your mother my love. Farewell, my darling!”

“Good-bye, father!”

Another step back and the shadows no longer envelop you; there is a light behind you, a tiny but persistent spot of brightness towards which you start to run, all too aware the time at your disposal is running out. 

“She’s awake!”

The cry is your mother’s, still by your side as you gasp for air as if you were resurfacing after an immersion of several minutes; you meet her eyes, full of tears for what she expected to be the last minutes of your life, and you can’t blame her for it: you’ve never felt so weak, blood-loss and exhaustion having depleted your strength, but you still manage to smile.

“My love, w…”

“I’ve seen father.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen him, mother; he felt I needed help and he came to see me.” you explain, and your mother, who should perhaps think pain and fear have made you delirious or that you were simply dreaming, smiles “He sends his love.”

“Of course he does. (name); I…”

“I’m dying, aren’t I?”

She doesn’t answer; she doesn’t need to, because the stench of blood -your blood, the blood you have lost- fills the room, and while you can still feel your baby move inside you, struggling to breathe despite the noose around their neck, you can also perceive your own body is about to give in, admitting defeat in the face of prostration and pain.

It’s not too late yet though; at least, you’re not ready to accept it is.

The moon has risen out of the window of your room, not full but almost, a bright crescent in a clear but almost starless sky; as you turn to regard it, everything becomes clear.

“Mother, will you please open the window? I don’t want to smash through it.”

“My lady, don’t.” the doctor warns you as your mother is already moving; your blood covers his arms up to his elbows “It’s folly.”

“It’s the only way.”

“Shifting will not solve anything; your cub will still have the cord around their neck, and at that point you’ll be alone, no one will help you. Please, let us try to…”

But you don’t. You know what you’re feeling is natural: many of your kind feel the urge to shift in moments of danger, instinctively hoping to fight their way out of whatever problem or threat they are facing, but it rarely helps, and it surely wouldn’t help in your situation. What you need is the help of trained physicians, with their tools and medicines…

The window is wide open, the cool night breeze coming in. Your mother stares at you, her eyes full of love, fear, and trust. “Go, my love.” she says “Do what you have to.”

You do.

If you thought standing while weighted down by your pregnant belly was hard, that was nothing compared to this; you grab the headpost and heave yourself from the bed, crying in pain as your entire body protests at the effort, and then the shift envelops you, an only partial relief since the wolf can, after all, suffer as much as a human can, but that you nonetheless welcome. You wait to be steady on your four paws, your tail proudly raised as the fur covers your entire body, before dashing towards the window that you jump over, soon leaving the fortress behind you. 

You can feel your baby, your cub, in your belly, struggling to breathe, fighting to live; you run blindly, crossing the torch-lit empty courtyard as you lift your head to the moon and howl, a piercing, pained but fierce sound that fills the still air of the night. 

No day in this life has ever been as long as this. Mihawk has waited for hours, pacing back and forth in the corridor, unable to ignore his lover’s desperate cries of pain, which got weaker and weaker as she did. One of the doctor’s assistants, who had momentarily left the room to retrieve some tools, told him that the baby (his baby, their baby) was breech and it might be impossible to make them shift in a more favourable position, which in turn would put both them and (name)’s survival at risk. 

His mother died in childbirth. Mihawk doesn’t know exactly what happened, because the matter was too painful for Yoru to discuss, and he has never exactly considered himself guilty of her death, but what if history is repeating itself? His mother first, and then his lover, not considering his sister; are all the women in his life destined to die, either because of him or because he is not there to protect them? Perhaps the baby is a girl as well…

Mihawk sighs, covering his face with his hands as he forces himself to remain lucid. His lover and baby are not going to die simply because his mother and sister have, and while there’s nothing he can do to help, he needs to be strong for both (name) and the child; he knows it’s not unusual for a delivery to last hours, and she is strong and healthy, and well-assisted. Everything is going to be alright…

And then he hears (name) howling. 

He stands quickly and walks to the closest window, out of which he can see a wolf running; despite the darkness, despite the distance, he’d know her anywhere, just like he recognized her call. (name) has turned, but why? Giving birth in human form is surely easier, and he doubts wolf midwives exist…

“You should go.”

The lady Veressa is standing on the door of (name)’s room, both her hands and dress splashed with blood. “You should go after her.” she clarifies “If there’s someone she needs, it’s you.”

“But there’s nothing I can do.” Mihawk points out; he feels helpless, maybe for the first time since that terrible day when he lost Yoru, and it’s destroying him “I can’t help her.”

His lover’s mother looks at him, exhausted but suddenly stern, her head tilted to the side; she has never looked more like (name). “Can’t you?”

Mihawk stares at her; a moment later he has followed his lover’s example in opening the window and jumping over it. He runs like he has never run in his life, plunging in the night’s darkness as his lover’s howling guides him forward. 

Mate, he thinks; he’s still human, but he’s already gotten used to thinking of her like that, at least in the privacy of his heart. Wait for me, mate; I am coming.

He expected (name) to run towards the gardens, since that is a spot she is used to frequent when she feels upset or melancholic, and wolves naturally prefer natural places to man-built constructions, but she didn’t; when Mihawk finally reaches her, his mate has hidden in the small constructions site on the outskirts of the fortress’ borders, where the stables have been recently demolished to make space for a larger building. It’s a highly unsafe place for a pregnant woman, but small, enclosed and dark as it is, it’s probably the closest thing to a den his lover has found, in which to find some safety.

Mihawk lingers out of the building to take care of his clothes and then shifts, fortunately without any hassle; (name) told him he has learned to control the turning quicker than any other adult she has ever met, a compliment Mihaw was secretly flattered by. A year after he and his lover drank each other’s blood, the sensation of his bones changing shape and fur growing all over his body is still peculiar but not painful, and as Mihawk raises his head to look at his moon, his partially colour blind eyes reverently filled with its beauty, he feels alive, and strong, and scared.

He whines softly as he advances into the partially demolished building, his eyes easily adapting to the lack of light, and (name) answers in kind, her voice filled with anguish. She is nestled against the corner of the room, lying on her side to relieve pressure from her belly, as she yelps in shock and pain; she licks Mihawk’s face when he approaches, and gladly lets him do the same to her, but she’s in pain, scared for what she fears is going to happen.

It hurts, mate, she confesses, our cub is leaving. Maybe I am leaving too. I don’t know what to do.

Mihawk lies next to her; when (name)’s rests her head on his back, he can feel her trembling. You will not leave. Nor will our cub, he gently reassures her. I will not allow it.

They huddle together, her pregnant belly safely nestled between their bodies, waiting for the night to pass.

It is so tiny.

He is, Mihawk mentally corrects himself. He’s unquestionably a male, a baby boy who finally decided to be born once his exhausted mother had no longer the strength for a single push more; the shifting has caused his tiny head to slip out of the umbilical cord wrapped around it, and the baby came out naturally, crying with all the strength of his small lungs. He makes others wait for him, rather than the other way around, Mihawk thinks as he gently lulls the baby in his arms, sitting cross-legged on the stables’ dirty floor; just like me.

“Is he alright?” (name) asks weakly; she has shifted back to human after the delivery, they all have, the wolf cub instinctively turning just as his mother did. His eyes are the same colour as (name’s, he hasn’t inherited his father’s hawk-gaze, but Mihawk could swear the baby favours him. He’s the smallest, most fragile creature he has ever seen, and he can’t stop looking at him, at his soft skin and tiny hands, at the way he has screamed and cried loud enough to wake the dead for a few minutes before falling asleep against his father’s chest.

Father. He has known for two months, and still can’t wrap his head around it. He is a father, he is this child’s father, and his life will never be the same again…

“Mihawk?”

“Forgive me. He’s perfectly healthy.” he reassures her; they will have to return to the fortress soon, both to make sure mother and baby receive the proper care and because their den lacks even the most basic standards of hygiene and security, but they deserve this moment for themselves… the three of them, a couple and their child, a mother, a father and a son, a small corner of peace and perfection in an otherwise chaotic world “Ten fingers, ten toes, and he reacts to visual and auditory stimuli. He’s absolutely perfect, my love; you’ve been amazing.”

(name) smiles softly. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Don’t be; I’m sure what you went through was worse.”

They share a smile as Mihawk passes the baby to (name), and the child rests his head against the softness of his mother’s chest, gurgling happily. Mihaws moves to put his arm around his lover’s shoulders; she smiles at him, beautiful and radiant and relieved, as they share a kiss. 

“We have a son, Mihawk.” she murmurs, and he smiles. 

“We do.” he agrees “And I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

“Are you awake, my love?”

“I think so.” you murmur as you cover a yawn behind your hand, feeling finally well-rested after what has probably been the longest day of your life; then, as you immediately perceive the absence of someone who until a few hours ago didn’t exist yet: “Where is the baby?”

“He’s sleeping as well.” your mother explains as she quickly crosses the room in the direction of the window, to once more open it and let fresh air enter; she must be exhausted as well, but the joy that fills her face makes her look ten years younger. She was still here in your room waiting when Mihawk brought you back, you wrapped in his coat with the baby in your arms, and kept you company as you were cleaned and finally allowed to rest “And the doctor saw him; he’s alright, just slightly underweight but perfectly healthy. And he was born in wolf form, just like you! It’s a good omen.”

“So they say…”

Your mother smiles as she sits on the edge of her bed, while you sit up, still a bit sore but clean and warm in your nightgown. “How do you feel, (name)?”

“Well, I think; I just… I can’t believe it really happened.” you confess “I’ve had months to get used to this, but I still fear I will wake up tomorrow morning and discover it was all a dream.”

Your mother reassures this is no dream, it is reality, with your baby safe and sound and real, and Mihawk’s ring at your finger. “I’m very glad you accepted his proposal; I’m sure the two of you will be very happy.”

“We have decided he will move here with me - with us.”

“Of course he will; what sort of family would you be otherwise? And fear not, I’ll be the model of a discreet mother-in-law, keeping your baby as you spend some time together.”

The thought brings a smile to your face, only for a moment. “How am I going to do it?”

“Do what, my love?”

“Being a mother. You took such good care of me, and I know I can hire a dozen nannies and nurses if I want, but… this is something I have no experience in; it’s completely new.” you confess; you have never shied away from a challenge and your heart is full of joy for the birth of your baby boy, but the thought of being responsible for his well-being, for his security and education and readiness to face the world once he’ll be an adult… yes, you have to admit the thought scares you “And I know Mihawk would do his part; this has nothing to do with him, just…”

“You fear you won’t be up to it.”

“I do; I fear I will disappoint you all, our child especially.”

Your mother smiles. “I’ll tell you a secret. You can read a pile of books on child rearing as tall as you are, hire an army of nannies, have your child being educated by the best tutors since he’s two, and at times you’ll still think you are doing a horrible job.” she explains “There is no sure recipe or magic formula, no foolproof remedy to make sure you’ll never make mistakes raising your child; rather, it’s something you’ll learn to do together, and discover through trial and error. Trust your judgement and the people close to you, and everything will be fine. Children can be forgiving when mistakes are made with the best intentions.”

You reflect on her words for a while, just a little less nervous than before, until your mother retrieves her Den Den Mushi from a pocket of her dress.

“I forgot to tell you; Sinead called while you were resting. I told her about the baby and she sent her regards and love, but maybe you should call her. There’s no rush, but…”

“No, you’re right; there’s something important we need to talk about after all.”

With a sigh you take the Den Den Mushi from your mother’s hands; your cousin-in-law answers almost immediately. “Sinead, it’s me.”

“(name)! How are you?” she asks, her excitation clear through the line “Congratulations! How is the baby? Your mother told me it’s a boy. Have you decided on a name?”

“Not yet; but he’s fine, fortunately, even though he took his sweet time being born. How are you? And Caspian?”

They are both fine, she assures you; it’s been a year since Sinead’s husband, your cousin Theon, was killed, and she has finally started recovering, devoting herself to the care of her son and her husband’s property, to keep it until Caspian is old enough to inherit it. Apart from her terrible taste in men, Sinead is a good woman, and you have started growing closer now that Theon’s resentment and envy towards you are no longer keeping you apart.

“I’m sure that you have everything under control, thanks to your mother and your doctor, but… well, if you need help, please call me; I have helped raise six children between Caspian and my brother’s, so I’m quite experienced.”

“I will; thank you, it’s very kind of you to offer.” you answer, sincerely touched… and suddenly a little ill-at-ease, because you hate the thought you’re going to repay her offer to help with bad news “Sinead… I know last year, after Theon died, we had discussed making Caspian my heir, but this baby… well, I want him to become lord of this island after me; it’s his inheritance, and I want to give him the best life I can.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry if this… displeases you. I’m very fond of Caspian, and will always be there for him, but…”

“No, I understand; this child is your son, it is only fair that he inherits your feud.” she points out gently “To be honest, I’m relieved; I know this is not what Theon would have wanted, but I don’t think my son would be happy in your mother’s role. We can already offer him a good start at life, and I want him to be able to choose his destiny.”

You can only approve your cousin-in-law’s decision; Sinead congratulates you again for the birth of your son, and promises she and Caspian will soon come visit. Having said your good-byes, you return the Den Den Mushi to your mother, who notices you’re a bit pensive.

“What are you thinking about, my love?”

“Nothing.” you reassure her; what’s the point of worrying about the future, when the present offers you so much to be happy about? “Only that I feel blessed; and I want to see the baby and Mihawk.”

His son’s hand is too tiny to close around his index finger; Mihawk observes the scene in front of him, fascinated beyond words, a strange emotion that is love, pride, protectiveness and anxiety filling his heart. The baby is not yet aware of the world around him, so small and helpless in the vast, dangerous world, and he doesn’t know how much he is loved, and how his father, and his mother, would be ready to fight the Gods themselves to keep him safe. 

It’s alright, Mihawk thinks as he frees his finger from his son’s gentle grasp; we’ll just have to make sure he learns it and never forgets it.

“Come, my little darling.” he murmurs, his voice soothing, as he bends to lift the child from his cot. Any man or woman who knows him, even just by his fearsome reputation as a pirate and swordsman, would be amazed to hear him talk like that, but Mihawk doesn’t care, and not just because he’s alone; with his son in his arms, the baby’s tiny but steady heartbeat reverberating against his chest, it’s almost impossible to worry or care about anything else “Let us go visit your mother.”

A spacious, well-lit room next to (name)’s apartment has been arranged as a nursery for the baby, even though it’s still empty save for a cradle, the same his mother and grandfather once used, a changing table and a few shelves on the walls. Mihawk keeps the baby against his chest, a hand under his bottom and the other supporting his neck and head like the lady Veressa showed him, as he walks to his fiancée’s bedroom, finding her sitting on her bed, smiling and breath-taking in her joy.

“I was told my lady had asked for us.”

“I most certainly did, lord consort; now come, I want to see my heir, and a kiss.”

He gives her both, more careful than he’s ever been as he lowers the baby on her lap and then presses his mouth to (name)’s. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better; thanks for bringing us back, I felt so weak I really couldn’t walk…”

Mihawk smiles and shakes his head; the baby wakes up suddenly, not crying but with a quiet content sound that reminds his father of the happy chirping of a bird. 

“Do you think it was because I’m also a werewolf?” Mihawk asks suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“You told me that for years your lovers had always been men you met out of the island; they were humans, not werewolves. And we did conceive only three months after you turned me…”

“It… would make sense; people did use to say werewolf blood has magical properties.” (name) admits slowly as she plays with the baby’s hands “But still, it’s impossible; turning into a werewolf doesn’t cure every wound or medical problem one has; Shanks’ arm didn’t grow back, and the same must be valid for me, and my… my womb.”

They reflect silently on the matter for a while, both aware that they might never find an answer to their doubt, and that they don’t need it - not when the result of that unexpected miracle is there with them, crying softly as he shakes his tiny hands.

“Are you hungry, my little love?” (name) asks, and while the baby obviously can’t answer he wastes no time in latching to her breast once she has lowered the neckline of her nightgown and raised her son to her chest, his tears soon forgotten “Here you go…”

Mihawk pulls a chair close to the bed. “We haven’t decided on a name yet.” he points out after a moment “We can’t keep calling him the baby forever. Still unwilling to use your father’s name?”

(name) shakes her head; no matter how much she loves her father, she wants her baby to be his own person, and to love him for him, not because she reminds him of someone else. “I really don’t know, there are so many good names…”

“There is one I have always liked.” Mihawk proposes “Gawain. It has a nice ring to it, does it not?”

“It does. Gawain… do you know what it means?” (name) smiles “Little falcon. I think it’s the perfect name for a son of yours. Do you like it, little one? Your name is lord Dracule Gawain…”

The baby doesn’t comment, too focused on the first meal of his life.

“We’ll always protect you.” Mihawk swears, brushing his fingers against the baby’s soft hair; dark hair, just like his. (name) nods. “And we’ll always be on your side, whatever road you decide to take; we promise.”

The baby gurgles happily as his parents share a smile, and a kiss.

“I will never leave you.” Mihawk murmurs “And I swear I will love you forever.”

[bambisnc]

OK! [or, group projects w riize]

pairing : ot7 x reader! genre : fluff with crack delicately lined in cw/tw : food mention + use of caps wc : idk ,,

shotaro ,. ! - the mood maker!! - is the person who Socializes, helps to coordinate between the members, makes the gc, arranges meet-ups; just overall supportive and cheerful even if your team is doing literally nothing and is very likely about to get an F (D:) - shows up w like cut fruits for everyone, goes on coffee runs + writes encouraging lil messages on sticky notes and leaves them around/in notebooks etc etc - also x2 i see him as someone who like,... doodles on your people’s hands :( draws a smol star and writes something adorably cringe like “ur my star ^-^”

eunseok ,. ! - he’s the type of guy who’d take charge and delegate work to everyone; to put it simply : BOSSY AF. dare i say dictator coded even, but hey, he just wants this to get over with yk?? - bit scary to work w at first but when if he warms up to you he might would definitely indulge in a lot of partiality; assign you the easier tasks/the tasks that you prefer + if someone pisses him off he would, w the nicest sweetest smile ever, assign them the worst possible task.. - can be bribed if you offer to help w his work though sooo :) do w that what you will :) 

sungchan ,. ! - trust on me this, he’d be the one who’s always “busy” except in his case he probably fr is bc my guy is just into That Many extra curriculars - you call him up like hey where are you we’re supposed to meet at *insert name* coffee shop rn?? and he’d answer w all seriousness that his “rap music club members have a mandatory team exercise for which they’ve gone fishing and after he needs to prepare an ad for the video game club because he kinda insulted the ad making team and now they’re all on strike . oh and he has football coaching (as in he needs to coach like a bunch of tiny kindergarteners as a favor to some aunt) right in between!” - he’ll send all his work at like 4am tho dw ^^ sleep is for the weak.

wonbin ,. ! -perfectionist!!! he would be The aesthetic stationery + supplies guy with like pouches and pouches of pretty washi tapes, metallic coloured calligraphy pens, stickers and much more - would definitely call out people if their handwriting was bad.. - also he would totally use the project as an excuse to get to know whoever he’s interested in~ might offer to split the work into like duos and immediately choose you as his partner~ - prepare yourself for a lot of really obvious and goofy flirting..

seunghan ,. ! - ah yes the wise guy (genuine) (no why does he fr know everything about Everything) - puts out the most thought provoking, viewpoint shaking, world stopping arguments then half-slumps over the table and or rests his entire weight to lean on you and mumbles something about wanting to watch shin-chan >< he’s versatile (read : cute) like that - also would quite honestly go along w any idea no matter how bad it is <3 + seems super calm and composed but watch him be the most excited when taro suggests some team bonding at an arcade/festival :( <3

sohee ,. ! - he gives me manages stuff best under high pressure situations - if you’re freaking out about one of your teammates cough cough you can guess who it was having fumbled up and accidentally written down the wrong date and oh no your project is due tomorrow?! don’t worry! he’s got this :D - procrastinator at heart but for the right persuasion tactics done by ahem a certain someone (it’s you) he’d probably give it his all <;3 - also he’s an enabler at heart.. supports the ideas which he knows are going to be a trainwreck just for funsies

anton ,. ! - :(( he is Doing His Best okay - gets a bit overwhelmed due to the rising panic and chaos + leads to people being very partial to him but honestly yk he deserves it <3 - also a rich guy tm, would definitely ahem ahem pull some strings to get some extra fine quality materials~ - feel like he’d be good at research work + another 4am worker would definitely pester you to join zoom calls or ft you and be like hey!! look at this!! i did this!! is it good!! - as an excuse to show off to yuo splurges a lot for an end of the project celebration for sure

notes : inspired by very very real life events (wrote this in a zoom meet w my current group proj members ehe)! if you know me irl and feel like these are based off of you.. they're not!! you're simply hallucinating!!!! <333 + [m.list]

[shegoesbyjoy]

Any calligraphy fans in the Disco Elysium fandom? 👀 Partially inspired by Inktober, I decided to pick up this old hobby of mine after a long time away—there are so many good quotes to choose from so I'm surprised I haven't come across very much lettering or calligraphy work! Here is my humble contribution...should I do more??

(Process shot + a video under the cut to see the sparkliness of this very pretty copper-coloured metallic ink in action, because the poor desk lamp lighting in these photos does not do it justice.)

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Heyyy can you please write a dovesso x reader threesome?? thank you, your work is amazing. Love ya. Hope you're having a great day

Heyyy, @principal-weems09 !! Ofc, I’d love to write this 🥰 + @delisasdf ‘s request—Could you maybe please do 2 and 54 with Lesso ?:))

Mommy & Wifey Cure Panic ~Dovesso xFem Professor!Reader

Reader is struggling with chronic panic attacks, and Dovesso comes to the rescue. PSA:(By no means implying that sex actually cures panic attacks, do not take this as a recommendation/cure/answer!!!)

Mommy…Master List

Requests & Prompt List

#2. “Be a good girl and tie yourself to the bed posts”

#54. “You can call me Mommy/Daddy if you want too…”

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!!, smut, panic attacks, lots of angst in beginning, strap fucking, eating out, fingering, face sitting, more implied smut, teasing, mommy kink, etc.

Enjoy (;

You woke with the same dread and panic as the nights previous.

With a dejected sigh, you sat up, feeling your breathing was shallow and your head was swimming.

You walked to your closet to find clothes for the day.

On these types of days, you put on whatever the hell was most accessible to you.

Your heart was racing and pounding in your ears.

You had had panic attacks all throughout your life, but in recent years, they had turned chronic.

You grabbed your work that you had fallen asleep to and made your way to your classroom, deciding to get again skip breakfast.

You walked down the corridors until your were met with the door to your class.

Your mind was reeling as it did when you had these chronic episodes.

You entered your room with a turn and click of the key.

You entered and closed the door behind you.

Just another day to survive you thought to yourself…

With a heavy sigh, you placed your things on your desk.

You plopped down on your chair and went to open and start your work.

Your hands were shaky.

But you had gotten used to it.

There was no use fighting it.

So you worked through the early morning hours including breakfast, until your first class of the day.

As the students walked in, you could already feel your exhaustion and extreme fatigue kicking in for the day.

Your classes went by in the slow fashion that they usually do.

You enjoyed teaching but it was difficult to say the least during your episodes.

Eventually, your lunch break rolled around.

The last class left, excited to get to lunch, leaving you in your room.

You had a habit of skipping lunch too and you were not breaking that today.

Not when you could barely walk around your classroom without feeling faint.

But today, something odd occurred…

A small sheet of calligraphy paper was slipped under you door during your lunch break.

You got up and went to go inspect the paper.

Lesso and I are worried about you, love.

Meet us in the courtyard after dinner.

Love,

Clarissa xoxo

You sighed.

Great, another thing for you to worry about.

Although…

You were curious as to what was going to happen…

Your classes up till dinner went just as slow as every class before them.

Honestly, you were drowning.

Every class going by filled your lungs with more water.

Finally, dinner came around.

By now, you were starving, so you beelined to the dining hall.

You sat in your usual corner spot on the staff table, and you wolfed down your food.

Partially because you were so hungry…

Partially because you wanted to get out of the dining hall as soon as possible…

And partially because of your nerves for your meeting in the courtyard later…

The second you finished you meal, you were out of the hall.

No one had a chance of making any sort of conversation with you.

You were in the courtyard in no time, and by no surprise, you had beaten Clarissa and Lesso there.

You sat on the edge of a rock, fidgeting with your shirt collar, when you eventually heard Lesso’s signature cane coming your way.

You stood up, finding the two deans walking up to meet you.

“Hi.” was all you managed.

“Hello, dear.” Clarissa lovingly greeted you.

“What did you want to talk about? And why did it have to be out here?” You nervously asked.

“It’s sensitive…” Lesso spoke, “and not of a professional matter.”

This intrigued you…

Clarissa stepped in for Larissa to expand, “We’re worried about you, love… It’s clear your not doing okay, and we want to help.”

“What makes you think you can help me?”

Lesso chuckled at your directness, “We have a proposal.”

“Oh?”

“I think you could use a good fucking, but Clarissa thinks I’d be too harsh, so we agreed we’d both do it.”

“I… What…?”

“We are offering to take care of you for the night.” Clarissa gently said.

A tear escaped your eyes.

“Oh see, Lesso, you made her cry!” Clarissa scolded her red headed partner.

“I, wait no!” You tried to correct Clarissa, causing both of them to look back at you, “I just… I’ve never had anyone offer that… offer to help me, I mean…”

Both the deans hearts broke at your statement.

“Well then it’s decided.” Lesso stated, looking over to Clarissa and receiving the confirmation she needed.

Lesso then walked over to you, ghosting her lips over the shell of your ear, “Go upstairs to your room and be a good girl and tie yourself to the bed posts… we’ll follow you up in a minute.” she purred.

“I… Yes…” you stuttered, your face going flush red with blush.

“You can call me Mommy if you want too…” Lesso said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Your throat went dry at this.

“Yes mommy…” you whispered, before high tailing it back to your room.

~~~

The next morning while your legs were extremely wobbly from your late night activities, you were actually feeling far better.

Your chronic panic has gone away.

And all day, all you could think about was last night…

~~~

“Do you want mommy’s dick, pet?” Lesso taunted.

“Yes please please mommy want you inside me…!” You mewled, pulling against your restraints.

“Then be a good girl and let Clarissa sit on our face…”

“Yes mommy GOD please mommy…!!”

~~~

“Oh Fuck, love I’m so close!” Clarissa moaned, she ground her cunt against yours.

You bucked your hips up to meet hers in need, “God fuck me, right there Clarissa!!” You cried out.

“Awww, is mommy’s pet about to cum…?” Lesso taunted while latching her tongue onto one of your nipples making you cry out in pleasure.

~~~

“Fuck, that’s it baby, right there…!” Lesso moaned out, as she sat in between your spread out legs, while Clarissa lapped up her juices and tongue fucked her cunt.

You moaned out in lust and need at the sight unfolding in front of you.

Lesso chuckled, “Is someone turned on by watching mommy, hmmm?”

“Yes! Please mommy need you, need you so so bad!!” You begged the red head.

To your great pleasure, Lesso used her spare hand (the one that wasn’t pushing Clarissa’s head impossibly closer to Lesso’s cunt) to tease your entrance, and then thrust two fingers inside your aching cunt.

“Fuck yes mommy please don’t stop!!” You cried out, as she rutted her fingers inside you…

~~~

You were happy to say that you never had a panic attack that bad since that day.

[sylphiesweet]

: ̗̀➛ Rarijack Fanfic - Ch1 ౨ৎ

- ͙۪۪̥˚┊❛ w/c: 6.5k ❜┊˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

a/n: hello !! this is my first real post on here. i don't typically use tumblr, and i don't typically write fanfiction ! but i love to write, and i figured i would rather write stuff that others will want to read than write stuff that will collect dust in my folders. constructive feedback is much appreciated :)

Summary: A humanized MLP:FiM alternate universe set in the 90s where Rarity- a now famous fashion designer living in Canterlot- visits Ponyville for a reunion with her friends. Centers on the Rarity x Applejack ship. Lots of fluff, only involves the mane 6, very wholesome.

enjoy ♡

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Under the warm lamp light of the Canterlot Carousel’s tailor shop fervorously work the delicate and nimble fingers of Equestria’s greatest designer. It is well past close, the streets just beyond the doors of the boutique are desolate, yet Rarity is intent on completing her remaining custom orders. Through her rubied cat eye frames this artist fixates on the precise stitching of her sewing machine. The fabric of the garment being constructed is ethereal, it possesses an otherworldly luster that practically lights up what is an otherwise pitch-black room. Nights like these, where this lady of refined elegance works her magic for hours on end, are what have gotten her so far in such a cutthroat industry. They are also, however, what tends to be the blockage between her and a healthy social life.

Under the obnoxiously loud whirring of Rarity’s sewing machine approaches the faint sound of heels clicking against the boutique’s shiny marble floors. She doesn’t hear the voice calling her name, too stuck in her trance-like state of work. It takes the sewing machine being turned off mid-seam for her to finally look up. “What do you think you are doing, Sassy?! I am in a time crunch here!”

In front of the dramatic damsel stood Rarity’s store manager, Sassy Saddles, with the unplugged cord to the sewing machine in hand. She had a partially amused, mostly concerned expression. “I was closing up the boutique when I heard you back here. You’ve been sewing for a while, Rarity. I haven’t seen you step away from your desk all day.”

She gave her manager an unamused expression. “Time crunch, darling. Pay attention. Now plug the machine back in, will you?” Rarity instinctively bent back into position, expecting Sassy to obey and the machine to resume.

Sassy sighed. She knew there was no use in arguing, not with Rarity of all women. “Before you continue, I came to give you this.” From her skirt pocket, she pulls a wax-sealed envelope addressed to Rarity.

This got her attention. “Oh? Give it here.” She held her hand out and received the letter. Searching for something on her desk to open it with, she glanced up briefly to her manager. “Who’s it from?”

“I believe your old friends from Ponyville. It has the Princess’s logo on the seal- see?” A well-manicured finger reached over the sewing machine and tapped on the crimson wax holding the envelope together. It did indeed have the insignia of their nation’s beloved princess pressed into it.

Rarity took her embroidery shears and sliced the parcel open. The letter inside contained the iconic calligraphy of a royal friend from a lifetime ago, she would recognize it anywhere. If the wax seal and the regal writing didn’t already give away the author of such a letter, it was the words themselves. Nobody else in all of Equestria wrote with such intellectual grace. The same level of attention to detail in each sentence could be achieved by no one other than the Princess of Friendship herself; Twilight Sparkle. Seeing the penmanship of a friend from her girlhood brought a smile to Rarity’s face. It sometimes still felt like it was only yesterday that they were having sleepovers together in her quaint library, giving each other facials and sharing the local gossip. That was back when she was still a small-town girl, running her first and only boutique with a head full of dreams and a heart full of passion. The more she reminisced, the older she began to feel. The gray hairs on her head were probably multiplying with each memory. She should just read the letter already.

As her boss read, Sassy discreetly began to wrap up the sewing machine’s cord and hook it onto the side of the desk. She loved when the boutique had plenty of business, but she also knew from past experience that an overworked Rarity could lead to catastrophic things. A sigh of disappointment from the tired designer came once she finished reading. Sassy looked up, quickly folding her hands in front of her to hide her crime. “What’s wrong?” she asked hesitantly.

”Nothing is wrong… Twilight is hosting a reunion.” Rarity set the letter aside.

Sassy smiled, yet still held that look of worry in her brows. “Well, that’s wonderful!… Is it not?”

”It’s all the way back in Ponyville. That’s a trip I simply do not have the time to take, I will have to decline the invitation.” She began searching around her desk for a pen and paper to write with.

”Now hold on, Rarity!” Sassy stepped around the desk to face Rarity, mostly so they could stop talking over the sewing machine. “You have been working yourself to the tips of your cuticles. There is not another lady in Canterlot more deserving of a break than you. Speaking as both your manager and your friend, you would be mad not to accept this invite.”

Rarity paused her searching. Sassy wasn’t a stranger to dramatic speeches, nor was she, yet it was surprising to hear her actively protest like this. “How deserving I am of a break doesn’t matter when we have New York Fashion Week rapidly approaching. My schedule is absolutely full! I have to go back up to Manehattan on Monday to fit the models for the line, and then down to Fillydelphia on Wednesday for a meeting with the design team coming from Milan, and next Saturday I am flying out to Las Pegasus for the opening of the Carousel Boutique on the strip.” She had begun to spiral into one of her fast-paced, extra-dramatic rants. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rarity looked up at Sassy and took her glasses off. “Tell me, where am I meant to fit a trip to Ponyville in all of that?” The name of her hometown was spat out with a coat of contemptment, like it wasn’t good enough to be considered on her roster of Equestria’s top fashion cities.

Sassy sighed quietly, she never knew how to calm Rarity down. “I’m not sure, but you are great at making things work. When is the party?”

Rarity put her glasses back on and pulled the letter over again. “…This weekend it seems.” Well that invalidated most of her argument, and Sassy was quick to pick up on it.

”Perfect, you could leave for Manehattan straight from Ponyville. If you think about it, a relaxing trip home before your busy week would be a fantastic reset. We both know that you can’t avoid burnout.”

Holding the paper, Rarity chewed the corner of her lip as she stared at the date written down. She took a moment to think. “I’d have to book my train tickets first thing tomorrow…” It seemed she was genuinely considering this trip.

“I would be happy to do that for you,” she replied with a smile.

Rarity’s brow furrowed in deep contemplation. “I… will think about it. Thank you, Sassy. You can go home now.”

Satisfied with that answer, Sassy nodded and turned to head out. “Good night, Rarity. I will see you tomorrow.” Her heel clicks followed her out the door, with the ring of the storefront bell signaling her exit.

It was a few more minutes of silent thinking before Rarity sighed and set the letter down once more. The decision seemed obvious, Sassy was right in saying she needed a break, yet something in the back of her mind still worried about falling behind. The days before New York Fashion Week were always ruthless, yet if one managed to stay on top of it all it could boost their reputation tremendously. If they fell behind, the consequences could be dire. Rarity had worked too hard to build a name for herself just to let big opportunities slip away.

This was a choice that could be made tomorrow, she had orders to fulfill now. Getting back into sewing position, she tried to start the machine. When it didn’t start, Rarity finally noticed that Sassy had wrapped up the cord. “What- Oh, for Celestia’s sake!” She groaned and leaned back in her chair, defeatedly. Her persistent assistant had won. It was too late to continue, anyways.

Rarity took off her glasses, leaning back even further to stretch out her stiff spine. The silence of her studio consumed her. She stopped bringing Opalescence to work with her recently, the boutique gets overwhelmingly busy and she’s an old kitty now, little lady needs her rest. Ever since then, nights like these bring a strange sense of loneliness to Rarity. When she’s not working, work is all she has to think about. She is living her dream, so where is the fulfillment that was meant to come with it? Ever since permanently moving out of Ponyville, this lonely feeling has haunted her relentlessly… Perhaps this reunion will do her good.

She gets up and turns the lamp off, leaving everything as it is to be resumed in the morning.

—

Celestia’s Sun had yet to begin its rise over Sweet Apple Acres on the day of the reunion, yet Ponyville’s hard-working orchardist was already starting her day. As was usual, the farm was quiet in the morning. Only the songs of the earliest birds could be heard. By noon, the crickets and cicadas would join them. It didn’t get much louder than that around here, not since Apple Bloom went off to college. Big McIntosh and Sugar Belle had their second kid not so long before that, and they decided it was too much work to raise their family while living on the farm. Now, it’s just Applejack and Winona left.

While it was still the quietest it would be all day, AJ ran herself a refreshing shower. “Freezing” might be the more accurate word, or at least the word most would use, but there was nothing like a shot of ice-cold water at 4 AM to wake a gal up. Purified and straight from the same rivers that ran through the orchards, the water trickled down her long, golden locks. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes and running her fingers through her hair. No one would be able to tell, not with the naked eye, but AJ had grown plenty of grays amidst all those blonde strands. The stress of managing the farm without Big Mac to help her had probably only doubled them by now, she wasn’t the same spry and young girl she used to be.

A hearty breakfast is typically in order after her rinse-off. Three eggs sunny side up, four bacon strips, two sausages, and a slice of toast. All accompanied by a shiny red apple, plucked straight from a tree in her backyard. One doesn’t acquire the muscles she has by simply working on a farm, a diet full of protein is a must. Although, coming from a long line of farmers on both sides of the family, AJ’s natural 6 '1 stature did attribute to her well-toned physique.

Today, she would be needing this protein-filled breakfast. Not that she didn’t need it every day. The reunion Twilight was throwing would be held at her barn- a good old-fashioned hoedown. Her friends were meant to arrive this evening, so she had the whole day to get her daily chores done and set up for the party. It would be a bit of a crunch to fit all that into one day, but it was worth it for her friends. The only real social interaction she got these days was on her weekly trips into town to sell her apples. It would be great to chill for a night and catch up with her gals.

Mid-apple crunch, an unexpected knock came from the porch door. Winona started barking relentlessly without hesitation. Well shit, she wasn’t presentable in the slightest. Her hair was still wet from the shower, sitting on top of the towel draped over her broad shoulders. Aside from her not-so-fashionable accessory, AJ was in just a tank and shorts. The door had to be answered regardless! She set the half-eaten fruit down and got up. If she could make a list of the least expected guests to be showing up on her doorstep before 5 AM on a weekend, this girl would be dead last. AJ had to do a double take when she opened her door. “Rarity?? Huh! Well, I’ll be!”

The plum-haired beauty smiled up to her old friend. “Applejack, darling! Good morning, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She was carrying Opal in her mini bejeweled feline carrier, no bigger than a fashionable purse.

”Only breakfast. Come on in, gal!” AJ pulls Rarity in for a warm hug before stepping aside.

Their embrace, which was probably the first real hug either of them have experienced in some time, lasts enough time for their bodies to melt into one another, as if in an attempt to make up for all the time spent apart. It also lasts long enough for their pets to start bickering, with Opal hissing down at Winona from her carrier.

Rarity laughs apologetically, scolding her cat on the way into AJ’s house. “Bad kitty! This is not how we behave. You’ve known Winona for years, quit it!”

AJ chuckles, quieting down Winona as well as she follows Rarity inside. “I must say, I’m surprised as all get out to see you up so early. Are you finally past the point of beauty sleep?” She said this with an obvious joking tone, always loving to tease her “girly” obsessions.

Joining her host for a seat at the dining table, Rarity playfully scoffed. “One doesn’t simply stop needing beauty sleep, darling. Honestly, I would rather be getting said sleep now… My assistant- Sassy Saddles, you remember her right? Well, she booked the earliest train from Canterlot. Too early, in my opinion! So, here I am.” She smiled and pulled Opalescence out of her carrier and began stroking her fluffy white fur in her lap.

AJ couldn’t help but smile as she listened to the most elegant woman she knew speak her mind. It had been too long since they had spoken, her ears wanted to soak up every word she said. There was just something in Rarity’s voice, her cadence and tone and choice of words, that could hypnotize a girl like Applejack in seconds. “Well boy howdy it sure is good to see you again, girl. But, uhh… Why’d you come to my place? The party ain’t for ten hours.”

Rarity sheepishly giggled. “Who else in all of Ponyville is going to be up at sunrise on a Saturday?”

She got her there. AJ laughed wholeheartedly. “Y’ain’t wrong about that! Can I get you some breakfast? The trains serve nothin’ good.” Getting up from the table, she opens the cupboards like she already has an idea in mind of what to make.

“Oh, I’m quite alright. Thank you, dear. I will take a tea or coffee if you have any.” Rarity looked around the kitchen. It was amazing, hardly anything had changed. The only notable difference was the new pictures here and there. Their most recent family photo caught her eye. “Heavens! Is little Apple Bloom really that grown up?” She set Opal down to get up and look at the frame on the wall.

AJ, already brewing a pot of coffee, smiled to herself at the mention of her little sister. “Crazy, right? Feels like yesterday she was still runnin’ around in my old treehouse with their little crusader club… How’s Sweetie Belle?”

It took Rarity a moment to respond, still in shock at how much the Apple family had changed. “Oh, she’s just fine. I believe she’s coming home for winter break. Perhaps we could stop by to catch up with you and Apple Bloom when the time comes.” The bell on Opal’s collar jingled as she rubbed herself against Rarity’s ankles, purring at her to be picked up. Still examining the pictures, she bent down and scooped her kitty up to be held.

Sunlight had finally made its way over the hills and in through the kitchen window, streaking amber rays across the walls. The light bounced off floating dust particles, it reflected on the glass over hanging pictures, danced across the kitchen’s cutlery and crockery. Most notably, it illuminated Applejack in an enchanting halo. She turned around with a smile as bright as this early morning sunrise, pouring Rarity’s cup of coffee as she spoke. “That’d be mighty swell! Here ya’ are, darlin’.” She set the mug down and slid it across the kitchen island with a smooth wink.

Something caught Rarity in a trance. She seemed to be frozen, holding Opal in her arms and staring at AJ. The way her hair, all dewy from what she could only assume was a shower, was highlighted by the sun rays. Her gorgeously toned muscles had a glowing golden aura, as did every lash, freckle, and mark on her face. Her friend had suddenly transformed from the town farmer to a goddess sculpted by the sun. How come she had never noticed the beauty in all her chiseled features before? Sure, AJ was always a strong and tall lady, but she’s aged like a fine apple cider. She couldn’t help but continue to stare… for an uncomfortably long time.

”Uh… Rarity? Somethin’ wrong?” Applejack chuckled nervously.

”H- Huh?? Oh! Pardon me, nothing is wrong, darling. Thank you for the drink.” She set Opal back down and stepped over to pick up the coffee. One could tell from just the scent that it was as fresh as it gets, the beans were most likely hand-ground by AJ herself today. Everything on Sweet Apple Acres had that realness to it, that pure authenticity that the Apple family stood by. It could be tasted from the first sip Rarity took, rich and dense in flavor. “Mmm, it’s lovely.”

Applejack smiled, feeling the self-consciousness of being stared at wash away. “Oh! Glad to hear it.” She lifted the towel from her shoulders and wrung out her hair one last time before tossing it over the side of the sink. “So, what’ve you been up to lately? I heard the Canterlot Carousel’s doin’ swell.” In a small town like Ponyville, news of any resident’s success travels quick, doesn’t matter if they still live there or not. She walks back over to the dining table to sit with Rarity and chat.

Sipping her coffee and sitting down as well, she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Ohhh busy busy busy… I have just been eternally busy with my boutiques.”

”Wait- Boutiques plural? I thought your business in Canterlot was the only one you’ve got! Not since the Carousel Boutique closed…” Rarity’s first store location had closed not too long ago. Now it just serves as her home when she comes to visit.

She nodded, understanding the confusion. “I opened a second store in Manehattan when I closed that one. It has proven to be most successful, and I'm looking at real estate in Las Pegasus for a third store! My goal is to have one location in all of Equestria’s major fashion cities.”

Again, AJ couldn’t help her smile as Rarity spoke. “Well that’s fantastic! Congrats, Rare. Figures that a star-studded gal like you would make it so big, ain’t nobody in this town who had more passion and talent than yourself…”

While AJ had no intentions with such a compliment other than to speak the truth, it left Rarity pink in the cheeks. “Awh! Wh- why thank you, Applejack! How about you? The farm looks marvelous, I must say. Walking through the orchards on my way up here was absolutely scenic.”

She chuckled. “Scenic, huh? I appreciate it, but what you see ‘round here really is what you get these days. Those trees out front are the majority of what I have now. Had to cut a lotta acres since Big Mac moved out, it’s just too much work to handle all by my lonesome.” Applejack went quiet for a moment, looking out the window as the sun continued to rise. “Truth be told, I don’t want to lose the farm, but it just ain’t what it used to be. I ain’t what I used to be. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout it an awful lot recently. That maybe I’d keep workin’ for a few more years, just enough to get Apple Bloom through college, and then sell it all once she’s settled…” Realizing she had gone on a little tangent, she scratched the back of her neck and laughed. “Pardon me, Rarity. That’s stuff that only Winona usually hears.”

The little border collie who was curled up under the table stuck her head up upon hearing her name. AJ bent down and petted her head as a painfully tense silence sifted between them. It took Rarity a bit to find her words. “…I’m… I’m terribly sorry, Applejack. That’s quite the burden to be carrying, especially for just one girl.” She reached out and placed her hand on top of AJ’s.

The difference in their skin was apparent not just visually, but even more so tactilely. One’s hand was tanned from the sun, calloused by years of hard work, muscular even down to the tips of the fingers. The other’s was soft, feminine, had a beautiful manicure, and only calloused where sewing needles prick. Yet, despite the polarity of their physical makeups, each one standing on the opposite ends of what society deems to be a woman, the intimate connection sparking between the colliding cells of their separate beings was undeniable.

Tender affection like this had been absent from Applejack’s life for longer than she could remember. The feeling of Rarity’s gentle skin on hers, the calming words of comfort she could give, they quickly made this a moment to savor. An urge somewhere inside herself began to crave more of this. She hadn’t even realized there was an absence of anything in her life, and a subtle taste of what she had been missing ignited a desire for more. Carefully, Applejack supinated her hand so that their palms were facing one another, and she held Rarity’s dainty fingers with her own. “Thank you, Rare. Sorry to toss all this on you, I know it’s kinda heavy.”

Rarity squeezed AJ’s hand back. “And yet you’ve been carrying it all by yourself… Both metaphorically and physically, my dear. I mean, good Celestia! You’ve really been running Sweet Apple Acres all alone? Not even a farmhand to help you?”

AJ chuckled and shook her head. “Nope, just Winona and I. But I could say the same about you! You’ve been runnin’ all these fancy stores across the country by yourself? No business partner or nothin’?”

”Oh don’t flatter me, a boutique is hardly comparable to a farm. And I have managers, assistants and such. As strong as you are, darling, you’re carrying the load of three… Have you discussed any of this with your brother?”

Talking wasn’t something she and her brother did much of recently. There wasn’t any animosity, they had a great relationship. Life had just gotten in the way. “Ah, he’s got his kids to deal with… We did have a long talk before they decided to move out, and he was worried about just this. In the end, we chalked it up to “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” And, uh…” AJ chuckled in a defeated manner. “I’ve gotten to that bridge. Now I just ain’t sure…”

Rarity also wasn’t sure. She hated seeing one of her closest friends in such a tough situation, but she was also in no position to give advice. What she could do was set her coffee down, let go of Applejack’s hand, and lean in for a hug. “I am not sure how much weight my words hold, but I am sure that whatever you decide to do will be the right choice, Applejack.”

Those words held more weight than she could carry, enough weight to knock some of the unbearable pressure off her shoulders. AJ returned the hug with a smile, squeezing Rarity gently in her arms. “Thank you…”

—

The barn at Sweet Apple Acres was lit up and lively that night. Atmospheric lighting emitted by the lanterns that hung from every pole post created a cozy environment, perfect for a long night of reconnecting with one another. Applejack and Rarity had spent the day cleaning the space up, shoveling hay out of the way and setting up tables. In between that, Rarity assisted with some of the farmwork that needed to be done. As per usual, all of the decorations credit goes to Pinkie Pie, who showed up around noon with a truckload of party supplies.

By sunset, everyone had arrived. The organizer of this party was the last to show up, as she got caught up with royal duties before she could leave. When she finally made her appearance, it was in an official royal motorcade. She embarrassedly had to command her guards to leave her there, not wanting tonight to be any different than the hangouts they all used to have in the past. If it were up to her, which it should be, she would have driven herself up here. Alas, official procedures say otherwise.

Still dressed in her formal blazer with her hair wound in a tight bun, Princess Twilight Sparkle joined her friends inside the barn. Only now, she wasn’t a princess. She was just Twilight. Almost instantly, she was wrapped in a hug of 10 arms and squeals from her 5 favorite girls.

“Thank you all for coming!! It’s so great to see you girls again.” There was a shared wave of ease that washed over the group as they were all together for the first time in years.

Attempts had been made at group reunions like this in the past, at least once a year. It was almost impossible for everyone to be free at the same time, someone always had to decline. That someone had typically been Rarity. Her surprise presence hadn’t gone unnoticed, and it was quick to be pointed out. They all moved to the lounge pit made of hay bales to chat.

“I was starting to think you hated us, Rare!” Rainbow Dash leaned over and elbowed Rarity playfully. “Your fancy Canterlot life too good for us?”

Rarity nervously laughed, pushing Rainbow off of her in an equally playful fashion. “Of course not! You know I love you girls.”

“Then how come you’ve missed our last, like, three hangouts!!” Pinkie Pie giggled from across the pit, sitting criss-crossed on her hay bale and sipping some cider.

She knew this was just friendly fire, but a part of her felt bad for being so absent. This invitation would’ve also been declined if it wasn’t for her assistant’s insistence. “The fashion industry is ruthless, darlings. Free time is nonexistent! Not if you want to survive...” Rarity was extra dramatic with this delivery, which got everyone laughing.

The ever-quiet Fluttershy took her own shot at Rarity. “Twilight is the ruler of Equestria and she can make time for us, that’s no excuse.” Everyone “oohed” at Rarity after that.

Twilight laughed this off, not wanting to draw attention to herself. “Hey now, it’s not her fault if she has a busy schedule! Besides, Canterlot is a far trip from Ponyville.”

Applejack chimes in, this time making a jab at Twilight. “Yeah, we can’t all travel in a limousine with a motorcade.” The whole group laughed, and it felt just like old times again.

The hours passed quickly, and the sky went from a peachy array of pinks and oranges to midnight hues of blue and black. The girls drank cider fresh from the orchards, snacked on pastries from the Sugarcube Corner, told stories from their lives over the past years, and laughed at jokes as old as their friendships. At some point in between all of the drinking and laughing, Applejack had snuck out of the barn. Rarity was the first to notice. She excused herself as well to go find where the party’s host had gone.

Just beyond the barn doors, under the spread of twinkling stars and Luna’s moon was a hard at work Applejack. The thud of her axe rang out through the silent field as it came down, splitting a log in two. She grabbed the fallen pieces and put them back together, taking another hard swing to split it into quarters.

Rarity cautiously stepped over to AJ, partially amused at this late-night wood cutting. “Needed some fresh air, did we?” She stopped far enough away that no stray wood chips would come flying at her.

Applejack turned and smiled at Rarity as she tossed another log onto her stump. “You think everyone would be up for a bonfire? It’s a beauty of a night out here, perfect weather for one.” She raises her axe once more and brings it down with a slight grunt, continuing to repeat the process from before. “I wish I had the idea for one earlier, woulda been convenient to do this before sundown.”

”That sounds like a lovely idea!.. Can I help you?” She asks this hesitantly, very aware of her lack of bonfire-making skills.

As the fresh quarters of wood topple over around the chopping block, AJ puts the head of her axe on the ground and leans on the handle. She wipes some sweat from her forehead with her arm as she turns to Rarity. “…You… You wanna help chop wood?…” Her words ended with a quiet chuckle. Who is this girl, and what has she done with the helpless damsel Rarity?

Taking offense to this, she crosses her arms and pouts. “Is that not what I just said?? I don’t understand what’s funny.” Actually, she does indeed see the humor in this. Normally she would pull up a chair and watch the hard work be done for her. Maybe it was all of the cleaning they did together earlier, the feeling of accomplishment a hard day’s work gave her that was incentivizing her to do more. Or maybe it was just the idea of being around Applejack.

Adjusting her leather Stetson hat to brush some blonde strands out of her face, AJ chuckled again before nodding to Rarity. She beckoned her over with two fingers. “Alright, gal. But I gotta teach you how to properly handle this thing first.” The axe handle was carved from an apple tree grown on the orchard, sanded and polished by AJ herself. She grabs a smaller, more easily choppable log and throws it on the stump.

“That’s fine! Looks easy enough. You just grab and swing, no?” She tries to take the axe from AJ, but it quickly gets pulled back.

”Whoa-ho-ho! Slow your roll there, sugar. You could pull a tendon or send this here axe flying buck wild without proper form, and I’m not tryna have any ladies hurtin’ on my farm tonight.” The axe gets placed up against the stump while Rarity gets her schooling in wood chopping. Placing her hands on her shoulders from behind, AJ guides her into position.

That same rosy pink blush from sunup today had found its way back to Rarity’s cheeks. AJ’s grip was firm yet gentle, and just one of her hands covered the entirety of her shoulder. The heat of her palms also felt nice on her skin in contrast with the crisp night air. More than anything, it was the way she effortlessly moved her to where she wanted. She couldn’t have tried to resist even if she wanted to, though she knows AJ would never actually use force on her in such a way. Regardless, the mere potential of being restrained by Applejack’s sheer strength… it made something deep within Rarity double over.

Maneuvering Rarity to the right distance from the stump, AJ then bends down behind her. She keeps one hand resting on Rarity’s waist while the other gently pushes on her thigh, manually shaping her stance. Although unusually flustered, Rarity lets herself be posed like one of her fashion mannequins. Her hand migrates from the top of her thigh to the back of her knee, using just enough pressure to force a bend. It’s taking Rarity more and more strength to stay standing, this is more touching than she expected wood splitting to warrant.

 Once AJ is satisfied with the stance, she gets up and grabs the axe, placing it in Rarity’s hands. It’s much heavier than she expected. ”Alright, now grip your left hand at the base of the helve like this… And then start with your right near the head…” As she explains, she places her hands on top of Rarity’s to guide them accordingly. AJ’s body is pressed right up against Rarity’s in doing this, with her head peering over her shoulder. A sewing needle couldn’t wriggle its way between them.

At last, this designer has been molded into the image of a lumberjack, with just an additional farmer hanging off her behind. AJ turns her head slightly towards Rarity’s and smiles. “You ready, gal?”

Still profusely blushing, Rarity nervously swallows and nods. She doesn’t feel ready at all, but she also doesn’t know how much more manhandling she can take.

Applejack, still guiding Rarity’s hands, steadily raises the axe above their heads. She then swiftly brings it down onto the little log. It splits with ease, tumbling off either side of the block. Rarity couldn’t help but smile. She got a rush of excitement at the power that chop had, even though it was almost entirely AJ’s doing.

They separated, and AJ finally let Rarity hold the axe by herself. She had the proudest grin on and gave her a pat on the back. “Well done!! Think you can handle one by yourself?” She grabbed another easy log.

Rarity nodded eagerly, readying her stance now that she knew what to do. She took a swing at the log and partially split it. AJ came over and helped unstick the head. “That swing wasn’t half bad! Give it one more go, you got it.” Her tone was encouraging in an almost motherly way. It was internally strengthening to receive praise and assurance from someone who knows what she’s talking about.

She took another swing, this time with a power-packed grunt. The log split on the second strike, sending the halves toppling to the dirt. She cheered, doing as much of a celebratory jump as she could while still gripping the axe.

AJ cheered with her, grabbing the log she split and assembling it again for a quarter split. “Hoo-Wee! That’s a clean chop, Rare! Didn’t think you packed such a punch.” That’s a lie, everyone knows Rarity is capable of going off the rails when she wants to. “Go at ‘er one more time, and we’ll have some good kindlin’ for the fire.”

”Oh no, thank you, darling, but I’ve had quite enough.” She gently sets the axe down on the stump and steps away, wiping her hands off. “I’ll give you motivational support from over here!”

Back to the same old same old. AJ chuckles and takes over, splitting the log again in one fluid motion. “Well, I appreciate the help. And I commend you for still tryin’ new things at our age. You’re always full of surprises, sugar.”

A few more split logs later and Applejack had gotten a roaring fire going. Everyone migrated outside, sitting down on whatever plank, bale, or barrel they could find. Faces were hot from the radiating heat of the fire, and backs were chilly from the cool air of Luna’s hour.

Pinkie Pie plucked an apple from the nearest tree and managed to skewer it. “I bet this will taste just like warm, sugary apple pie!” she giggled in excitement.

“I… don’t believe that’s how it works-” Twilight hesitantly watched, nervous about the fruit going up in flames.

Rainbow cackled from across the fire as she toasted a marshmallow. “You’re lacking a few ingredients, Pie.” Her mallow then proceeded to catch fire, to which she frowned and tossed it into the pit to watch disintegrate.

“No I’m not! See?” Miraculously, Pinkie held up a pie tin, already lined with crust dough. The rest of the girls took a moment to process her antics… and then all burst into laughter.

Toads chirped their song from the grass and trees, the cindering logs crackled harmoniously, and these six soulmates laughed with each other until their lungs were void of oxygen. Their riotous joy soon simmered into a quiet appreciation of each other’s company, watching the fire under the moonlit sky. Pinkie Pie shared slices of her freshly fire-baked pastry while Rainbow Dash munched on her first successful s’more, and Applejack brought her guitar over to play for everyone. It felt like an almost ceremonious closing to their reunion.

She sat on the haybale next to Rarity with her guitar, angling the neck away so as not to hit her with it. As she carefully checked the tuning of the strings, she quietly leaned into Rarity with a question. “What song should I play?”

Had she been more awake, perhaps Rarity would have gotten slightly flustered at yet another intimate moment with her shockingly gorgeous, strong, kind-hearted friend. But it was late, and the fire was cozy. Even the butterflies in her stomach were fluttering their way to sleep. She thought about the question for a moment. “...What’s that one slow song by Elvis? It’s the only thing coming to mind at the moment.” She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

AJ thought for a moment, a small smile curling at her lips. “I think I know which one ya mean… Does it go like this?...” She begins lightly picking the strings, and the song is instantly recognizable after just a few chords. It perks up the other sleepy heads sitting around the fire, as their attention is all directed to the music.

Rarity nods, her eyelids slowly growing heavy. “Mhm… That’s the one…”

“Alright, doll.” Applejack begins playing, gaining an audience of all her friends. The flames, dying down now, dance in a way that nearly matches the song’s rhythm.

The sweetness of her music quickly lulls Rarity into the sleep that has been prodding at her. As AJ begins softly singing the lyrics, Rarity lays her head on her shoulder and closes her eyes. The blush that had been haunting her all day transferred at the touch of their bodies, it was finally AJ’s turn. Her cheeks grew rosy, but she didn’t stop her playing. A smile brighter than the fire in front of them could be heard through her words as she sang…

“… Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?...”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

ending song reference:

thank you all for reading, even my friends who i begged to. chapter 2 will come if enough people enjoyed this one ! ( ˘ ³˘ )♡

[quitealotofsodapop]

Thinking about a scenario where the Ink Demon/Ink MK/Curse the gang encounters in S4 accidentally forms an outer conscieness.

I feel like it gains sentience partially from MK refering to the Curse as a being separate from the Scroll - and not solely as a tool created to torment it's prisoners. Almost like a magic artifical intelligence.

I could see MK finding a way to contact the demon, mostly to gain greater insight on things he's mentally avoiding. Like by writing with an enchanted ink set, or with the ink left behind by the Curse's rampage.

MK, putting ink brush to paper: "Hi?" *The ink begins to blob and shape itself into words* Ink Curse, as writing on the paper: "You could have just used a pen, idiot." MK, excitedly writing back: "It's you!!" Ink Curse: "Why do you seem excited? Are you a glutton for punishment?" MK: "So, I know your whole thing is to pick people apart mentally, right?" Ink Curse: "Yes. I was spawned from the ink used to detail the crimes of those written into the scroll of memory. It is my purpose. Like how you were made for-" MK, writing over the response: "Yeah yeah chaos and destruction and stuff I know that part. But like, when I got home... I started thinking about the other stuff and... you seem pretty good at voicing thing people don't want to know about themselves. It almost feels I dunno... catartic almost? (is that how you spell it)? Ink Curse: "It is spelt Cathartic. And If you take any comfort in what I did, then I have failed my purpose. Or you are hopelessly dense." MK: "But thats the thing! I didn't feel comfortable! You dragged me out of my comfort zone and made me think about junk. It's actually helping me a little in coming to terms with... what I am." Ink Curse: *doesn't respond for some time* "You are strange." MK: "I mean, I guess. I'm writing to a demonic ink curse instead of going to an actual therapist. Hope to talk to you again soon Mozhi*!" Newly dubbed "Mozhi": "Excuse me?"

*"Mozhi/Mòzhī/墨汁" - meaning "squid ink" or the ink used in traditional chinese calligraphy.

And since putting a name to something gives its power, "Mozhi" begins to manifest beyond ink and paper. Ink stains and monkey handprints litter the apartment. The magnets on MK's fridge start rearranging into swear words. The menu at Pigsy's shuffles to critique minor flaws in the kitchen. Mei starts recieving scathing texts from an unlisted number. The tv starts glitching in the viewer's insecurities.

Eventually the gang break down MK's door to figure out wtf is going on, only to see an Ink!MK physically pull itself into the 3d world from the Cursed ink. Everyone starts screaming.

Macaque, laughing: "Oh my gods, I know what happened here - I've heard of it happening before in shadow demons. MK gave the ink Curse a name and that gave it power to, quote a little puppet made of pine; become a real boy." Ink Curse/Mozhi, stumbling like a newborn fawn: "Why is my body being pulled down?" Wukong: "It's called gravity, spot. You get used to it." Ink Curse/Mozhi: "You are actively floating." Wukong: "Yeah, doesn't mean I have to like gravity."

In his "physical" form, Mozhi looks like monkey!MK with inky black fur and colder toned skin - his facial marking a smeared grey color with a distinct heart-shaped outline. He reduces to his inky form when physically damaged or when he wants to "hop into" a book or artwork. Dislikes sunlight/heat, it dries him out.

And because he is no longer within MK's head/the scroll, he's a lot less all-knowing. He is however scarily perceptive of others thoughts and fears, and loudly narrates his opinions on things.

Red Son: "Is that a sentient ink curse?" Mozhi, mockingly: "Is that an emotionally-constipated daddy's boy who almost destroyed the world with a toddler temper tantrum, and still refuses to admit that he's more morally righteous than he lets on?" :3 Red Son, flames up: "Oh its on, you glorified Rorshace test!" MK: *sprays water bottle at them* "Down! Both of you! Mozhi, I said no commentating on people's inner thoughts!" Mozhi: "If y'all actually went to theraphy, then there would be nothing for me to talk about."

This also makes Mozhi the best person to roast somebody when the others are too busy/emotional to do so on their own. And since he mirrors the power of the person he's roasting, it gives him Jester's Immunity to damage from angry Celestials.

The Jade Emperor: "Why is there a loose ink demon in my throne room?" Mozhi, giggling manically as he morphs into an ink!Emperor: "Hahahahahaha~ wow. Ruler of all beings, mortal and divine. And you can't even recognise yourself. Disappointing really. Then again, can't expect much from a glorified intern that was gifted the throne and hasn't done much else since." *Vicious Mockery continues for many hours*

Mozhi is however... kinda bad at admiting and recognizing his own feelings? He's never had any before that weren't projections of others. Is this what true sadness feels like, or does he just need to get some sleep? Can come off as cold, even when trying to be geniune. He's just not used to having emotions or empathy yet.

Enjoys fictional works that dive into the concepts of meta-fiction and medium awareness, ex; Deadpool, Bandersnatch, and Doki Doki Literature Club.

[kromer]

i've never seen anyone point this out before so i might as well be the one to explain. behold my ted talk on the symbolism of names in the index

first, the proxies: their names all follow a theme of faith and illumination

esther: derived from "stāra", meaning "star". jewish origin. sometimes associated with the babylonian goddess ishtar. i'll also note that this name carries motifs of concealment, as the bibilical queen esther assumed this name to hide her true identity + "The three letter root of Esther in Hebrew is s-t-r (סתר‎), "hide, conceal" (as stated on wikipedia please don't get on my ass for poor citing practices this isn't college). notice how esther hides his face more than any named other named index member

hubert: -bert is derived from "beraht", meaning "bright". also carries some religious associations (i.e., saint hubertus/hubert). also note that saint hubert was the patron saint of many things including metalworking. what does hubert have on his face that may or may not be related to that? a large metal reinforcement

gloria: derived from "glory". self explanatory

it certainly fits, seeing how the index is a religious cult-like syndicate which also distinguishes itself with imagery that suggests light (i.e. the gold, white, and bright blue motifs) or perhaps a lack of it (like how the proselytes are required to blindfold themselves to symbolize their reliance on the prescripts and their superiors to illuminate a path for them). the proxies have proven their faith and they've devoted themselves to their cause. it's evident in every aspect of their lives, from their dogmas to their appearances to even their names

next, moirai. there's nothing to be shared or explained here that isn't common knowledge already, though i will point out that she continues the faith-based naming convention, seeing how her name is derived from greek mythology. though, there's no notion of light... perhaps because she's been stationed underground?

lastly, yan. initially i had some trouble with his name since there isn't a single particular root it can be traced to. first, i noticed that yan happens to be a masculine variation of "john" in hebrew, meaning "god is gracious". that definitely fits the naming convention, but i can't say it really feels much like him. but after a little more digging i found the perfect match: 硯 (yàn), meaning "inkstone"

which, like some other details such as his calligraphy hobby, subtly foreshadows his fate. though, this interpretation strays from the religious theme. yan is also the only character here to (at least partially) break this pattern that symbolizes the index's ethos. it wouldn't be the only time he defied its will, no?

[hardwareabstractionlayer]

The trouble with collecting merch is it’s difficult to stop once you start. This Jingsu enamel pin is by the prolific 长风万里, who is responsible for some of the most iconic NiF pins (check out the weidian store for a partial selection). Like many fan-made pins, it’s a re-rendering of a scene from canon, in this case episode 52 [x], where Jingsu look on as thunder and wind portend the storm brewing on the horizon after Princess Liyang has agreed to present Xie Yu’s confessed crimes at the Emperor’s banquet.

The pin emphasizes the storm in both design (bamboo leaves scattering in the wind) and name: 风雨同守, loosely enduring the tempest together. As for why the image has been transposed onto a tattered scroll, the pin maker said the inspiration came from rubbings/拓印 and elaborated some more:

Personally, I think of this as an excavated artwork (with the surface damaged in its old age) that was created out of Jingyan’s longing. As if Jingsu actually existed in history and will live on for a long, long time. 我自己把这个当做是一件出土的画作（年岁久远画面有所破损），是景琰怀念所做。就好像历史上真有他们的存在，靖苏真的来日方长。

Historically, rubbings not only create an impression of existing artwork but are themselves artworks that take skill and patience. The typical process starts with adhering paper to a stone carving, then ink is dabbed to the paper such that the flat surface takes on the color of the ink while carved areas remain white (here’s a process video). Collecting rubbings was a popular pastime of the literati, and rubbings of good calligraphy were especially in demand for study and appreciation, serving a similar purpose to block printing in allowing many people to see replicas of an original. The originals may have also come from a non-stone medium: some artworks originally on paper or fabric were replicated onto stone so that rubbings could be made and collected [x]. Nowadays, ancient rubbings are valuable artifacts, especially in cases where the carving has been lost.

The rubbing influence is very clear in the second version of the pin, here juxtaposed against one of its inspirations:

Though the text on the right rubbing says it’s from the Tianping Era of Eastern Wei, Year 2/魏天平二年 (535 CE), which is contemporaneous with the Liang dynasty that loosely inspired the fictional NiF Liang, I couldn’t find an actual historical artwork corresponding to this rubbing, and the mass antique market is flooded with fabrications (it’s also thoroughly possible I simply failed to find the original). But here’s a real fragment of a stone Buddhist votive tablet and its rubbing that’s now at the Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong [x]:

The text says that this was made in Tianping Era, Year 3, one year after the one above, and describes the building of a Buddhist pagoda in offering, which was a common practice at the time. This monochromatic rubbing style was also quite typical; though both black ink and red ink (cinnabar-based) rubbings existed separately, they were not really seen in combination in a single rubbing until much later. What is believed to be the only surviving book of bicolor rubbings before the modern era was made in the Qing dynasty around the 1800s and was itself a copy of a lost multicolor work from the same dynasty [x].

In this context of transference of art and meaning between mediums, it’s all too easy to imagine a backstory for this Jingsu scroll: first there was a stone carving, close enough to the actual scene that the artist must have worked from Jingyan’s memory of that day. Instead of the more common approach of carving the outline or the background, the artist decided to carve the foreground so the figures were sunken into the stone. And later, a rubbing was made and mounted onto a scroll, buried and excavated, then finally rendered from fiction to reality in the form of an enamel pin. Each creation is an act of remembering and reinventing, of placing yourself in the observer’s shoes, of stoking the flames of the original story—the fire burns on through metaphorical wood replaced over the centuries, its appearance ever-changing, its core not forgotten.

That’s enough of reading too much into things—I also like the pin on its own. One thing that 长风万里 does well is not just sell pins but also communicate the entire behind-the-scenes process with the QQ group, which is several months’ worth of iterations that I find at least as interesting as the final product. For this pin, you can trace through chat logs how the pin evolved all the way from the original concept sketch to the pieces of metal that fit in your hand (thanks to 长风万里 for letting me share the draft versions here):

Once the pin maker comes up with an idea and decides to go for it, the initial sketch is given to the commissioned artist (this pin was drawn by Forwrite, on weibo and lofter) along with reference images. The artist turns these into a line drawing following the design rules of enamel pins (each block of solid color should be fully enclosed by lines, for example). Some artists will color in the line art while other pin creators commission only the line art and fill in the colors themselves. The final colors are limited to the available palette at the factory chosen to make the pins, and once the color vector art is handed to the pin factory along with instructions on detailing and finishes, the physical manufacturing process begins in earnest (this could be the subject of its own long post).

You may have noticed that there are some color changes from the vector design to the physical pins, most notably the sky in the top pin. This came about as a serendipitous accident where the factory colored the sky of the sample pin dark blue instead of the requested sunset yellow, but the pin buyers active in the group chat liked the dark blue enough that it was kept as the final color. The light grayish blue variant ended up being chosen for the backing card/背卡 instead:

Though backing cards are nominally named for their purpose in supporting the pin, practically no one sticks their pins through these cards in Chinese fandom; instead, collectors generally buy cases and books to keep each piece in pristine condition. And so unlike utilitarian cards that are meant to serve as a background to the pin, fully designed backing cards that stand on their own are very much a thing. The card also adds back in the iconic Jingsu lines that were in the original concept sketch, I want to choose you, Your Highness Prince Jing/我想选你靖王殿下 from Mei Changsu and Sir and I are as one person/先生与我如同一人 from Jingyan.

And now for the last part of the merch package that comes with the pin: the wooden piece on the left is an inscribed bamboo name slip/名刺 meant to resemble what MCS might have presented Jingyan when he visited his manor in episode 9 [x]. This was a preorder bonus to encourage buyers to get on board early, since the upfront costs to commission the artist and get a sample made at the factory are a significant portion of the overall costs (if not enough people preorder, the pin is canceled and the payment refunded, and the pin maker has to take the loss of at least the artist’s fees).

Name slips were the ancient analogs to modern business cards and an important tool of connection building in the ancient bureaucracy. The tradition of presenting a slip before you visit someone’s residence, especially if you’re lower in status than the person you’re visiting, persisted for many dynasties while the form of the slip evolved over time. Even though the visitation slip in canon appeared to be a bound paper booklet, folded books wouldn’t appear until the Tang dynasty—though paper was invented in the Han dynasty, it took time for the manufacturing process to improve sufficiently for a fundamental shift in writing mediums. Bamboo slips were what they would have used in the real Liang dynasty (plus, the modern-day replica is objectively great merch that can be used as a bookmark/fidget stick/cosplay prop/whatever else you can think of).

Slips from around the NiF time period generally stated some combination of your given name/名, your courtesy name/字, the region you’re from, and some boilerplate deferential language. Here are two real ones from Huang Chao/黄朝 and Zhu Ran/朱然 of the Three Kingdoms period next to MCS’s, with the meaning of some phrases listed in parentheses after the literal translation (using two of MCS’s names is a good solution for the lack of courtesy names in canon):

To balance out all the white background product photography, I’ll close with some texture shots:

[nyaagolor]

I saw you talking about ace attorney teapots in the replies of some post and I am curious, I would ask more specifically but I don't know that much about AA.

ok so admittedly that was partially hyperbolic, there's only one teapot in the AA series I can actually make character references from (which I elaborated on here), the others give information that's a little more basic. Kristoph has a deft blue china set in his cell, which reaffirms what we already know (namely that he's a classy, wealthy europhile), while all the (numerous) tea sets in DGS serve more to establish cultural things than explicit character motivations

All the british characters have relatively simple glazed teapots as would be typical at the time, while the japanese characters have tetsubins-- these aren't teapots (as in, you wouldn't put the leaves in them) but cast iron kettles that you boil water in. There's a whole theory about how cast iron was used in Japan because Japanese water is incredibly soft (aka low mineral content) and the iron leeching into the water from the tea draws out different notes when it reacts with the chemicals in the tea leaves themselves and blah blah blah I won't bore you with that here. Anyway, the shapes of these teapots are very distinct and I thought it was a cute detail because it shows you exactly who lives in the house with a single glance

the most fun one, though, is Susato's matcha set. Susato is explicitly based off the yamato nadeshiko (an ideal woman, basically) so the inclusion of her cute lil matcha set just contributes to that concept. Making matcha for a tea ceremony requires extraordinary levels of skill and she has all the tools to do that, including a small furnace? In the middle of the office floor????? susato sweetie I think that's a fire hazard

So something relevant about green tea is that unlike basically every other tea type, which can handle boiling water, green tea will be "burnt" and taste icky if you try and brew it in boiling water. Japan is famous for its green tea culture, and matcha is a part of that, so there's always something in the tea ceremony to control the temperature of the water. That box in the middle is a full on charcoal stove, on top of which is a cast iron pot that holds the water and a hishaku (the ladle looking thing) which ensures you have the right amount of water and that it's sufficiently cooled when it hits the powder. On the adjacent tray there's a chasen (whisk) and chawan (bowl) both of which you would use for making the tea itself. Often times you'll also have a chasaku (j-shaped measuring stick for the powder itself) but I'm gonna assume that's out of sight or with the matcha powder. Cannot stress enough that for her to have this equipment and know how to use it is a pretty obvious display of education and wealth-- which combined with the tetsubin (stated to be hers) and the traditional japanese calligraphy set on her desk just adds more fuel to the idea that she was classically trained in lots of cultural arts. Classy lady :)

[imaginecorporation]

*slides in with a rose tuched between my teeth* hello my beautiful besties

can you write some hong lu x reader stuff for me 👉👈 bonus points if its fluff . thannk you i love you forever and ever and ever mwah

Unpolished Jade

First and foremost, you'll have to be patient with him. Hong Lu is hardly used to interpersonal relationships, let alone ones that are so committed from both sides. Not his fault he wasn't loved as a kid--

BUT. Once you do start to properly work things out and slowly but surely communicate and help him ease into personal connections, you can't tell me he'd be anything short of the sweetest lover known to man.

He's used to nothing (physical, at least) being unattainable, so he'll absolutely spoil you with dates and gifts. The best money can buy.

Though, if he's honest, the kind of gift he'd prefer from his lover? Their time. He's not used to that, so even a sliver of personal attention feels like the greatest intimacy. He'll be over the moon every time you take a moment to cherish him verbally, give him hugs and kisses, and just remind him that Yes. You Do Love Him.

Cuddles. Big cuddlebug. Not as much of a cuddlebug as someone like Heathcliff is, but Hong Lu will absolutely whine for cuddles, don't tempt him.

And yes it is partially to sap your warmth. I can only imagine him as having a slightly cooler than average body temperature, so he'll just curl up on you like a cat in a sunspot.

You're the one person he'll, slowly but surely, every so often, drop his happy go lucky attitude around, and be truthful with. He knows you can keep his secrets, and he trusts you so dearly. He hopes you'll trust him in kind.

He'll probably share skills like calligraphy with you, even if you don't ask. I can see him being very passionate about his taught brushwork, wanting to share and teach as a bonding experience. Gentle and soft hands over yours, guiding each stroke to show you how it's done, and happily praising you even though he just did 95% of the work.

[oimoi-op]

Mentioned a little while back that I got some more vintage fountain pens so here's one of them courtesy of my mid-at-best photography skills:

It's a Waterman no. 12 eyedropper. No clip but for some reason both Watermans and BCHR pens with clips hate me so this is the norm for me lol. Cap's patent date reads "MAY 24. 1898" so it's very likely it's from right about the turn of the 19th century. Barrel's patent date reads "FEB. 12. & NOV. 4. 1884" so I believe the later date on the cap is probably closer to when it actually left the factory.

Both patent dates are very clear despite visible aging throughout the pen. Barrel imprint "WATERMAN'S IDEAL FOUNTAIN PEN N.Y." is also very legible. The "12" stamped on the end barrel is much more faded and difficult to make out in poor lighting.

The pen's barrel, section, and cap are all made from ebonite/hardened black rubber. I don't see any markings that would lead me to believe this was ever chased/patterned. However, the pen has clearly been exposed to water throughout its life as it's a very uneven brown, with the section and parts of the barrel having turned black.

The no. 2 nib and its ebonite feed are completely intact thank fuck. The section was very stubborn and did NOT want to unscrew thanks to decades' old dried ink. I went ahead with the decision to partially soak the section to where it meets the barrel as it was already very discolored and seemed unlikely to be further damaged by this.

(Side note: it is not recommended to soak rubber pens or expose them to water unnecessarily, especially if the rubber still retains its original factory look. Even in this situation I took care to not soak the barrel.)

After some careful soaking and a little bit of heat (just low controlled heat!! NOT heated water!!!), the section unscrewed in my hand, so I didn't even need my section pliers, which was nice lol. Flushing the inside of the barrel with a syringe made cleaning go pretty fast, so I was able to fill it with ink in no time.

She's a flexy lol

The tines split very easily with hardly any pressure to the point I think I can safely classify it as a true flexible nib, albeit not a wet noodle. Without any flex, it leaves an almost stubbish EF or even EEF line—however, it lays down ink so wetly that unless you're writing VERY slowly, it doesn't look quite so fine lol. And with just barely any pressure, it easily puts down BBB lines, though (as evidenced by the slight railroading pictures) sometimes the feed struggles to keep up.

This is one of the most user-friendly vintage flex pens I've owned. It makes me wish my handwriting wasn't dogshit so I could do it justice :(

Biggest issue is a moderate crack on the cap. It isn't so severe to the point of drying out the pen, but I have to be careful when capping, and just to be safe posting is a no-go. It's functional but I wouldn't mind replacing it.

Overall, this a pretty good example of a user-grade vintage flex. Since there's no mechanism, it doesn't need to be restored, and it holds plenty of ink for writing/calligraphy purposes. I've enjoyed writing with it more than my other vintage flexies and semi-flexies for the past few weeks, and the inky fingertips are so worth it lol

[redwolf17]

Cake-pocalypse: Return of the Frosting-ing

Some of you may recall I've mentioned being busy with a cake-pocalypse. Well, here's the end result. I made both of these cakes, from scratch, for my parents' 50th anniversary party last weekend. Now that it's over, I thought it'd be fun to do a post about it, because while there's tons of popular baking shows, it's not a topic everyone necessarily knows about.

So, what goes into making cake for approximately 100 people?

Step 1) Baking the wedding cakes

A) The tiered cake was based on a photo of my parents' original wedding cake. To replicate it, I needed four tiers of vanilla cake, which meant eight layers of cake, two for each tier.

Fun fact: I learned how to bake from my mom, who is a talented home baker. I made my first cake by myself at age 9, and then gradually expanded my skills through years of practice. And when I say my mom is talented, I mean it; she's made wedding cakes for at least half a dozen friends and family over the years. It was only right that I use my mom's favorite wedding cake recipe for the batter; I think I ended up using 6 batches to make all the tiers, plus 2 dozen cupcakes to use up extra batter.

B) Once the cakes had cooled, I wrapped them in plastic wrap and put them in the freezer overnight. This firms up the cake's "crumb" or structure, making it easier to work with. By this point, it was late Sunday night; baking the cakes had taken almost all day. What with work and errands, I didn't resume work on the cakes until Thursday night. After partially thawing the cakes, I leveled each one by cutting off the tops where the cake had domed. This is a crucial step to make sure the cakes will stack properly; you don't want them tilting or toppling over.

C) Now that the cakes are leveled, they need their base coat of frosting. I used SO MUCH buttercream for these cakes CRY The trick is to frost them while they're still cold from the freezer, so the crumbs don't get into the frosting as much. Even so, every cake needed two coats of frosting, first the crumb coat, then, after a trip back to the freezer to set the frosting, a second coat to hide the crumbs stuck in the first coat. At this point, I was done (for now) with the wedding cakes, because I was NOT going to try to transport a completed four tier cake, which meant I couldn't stack/decorate them until the day of the party.

Step 2) Making the sheet cake

A) My entire day Saturday was spent baking, and it began with making the 12x18 chocolate sheetcake. It took three batches of cake batter; my favorite chocolate cake recipe is from Sally's Baking Addiction. I used the sour cream version, which is sturdier and thus would hopefully travel better.

B) Once the cake was baked, it took a loooong time to cool. You NEVER frost a warm cake, because the icing will melt and make a huge mess. Side note, this cream cheese frosting recipe is the best I've ever seen, and the coffee version I made by adding espresso powder turned out delicious.

C) After carefully chilling the cake in the fridge (it barely fit), I covered the entire cake with a chocolate glaze. The combination of chocolate cake + coffee cream cheese frosting + glaze comes from the Yule logs my mom makes every year, and which my dad and the rest of my family really love.

D) I draw a lot of practice grids and decoration ideas when I was first planning the cakes. I ended up deciding to do a pattern of frosting swirls with espresso beans, plus piping the message in the center. Since it is VERY hard to fix fuck ups, I practiced my calligraphy and my balloons on a piece of parchment paper before I put a piping bag anywhere near the cake. Once the buttercream had set, I painted it with a mixture of edible gold-colored pearl dust and vodka. Amazing stuff, a friend who has a home bakery recommended it. It was around 1am when the chocolate cake was done, and went back in the fridge to keep safe until the next day.

Step 3) Piping roses

While the chocolate cake was baking and cooling, it was time to work on decorations for the wedding cake. Buttercream roses are a pain in the ass, but since the original cake had them, this cake needed them too. Bless my niece, who served as my assistant for about 3 hours. My initial attempts at dyeing the frosting came out way too garish, but she tweaked them into the lovely shades of crimson and green you see here. She also held the flower nail so I could make my first 20 or so attempts at the roses using the Wilton technique. The buttercream was NOT cooperating at first; we had to add more powdered sugar to stiffen it, and then we had to keep putting the piping bags in and out of the fridge to get them to just the right consistency for piping. After my niece left, my bf held the flower nail for another 30+ roses. My hand and my arm were killing me by the end, but I was really worried about not having enough to cover the cake. Also, more practice meant better roses.

Step 4) Assembling the tiered cake

A) Sunday morning was D-Day. We got to the venue 3 hours early because I knew I'd need every minute to assemble and decorate the tiered cake. Each tier sits on a cardboard cake board, but that's not enough support. To counteract the inevitable peril of gravity, the center of each tier is filled with straws. These hold up the tiers above so they don't smush the cake below.

B) Once the tiers were stacked, I piped a swirl of vines, as close to the original cake as I could manage.

C) Then, very, very carefully, I stuck the buttercream roses on using a dab of fresh frosting. You have to work quickly; the buttercream roses are firm when you first take them out of the freezer or fridge, which means you can pick them up, but if you take too long, your fingers will melt the petals. I was terrified about placing roses on the vertical sides of the cake, but thank god, none of them fell off. Once the roses were in place, I added leaves to the vines and beneath the roses.

D) A close up of the final result. I finished literally 1 minute before the party was supposed to start, at which point I had to carry this from the venue's kitchen to the table where it would sit; my bf went in front of me to shoo people out of the way.

Step 5) Dealing with leftovers

a) Oh god, leftovers! The chocolate cake got demolished, as did the vanilla cake, once we sent some slices home, but there were still leftovers. Why? Because the way a tiered cake is served, you cut slices from the outside ring, but NOT from the center round which is stuffed full of straws. So... what to do with all that extra cake?

b) Well, if you pull the straws out and re-frost, then you've got three perfectly nice cakes. I already had plenty of extra frosting and roses, lol. My students were quite happy to take all this cake off my hands, though I only had enough slices for the first half of my classes.

c) However, I also still had SIX CUPS of cake crumbs from the offcuts which I'd cut off the cakes when I leveled them. Crumbs + frosting+ a dip in chocolate = cake pops! Massive, massive cake pops, lol, I used my biggest cookie scoop. The second half of my classes got these beauties, and a couple coworkers finished off the extras.

And that's it! God willing I won't make a cake again for quite a while, lol, this was exhausting.

[mistercrowbar]

Hi I love your style! Can I ask what brushes you use for procreate?

Sure! I use a lot of the default brushes so they should be available to anyone with the app.

For thumbnailing I like Calligraphy Pen and Gel Pen since they dont need a lot of pressure and you can easily hack out a little thumb without worrying about detail.

For pencils I use 6B Pencil and Charcoal Block for loose large sketches. To erase I use Airbrushing > Medium Hard Airbrush and Soft Brush.

Inks, The G-Pen (downloaded, dont know source) for smooth lines and Mercury for a little grit - my recent WIP and pageform BG3 comics use Mercury, but it's also kind of fussy in terms of size and pressure.

Dove Lake is my favourite texture brush for thinks like the partial illithid skin.

I tend not to do finished colour work in Procreate but if I do some go-tos are Painting > Round Brush, Flat Brush, Gouache, Fresco; or Artistic > Larapuna.

I've used Max Packs Oil Brush set before and really like it but I kinda just forgot about it since I shifted to Oops All Comics lol.

[eagle-writes]

Hello!

I really love your calligraphy and I wondered if you had any suggestions for where to start learning for myself? There are so many resources online and on YouTube especially that it's a little overwhelming. I'm especially interested in learning fonts like the one you use.

I'd really appreciate any tips you have!

Thank you <3

Thank you so much!

There absolutely are a million and one resources out there, and I don't know that there's a *bad* starting point. But, if you just need *a* starting point:

Margaret Shepherd's Learn Calligraphy (https://bookshop.org/p/books/learn-calligraphy-the-complete-book-of-lettering-and-design-margaret-shepherd/7110511?ean=9780767907323) is a good resource (and is my primary reference for the hand you see me using here).

It's easy to get overwhelmed with writing implements and paper... A good place to start is Pilot Parallel pens (https://www.jetpens.com/search?q=pilot+parallel&v=2) or Kaweco Perkeo (https://www.gouletpens.com/products/kaweco-perkeo-calligraphy-fountain-pen-set-blue). For paper, I'd recommend either *really* heavy copy paper or something like a mixed media paper until you feel comfortable enough to spend some more on nicer materials (the paper *will* make a difference, especially if you use dip nibs, but as long as you're not completely shredding the paper as you write, it'll be fine).

If you'd rather go the dip pen route than fountain pen, Speedball nibs are available at many craft stores. I'm partial to Brause (https://www.johnnealbooks.com/product/brause-calligraphy-nibs). (That shop also offers a sampler so you can try different brands https://www.johnnealbooks.com/product/broad-edge-nib-sampler) Just make sure that you use one of the methods for getting the oils off the nib before using it, or you'll be weirdly frustrated because there's no ink and not realize why.

I hope this helps get you started, and I hope you share what you end up writing!