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#Winter wander
whitneybarkman · 1 month
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Wisps on the hill.
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jacobhubertusart · 1 year
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Saturday, 2023/02/25, by Jacob Hubertus.
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monstermonger · 8 months
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Wol sketchbook pages <3
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cosmosnout · 9 months
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Winter
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madame-mongoose · 7 months
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Collection of work doodles
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kindrehd · 4 months
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comfort characters
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boshra18adabi · 6 months
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DC/MARVEL
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smol-soop-spoon · 2 months
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the amount of "i can fix him" energy henry winter (or any other tsh character tbh) produces in people should be studied
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the-spirit-of-yore · 2 months
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Brume d'hiver . . .
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alexmurison · 3 months
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Golden light and mountain layers. Eryri National Park
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cecilxa · 1 year
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how stupid it must be to get unwell (fall in love)
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summary: scaramouche takes care of a special someone
contents: scaramouche being dumb about his feelings, use of both scaramouche + wanderer, sick fic, reader is sick, established relationship, fluff, gn!reader
cw: small scara threat, food
recommend listening to: i <3 u by boy pablo
a/n: part 3 of my winter special!
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“Idiot.”
A pout forms on your face.
“It’s not my fault I got sick!”
You then proceed to let out a series of coughs, each one more violent than the last. Scaramouche scowls.
“You're an actual moron. You’re not supposed to be talking. Save all that energy for when you can actually utter a sentence properly. You need to get better.”
With how harsh he sounds, any onlooker would’ve thought that this man despises you. Quite the opposite, actually. You can hear his voice soften, by a fraction.
“I swear, get better soon, otherwise I won’t hesitate to strike you down myself.”
When you reply with another cough, his eyes gleam, and a hand comes to stroke your head softly, allowing two of his fingers to twirl a strand of your hair. In a much more comforting tone (at least, for him), he places a bowl of soup on your lap, making sure none of it spills onto your skin.
“Now, eat this before I make you.”
You reply with a teasing lilt.
“Okay, ‘Wanderer’, I guess if I want to get better.”
It’s almost comical how you can see his jaw tense up at the use of his current alias, spare fist clenching at his side. He tsks.
“You know, I’ve told you again and again, you don’t have to call me that. Call me whatever you want.”
His voice goes down an octave, and it’s fairly obvious how he’s sporting a subtle pink blush on his otherwise pale cheeks. You decide not to comment on it.
The hand stroking your hair pauses, and comes down to the spoon currently sitting in the bowl of soup he had personally made for you. You know this.
What you don’t know is that it took him an hour to find the perfect recipe, the one that you said reminded you of home. You don’t know how it had taken him an hour to actually make it, displeased with each attempt, deeming each one ‘too mediocre’ for your tastebuds. He had finally settled on the one currently sitting on your lap, but not without his own touch. A tiny, minuscule heart (made out of some leftover cream) settled slightly on the left, which- and he’s not proud of this- made his own race a bit faster. He’s not really sure why he added it, but he’s sure that it’d make you feel better. Oh well, he reasons, he doesn’t mind getting a bit romantic, as long as you’re happy.
Scaramouche may not want to admit it to himself, but there’s a tingly feeling in his chest, one that stings whenever he sees your stuffy nose and clammy hands. It’s that same tingly feeling he’s now experiencing, when he’s demanding you to eat your soup. It’s that same tingly feeling when he sees the little cream heart decorating the bland food. Scaramouche may not want to admit that what he feels is love.
“Open up.”
You look at him- shocked. He stares back- deadpan.
“Did I stutter?”
With a very flustered expression on your face, you take the spoon from him. He continues staring at you, patiently waiting. In only a few minutes the soup is gone. Even though you’ve finished the entire thing, he still frowns. However, you’ve been with him long enough to know this frown is the one reserved only for you. His eyes are caressing, gentle, caring, even though his mouth is turned down. It’s not turned down that much, either. It’s bordering on one of his quiet smiles when he thinks you aren’t looking.
Scaramouche sighs. He still hasn’t noticed how fond he sounds. He still hasn’t noticed how much adoration he carries for you.
“Do you need anything else?”
You shake your head, smiling up at him. He has to resist smiling back. There it is again, that tingling in his chest. How peculiar, it’s warm, so unfamiliar, yet so familial. He doesn’t think he wants it to go away.
He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. He lets it linger for a few seconds. Then, turning away, Scaramouche gets up to head out and clean the now-empty bowl, and spoon. Your voice stops him just as he gets to the door, making his head turn immediately, eyes full of concern.
“Love you, ‘Wanderer’.”
His grip on the bowl tightens, and his breath hitches.
“... Idiot.”
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a/n: decided to try out a new layout for speech! undecided on whether or not i'll use it in the future? likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated ❣️
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whitneybarkman · 1 month
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Calm.
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jacobhubertusart · 1 year
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Saturday, 2023/03/25, by Jacob Hubertus.
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mindless-vagabond · 2 months
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pspspsps
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pallanophblargh · 8 months
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I got really lucky in terms of timing: the last of the seven cecropia kids has begun their cocoon! Which means I won’t have to worry about them when I go on vacation in a few days. I’m gonna miss them so so so much, you have no idea.
If I get lucky next year and get a female moth out of these seven and she finds a mate, I’d like to raise more of these sweet little babies next year.
Fingers crossed that I get to see all of them emerge in a year!
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maryhale1 · 4 months
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This would be my perfect home 🥰
Within the hush of the witch's sanctuary,
A library of spells, a magical bestiary.
Moonlit tomes whisper secrets profound,
Knowledge profound in every tome found.
Candles dance with a mystical flame,
In the witch's haven, where secrets claim.
Leather-bound volumes, a symphony of sight,
Each page woven with enchantment's light.
Dusty scrolls echo ancient incantations,
Guardians of wisdom in sacred foundations.
A potion of words, a spell to ignite,
In the witch's library, where realms unite.
Ink-stained pages, a spell-crafted story,
Chronicles of mystic, realms of glory.
Midnight's quill scribes destiny's chart,
In the witch's library, where magic imparts.
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