BEAUTIFUL MISCHIEF

multi-muse fantasy roleplay blog ft. canon and oc muses HIGHLY SELECTIVE. MUSES

[beautiful-mischief]

beautiful - mischief

multi-muse fantasy role play blog

ft. canon & original characters

muses - rules

primary muse: malus 🧚

please note that aislinn is on temporary hiatus 🗡️

[vangoghcore]

by yasminemei

[justmemethings]

‘Why aren’t we interacting?’

😿 - I’m too shy to reach out

😥 - I’m a little intimidated by your writing length / style / formatting

😵 - I don’t know how to approach you

⌛️ -  You seem really busy

👥 - I don’t know which of my muses you’re interested in

📝 - It would help if you could fill my interest checker!

❓ - I’m not familiar with any of your current muses

📩 - I’ve sent you asks / written you starters, but you never replied to them

📤 - We have threads, and I’ve been waiting on your replies

💬 - I have a plot in mind for us, but I haven’t found the right way/time to reach out

💞 - I ship our muses, but I don’t know if you’re interested

✒️ - I usually interact through memes / open starters and you don’t post a lot of them

🥇 - You followed me first and I’m waiting for you to make the first move

🥰 - I’m following you because I love your writing and content and I just want to read your stuff

➕ - Other reason(s) -sender specifies-

[beautiful-mischief]

mal’s wardrobe 🧚

[lamignonette]

[lamignonette]

[girlnamedbug]

please be perverted about me in these trying times

[beautiful-mischief]

“Edible paint? Is that really a thing?” Mal laughed, an impish grin blossoming across his lips at Cenred’s playful suggestion, utterly delighted by the thought. “I was going to suggest we get one of those kits where you cover yourselves in body paint and then make art on a white sheet, but that works too.”

It seemed so quintessentially them that they were already dreaming up all the different ways that they might christen their new home once it was completed, enough that the florist couldn’t keep the bright, joyful smile from his face as Cenred continued to trail kisses down the column of his throat, eyes slipping shut in quiet bliss as he tilted his head back and savoured the brush of his lips — at least until his boyfriend pulled away and then mentioned yet another potential step in their relationship, albeit a slightly less significant one than buying a house together. “Are you sure you can handle Malus Alway with unlimited spending power?” He warned with a teasing smirk. “Because I will start shopping for things for this place at my earliest convenience.” The florist already couldn’t wait to begin, all the more so knowing that Cenred was generous enough to give him free rein.

“I don’t mind heading back.” Mal hummed, giving the spare room one last lingering glance, expression softening as he went up on to his tiptoes to brush a kiss to Cenred’s cheek. “Thank you, again.” He murmured. “This is…more than I ever could have imagined, truly. I can’t wait to start working on it with you.”

[kingcenred]

Malus Alway with unlimited spending power truly was a sight to behold. Over the next week or so, boxes upon boxes of DIY supplies turned up at the house, and orders for some of the furniture had already been made. Cenred rather enjoyed someone else making the bulk of decisions for a change, and he willingly agreed with almost all of his boyfriend's suggestions.

The next free weekend the pair of them had, when Mal was not occupied with organising his new studio and Cenred had no daytime royal obligations, found them back at the cottage from dawn until dusk. Well, almost - they may have lounged around naked in bed in the palace for most of the morning.

"Alright, here's the last of the paint tins in from the car and the rollers and paint brushes. We're not bothering to protect this awful carpet, are we? That can be the next thing we rip up," he chuckled. So far, the thought of their own DIY project was thoroughly exciting...though Cenred wasn't sure he would feel quite the same when his arms were inevitably covered in drips of paint and his back was aching from hours of work. "What colour do you think in here, then?"

[beautiful-mischief]

It was truly remarkable just how quickly a project could come together when you didn’t have a budget to fret over, and inbetween the preparations for his studio’s grand opening Mal found himself dreaming up what their cottage, as Cenred had affectionately named it, might become; Pinterest boards were made, tins upon tins of paint were ordered and samples for fabrics and wood stains and flooring were poured over, and finally they had a weekend free where they were able to begin.

“Trust me, I cannot wait to have this carpet gone. I think a little paint might even improve it.” Mal scoffed, wrinkling his nose at the garish chenille carpet underfoot as he pried open the lid of a paint tin with a screwdriver, beaming at the sight of the paint within. For their living room he had decided on a dusky pinkish terracotta, a warm, sun-baked shade that seemed to beautifully complement the feel of their new home. He could already imagine herringbone wooden floors in place of the awful carpet, a plush velvet sofa for the two of them to curl up on — as exciting as it was to be tackling the DIY themselves the florist was already itching to see the final picture, relieved that they would at least be able to get in some professionals for some of the jobs around the house. But, for the time being, they were on their own.

“I’ve got a few tins of this colour for in here, I thought it would feel lovely and warm.” Mal hummed, rooting through their bag of rollers and paintbrushes. “Hopefully it won’t take long to get some paint on the walls between the two of us.” Flashing his boyfriend a grin, his eyes glittered with mirth. “If His Majesty is still up for a little hard work?”

[beautiful-mischief]

The memories that had been called to mind by Cenred’s pleading questions were both a comfort and torment in equal measure, seemingly enough to reassure his husband that he was not some illusion conjured by Morgause and yet not enough to erase the damage that she had done entirely; Loki suspected this was perhaps the greatest hardship their bond had endured, worse than poisonings and naysayers and attempts on both their lives when that trust that had always existed between them felt so fractured. Rather than impose himself upon Cenred he allowed the knight that had accompanied them to help him up to their chambers, a slow and laborious task but thankfully one that went unobserved when the palace staff had been told to make themselves scarce — even so, he sensed the whispers would be spreading already about the state their king had returned in.

Once they were alone in their chambers, a place that ought to have felt like a safe haven for them both, the quiet felt all the more oppressive. It pained him to feel like he had to keep his distance, to tread as carefully as if he were walking on broken glass around someone with whom such casual intimacy had once come so easily, but as Cenred tentatively asked for his aid Loki nodded and carefully approached. It felt a little like cornering a skittish woodland creature as he offered his arm, supposing it might help matters if the other man was the one to close the distance. “It’s alright.” He assured softly, capturing Cenred’s gaze with his own. “Take your time.”

[kingcenred]

Gods, he felt pathetic. His logical mind knew that this truly was his husband standing in front of him; the man who had his whole heart, who he trusted more than anyone else in the world, who he would destroy innumerable kingdoms to protect. And yet, his muscles tensed up as he took a couple of wobbly steps towards him, his heart thudding in his chest, as his body seemed to prepare for the inevitability of further pain. It was as though Morgause had reduced him to a quivering, abused dog, terrified for his owner's next kick.

Still, he would not allow her to win. Not after everything he had endured in those past three weeks, and he stubbornly took Loki's outstretched arm. The warmth of his husband's body and his familiar scent were reassuringly real, and he was pleased when he did not flinch at all on the short journey across the room to the steaming bath.

It was with relief that he discarded his ripped and bloodied clothing on the floor of the bathroom. Undressed, the extent of Cenred's ordeal was evident. The healer had done an excellent job at fixing the worst of his injuries, but his chest and stomach was covered in lines of pink, fresh, newly healed skin and dark bruises remained over his ribs. Holding onto Loki's arm to stop himself from wobbling, he stepped into the enormous bath and quickly slipped into the water, a groan escaping him at the delightful warmth and he let his head full back against the rim of the bath.

"Sorry," he mumbled again. At least, this time, he found it easier to meet his husband's gaze. "Thank you."

[beautiful-mischief]

As Cenred reached out and finally closed that seemingly cavernous distance between them Loki felt some of the tension ebb from his own shoulders, loosening a soft breath of relief as he helped his husband across their chambers and into the bathroom, the steamy air perfumed with something herbal and medicinal smelling, no doubt prepared in order to soothe the king’s wounds whilst they healed. Though they had bathed together in this very room countless times before, lounging in those fragrant waters in each other’s arms, he knew that such intimacy was not destined to be — not yet, anyway.

It pained the dark-haired prince to see the true extent of Cenred’s wounds as he discarded the tattered remains of his clothing, usually sun-kissed skin marred by his own blood and the dungeon’s filth, littered with scars; each one filled Loki with yet further resentment for Morgause and what she has done to his husband, the fact that he had believed it was him inflicting every wound enough to make his heart ache within his chest.

“You would do the same for me.” Loki insisted gently, dismissing Cenred’s apology with a soft shake of his head as he watched the other man sink into the steaming hot waters of the bath, hopeful that a long soak might help wash away the ordeal of the last few weeks. “If you’d like I can leave you to rest for a moment?” He suggested. “I can find something clean for you to wear in the meantime.”

[beautiful-mischief]

“Then it’s settled.” Mal grinned, delighted that his jest seemed to have tickled her so as Ada tried to stifle her laughter behind her hand. “Let’s only hope he starts to listen to it — I think we may have to have bacon on hand at all times, at this rate.”

Right as he drew breath to call out for the hound again the sound of thumping paws and panting breaths came echoing from down the hall and around the corner, Mal’s eyes widening in alarm as the soaking wet dog came barrelling it way towards them, eyes bright, only for Ada’s shaky command to send it careening to a halt before them, obediently plopping itself down on the damp flagstones. “That’s better.” He sighed, huffing his amusement as he offered the newly named Birch a couple of pieces of bacon as a reward, smile widening at the sight of his wagging tail. “Such a good dog.” Mal crooned, relieved that the commands the seamstress had offered seemed to be doing the trick. “Good boy, Birch.” Hopefully the name stuck.

Breaking off small pieces of crust and slivers of bacon to keep the hound entertained, a moment later there came the sound of hurried footsteps — and then a huff of relief as Hawthorn rounded the corner and realised that they had the rambunctious creature in their sights, a leather collar dangling from the faerie lord’s long fingertips. As Mal had observed the taller man was almost entirely drenched, burgundy tunic clinging and his long, mahogany coloured locks curling from the moisture, some of the irritation in his expression ebbing as he approached and promptly buckled the collar around the hound’s neck whilst it was still occupied with chewing on its treats.

“Must we keep it?” He drawled, though Mal could see the faintest glimmer of amusement in Hawthorn’s dark eyes now that the frustration of the chase had reached its end.

“Of course we’re keeping him.” Mal insisted, laughing as a long snout shoved its way into his hand, snuffling expectantly for more food. “We’ve called him Birch.” Hawthorn’s expression turned briefly exasperated, though to his credit he also didn’t seem particularly surprised that his love had gone and named the hound already.

“Birch.” His response was entirely deadpan, though the effect was somewhat diminished as Mal watched his lips begin to quirk at the corners.

“Yes. Like the bark.”

Snorting out a laugh, the faerie lord shook his head. “Fine. Birch it is.”

[hearthtales]

Ada had adjusted to living amongst courtiers who delighted in ordering her around on a whim. It was rather disorienting to be the one giving commands for once, even to a dog, and a pang of guilt muddled with sympathy went through the seamstress.

Thank goodness the dog had obeyed her shaky orders, though. It had barreled toward them with such speed she’d feared it would trample them. Her heart ached when she glimpsed scabs through the dog’s wet fur — remnants of wounds sustained in Arianell’s palace — but none appeared to bother the hound, and its limp was now barely noticeable.

Its warm eyes fixed on the bacon in her hands. It licked its lips, and sharp teeth glinted in its mouth. Ada’s fragile courage wavered. She silently passed her strips of bacon to Mal so he could feed them to the dog, too nervous to offer them herself.

Good boy, Birch. The hound gave no sign that it disliked the name. If anything, its tail wagged even faster. Its ears perked at the sound of the fae lord’s approach, but the treats held its attention. It happily chomped them down even as Hawthorn fastened the collar around its neck, then gazed up at the fae lord adoringly (expecting treats from him as well).

Ada had never imagined seeing Hawthorn so soaked, and a smile tugged at her lips, quickly hidden behind her hand. She nodded when Mal shared their name for the dog and barely stifled a laugh of her own at Hawthorn’s approval. She cleared her throat quietly before addressing the fae lord, timid but sincere. “I’m, um, quite used to cleaning up messes. I’d be happy to take care of the puddles and whatnot.”

[beautiful-mischief]

With Hawthorn’s long fingers curled loosely through the leather collar around the hound’s neck to keep it from going on another wild sprint around the castle it finally seemed to have settled, and as a reward Mal continued to treat it to the remaining strips of bacon that Ada had pressed into his hands, resorting to crouching down to give him a good fussing once Birch had happily snaffled up what remained — he already smelled like wet dog, so he saw no harm in it for the moment.

As the seamstress offered to lend a hand cleaning up the puddles that the dog had left behind Mal shot the seamstress a chiding glance, one which the faerie lord acknowledged with a wry curl of his lips as he sincerely pondered Ada’s helpfulness for all of a few moments and then dismissed it with an easy shake of his head. “Nonsense.” He drawled “You are our guest, I can have someone else deal with all the mess.”

“He’s right.” Satisfied that Hawthorn was in agreement that she shouldn’t be scurrying about cleaning up puddles when there was no need, Mal straightened and nodded, looping his arm through hers. “You should still be resting — and I think we may all need baths ourselves, at this rate. We can head back upstairs, and I’m sure Birch will be fine here with Thorn in the meantime.”

[beautiful-mischief]

It was quite the relief to hear that his little accident and Occtis’ subsequent heroism hadn’t interrupted anything important in the wizard’s day, he could only imagine what the professors at the Penteveral were like about tardiness from their students, and so Mal brightened with the realisation that there would be no need to rush such a pleasant interlude, admittedly rather eager to repay the other for his aid and perhaps to learn a little more about him when right from the very beginning Occtis and that darling little patchwork fox of his had piqued his curiosity. Ever the social butterfly, the florist hardly ever turn down the opportunity for a little drink and conversation — and food, as the growling of Occtis’ stomach confirmed, as if on cue.

“Food sounds wonderful.” Mal agreed, rather pleased that it hadn’t taken long for his queasiness over being stitched up to pass with the wound safely bandaged up. “We could get something to eat from one of the other market vendors, unless you’ve got a preference as to where we go?” He suggested, as easygoing about their lunch options as he was about most everything; the florist was hardly the sort to turn his nose up at the fare sold by the food stalls out in market when the aroma of spices and cooked meat lingering in the air often had him salivating in the midst of his work day. As was increasingly the case Pin’s pawing was quick to snare his focus from thoughts of their impending lunch, and Mal huffed a soft breath of laughter as those button eyes stared unblinking up at him, seemingly imploring despite their lifelessness.

“How could I possibly refuse?” He teased, flashing Occtis a grin as he scooped up his familiar, patiently awaiting the feeling of Pin settling upon his shoulders, slinking around the back of his neck like a patchwork scarf. “As long as he’s comfortable, I don’t mind in the slightest — shall we?”

[enspelled]

he   carefully   placed   the   fox   on   mal's   shoulders,   but   there   was   no   need   for   caution.   pin   was   well   used   such   seats.   pin   hunkered   down,   rubbing   his   fluffy   head   vigorously   against   the   florist's   cheek.   it   was   good   to   see   him   happy.   sometimes   occtis   worried   that,   despite   his   dedicated   efforts,   he   wasn't   caring   for   him   sufficiently.   who   could   be   sure,   when   pin   was   something   new   to   the   world   (   as   far   as   he   knew   )?

“    y-   yes,    ”        he   answered,        “    um   .   .   .    ”        occtis   turned,   looking   over   the   various   vendors   as   they   passed   them.        “    yeah,   he's   comfortable.   he's   usually   on   my   shoulders,   most   of   the   time.   and   i'm-   um,   we   could   go   wherever.    ”

he   didn't   want   his   preferences   to   restrict   the   other.   but   that   was   the   good   thing   about   street   vendors.   it   was   easy   enough   to   stop   by   more   than   one.   occtis   spotted   a   cart   selling   what   looked   like   bowls   with   pieces   of   meat,   vegetables,   sauce,   and   more.

“    m-   maybe   here,   for   me?    ”        he   said,   pointing   to   it,        “    and-   and   we   could   stop   at   other   places   too.   wherever   you   want.    ”

[beautiful-mischief]

As ever Pin’s easy affection was quick to earn a delighted smile from the florist, the way the fox nuzzled against his cheek enough to coax forth another bright chime of laughter as he reached up to the little familiar draped around his shoulders like a fur coat and scratched behind his ears, grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs and get away from the stall for a bit as their trio continued on deeper into the market. It was something of an inevitability that there were eyes on them as they went, social butterfly that he was Mal knew many of the other vendors, the florist offering smiles and nods to those that caught his eye and offered their greetings, chuckling softly to himself at those who noticed Pin and all at once seemed charmed by the sight of the sweet little creature perched on his shoulders.

There would be playful questions later about just who he had been strolling about the marketplace with, Mal was quite certain of it — though friendly many of his fellow business owners were remarkably nosy, and there was no denying just how little evaded people’s notice in a place like this.

As Occtis’ gaze strayed to one of the food vendors Mal’s own expression brightened with interest, fairly certain his stomach might have growled at the sight of those bowls of richly spiced meat and vegetables. “There’s no need, I’m happy to try something from here too.” He assured, turning to the proprietor before his companion could stop him. “It smells divine — two bowls, please.”

Fishing through his pocket for some coin, he glanced over at Occctis with a smile. “Oh, and anything for Pin?”

[beautiful-mischief]

“You’re the owner? What are the odds!” As far as first meetings went it was certainly a serendipitous one, and Mal’s face brightened with the realisation that this was the Ruby Lark of the Lark Library, feared and revered in equal measure if the things he had overheard from the librarians there were any indication; she certainly seemed a lot less…severe than he’d expected, the way she visibly seemed to perk up at the mention of the roses enough to send his easy grin spreading wider. It was always appreciated when someone seemed to adore flowers even half as much as he did, or at the very least appreciate the art form, and he resolved himself to make the next arrangement just that bit more impressive, as if in thanks.

“Oh, it’s a long story really.” Mal mused, huffing a soft breath of laughter as he felt Einstein’s weight roll on to his feet, unable to resit crouching to scratch at his exposed belly for a moment, grinning as his tail wagged. “The short version is when I moved here a few years ago I started working for the woman who used to own the shop, and then she let me have the place when she retired.” He didn’t take for granted how fortunate he had been to fall on his feet immediately after settling somewhere new, but some small part of him liked to think it had been the universe taking pity on his broken heart. “I gave it a little bit of a rebrand, and the rest is history. How did you come by the library? That’s got to be a far more interesting story.”

[archaeval]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 than what people shared with strangers, and Ruby was far too much herself not to wonder what Mal left out. But she'd had plenty of years to learn how to temper that curiosity. "How lucky for you both," she offered. Mal was clearly a sweet man who was passionate about what he did, and Einstein was an excellent judge of character.

"It's not, really. I didn't get the help I needed growing up, and my daughter had a hard start to life. I wanted to create a place that could provide a safe place for people who need it." It was the same answer she gave anyone who asked -- the press, publicists, potential donors, and so on. "We'll be expanding the learning center soon. With any luck, we'll be able to provide full daycare services in the next few years." She'd used that line in an interview two weeks ago, for one magazine or another doing a feel-good puff piece to pad their page count -- though it was the truth as well.

[beautiful-mischief]

Though the answer that Ruby gave sounded perfectly rehearsed, no doubt the kind of polished statement that found its way on to websites and into magazines, Mal didn’t doubt her sincerity in the slightest; it was rare to find people that were so genuinely altruistic, or at the very least people that actually had money behind them to back up their promises, though the revelation that she had a daughter was quite the unexpected one. He’d never been especially fond of children in all truth, they certainly weren’t something he had ever envisaged for himself, but the underlying warmth in her voice and in her gaze was enough to have his smile blooming wider.

“Oh, I never realised you had a daughter.” Trying — perhaps in vain — to cease his affectionate rubbing of Einstein’s belly and straighten up again, Mal imagined the girl wouldn’t want for anything with a mother like Ruby Lark. Though she was proving far more pleasant than the stories he’d heard suggested, he knew from experience just how fiercely protective a single mother could be. To think of his own had something in his expression softening. “I’m glad there’s someone out there interested in taking care of people.” The florist mused. “I’m sure I probably would have loved to have had somewhere like your library when I was growing up.”

[beautiful-mischief]

Such ardent affection was…pleasant despite feeling so foreign, a sweetness that Mal realised he had so rarely indulged in back in that sleepy little village that was quite literally a world away now; for so long he had treated such intimacy as something transactional, each fumble beneath the sheets or in back alleyways of taverns a night of blissful anonymity to disappear into when he wanted nothing more than to be a mouth to kiss and a waist to grab, but Aednan had seen him truly, had seen stubbornness and softness both and had remained undeterred in his pursuit. It had been a long time since he had entertained the idea of being doted upon or spoiled, though countless would-be suitors had proclaimed themselves capable the florist had remained quite intent on caring for himself — but the elven prince seemed achingly sincere, every word steeped in a genuine care and fondness that both terrified and thrilled him in equal measure.

It felt unbelievably foolish to get caught up in the fantasy of it all, to allow himself to be the cosseted little thing that Aednan described when it felt so unnervingly familiar, but it was only a week. Surely a single week of adoration would not spoil him altogether, after having spent years trying to stand on his own two feet again?

Strangely disarmed by the softness and warmth in Aednan’s gaze, and that almost bashful admission, Mal feigned nonchalance with an easy, jingling shrug and a smile, pushing down the swell of emotion rising unbidden in his chest and trying not to get caught up in the past. Right now there was a literal fairytale prince wanting to give him the world — it would be rude of him to squander the opportunity. “What can I say? I’m a tough act to follow.” He teased, smile turning a touch sheepish as he found himself yawning again. “I’m sorry. Seems like our day together is determined to catch up with me.”

[algrimthestrong]

"That you are, petal," Aednan agreed, mellifluous voice laced with unmistakable fondness. Mal's unwavering confidence in his own brilliant, scintillating presence truly was remarkable – and entirely justified. When faced with Aednan's overwhelming beauty and easy charm, most humans would turn into blushing, stammering messes. But not so Mal. The florist had made Aednan work hard to earn his favour. Getting Mal to trust him enough to allow Aednan to get close to him and spirit him away to the elven realm for a week of sensual indulgences had required all of his skill, and the prince was determined to turn Mal's visit into an enthralling adventure for both of them. If all went as he hoped, Mal might even be persuaded to become a regular playmate of his. Aednan wanted Mal for himself with a possessiveness he had never felt so intensely before, fuelled by a fear of losing a precious treasure to another. Mal was the honey and Aednan was the bee who could not resist his sweetness.

Lips still hovering close to Mal's, Aednan was ready to steal another kiss from him, but he found his endeavour thwarted in the most charming way when Mal's exhaustion made itself known in the form of a hearty yawn. Aednan pulled back with a little laugh. "So it seems." It had been a long day and Mal had had little too eat. He was tired and famished, and Aednan was the one responsible for it. "You're not too tired yet for a little modelling, though, are you? You promised me." Aednan knew it was a selfish request, but he'd been looking forward to seeing Mal try on the clothes he had purchased him all day long and the notion of having to put off his pleasure until the morning caused a note of anxiety to creep into the prince's voice.

"You could curl up on my lap and take a nap until we arrive back at the palace?" Aednan offered with a hopeful look, leaning back against the upholstery of the carriage and opening his arms invitingly to Mal. "I promise I won't be as distracting this time."

[beautiful-mischief]

Even through the day’s exhaustion Mal couldn’t help but smile at the way the prince sought his assurance that he would still be able to model his new wardrobe for him as he had indeed promised earlier that day — gods, he had to be more careful where promises were concerned — huffing a soft, warm breath of laughter and giving a nod. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” He teased softly, hopeful that Aednan’s worries would find themselves assuaged as he noted with a fond sort of amusement the hint of uncertainty that had crept into the other man’s voice. “We’ll just have to make sure we finish with something suitable to sleep in, won’t we?”

Speaking of sleep, as Aednan pulled back to recline against the plush carriage seats and opened his arms in invitation, Mal felt his smile creep a little wider. It was sweet, truly, how the elven prince had proved so much more affectionate than he ever could have anticipated, and when he dared not risk seeing the sort of defeated, kicked-puppy look that he might wear if he turned him down the florist inched himself closer, oh-so carefully settling upon Aednan’s lap and making himself as comfortable as the carriage’s cramped quarters could allow, the other man’s arms cradling him like the branches of a tree as he used his shoulder as a pillow, the scent of lilacs and jasmine thick in his nostrils as he tucked his face into the crook of his neck.

Mal’s heavy eyelids began to droop within moments, breathing evening out to something peaceful and soft as the faint rocking of the carriage and the warmth of Aednan’s body beneath him lulled him off to sleep.

[stormbreaker101]

I LOVE COLLABORATIVE SOTRYTELLING I LOVE CREATING THINGS TOGETHER I LOVE "YES AND"ING WITH OTHERS I LOVE "NO BUT WHAT ABOUT-"S I LOVE HEARIJG MY FRIENDS' IDEAS I LOVE BOUNDING OFF OF THEM I LOVE ART I LOVE STORIES I LOVE ALL THE DIFFERENT PASSIONS AND SKILLS REQUIRED I LOVE ALL THE DIFFERENT MEDIA IT TAKES I LOVE I LOVE I LOVE

[beautiful-mischief]

happy birthday jodie!!!! <3333333

thank you lovely!! <3

[beautiful-mischief]

ooc

birthday!! 🍰🧚🪷🧁🌸

[ohmovie]

I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want.

Labyrinth (1986) dir. Jim Henson