tricksterofthieves
Recent bookmarks
-
Tags
Summary
Jasper moved another step closer, angling herself enough to see what March was doing without interrupting him. Fine lines had been worked into the copper, curling outward from the base of the head in the shape of twisting vines. The pattern continued along the side in delicate loops, each leaf and tendril cut with such precision that it was difficult to reconcile the work with the same man who had been so dismissive of the old axe when she'd brought it in.
She had known he intended to melt the old head down and start over. He had explained exactly why he'd needed to, in considerable and almost irritating detail, and she'd left the shop assuming that was the end of the matter. She didn't expect him to spend extra time engraving the replacement, much less to do it with the kind of concentration that made the rest of the room disappear around him.
March's brow was furrowed slightly as he worked, his mouth set in a thin line of concentration. Every so often he would pause, shift the angle of the axe head by the smallest amount, and continue the next section of the vine without seeming to think about the movement.
Oh… she was staring.Series
- Part 3 of A Blacksmith's Guide to Falling in Love
Bookmarked by tricksterofthieves
22 Aug 2026
-
Tags
Summary
"You could ask for more time?" His brother smiled at him in the soft way he always did when he was mentioning something difficult, "And… more help?"
March's eyes lifted.
Olric took a drink of his coffee, buttered foam leaving a faint mark against his upper lip. "From the Capital, I mean. Or talk to Balor or Ryis? Maybe somebody knows of another shipment coming through."
"I know where the iron comes from."
"Yeah but–"
"I can do this." March snapped his words and then his attention back to the ledger. "We don’t need to go begging the Capital for anything."
Olric stood there for a moment, drinking his coffee while he sorted another handful of scraps into another absurd arrangement. The silence stretched until Olric wandered around the side of the workbench and started looking to the crate beside him.
"I could go back in the upper parts of the mine and get more peat?" Olric suggested, "Errol's doing somethin' in the museum I don't think he'd notice if I popped a few boards off the entrance and squeezed in."
"You're not doing that," March reached for the box of fuel before Olric could get to it. "'nd stop going through everything, you'll get my piles mixed up."Series
- Part 2 of A Blacksmith's Guide to Falling in Love
Bookmarked by tricksterofthieves
17 Aug 2026
-
Tags
Summary
He shifted beside her and finally looked over, though his gaze only lingered for a heartbeat before dropping back to his drink. "Why'd you actually ask me to come up here?"
Jasper blinked, caught off guard, "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." His fingers tightened around the mug as the defensive edge had crept back into his voice. "You don't exactly make a habit of inviting me places. So, what was this? Pity?" He gave a short, humorless huff and looked away again. "Some kind of joke?"
Jasper's brows rose. There it was. The March she'd come to know, the one who could turn a perfectly harmless question into a challenge the moment he felt himself getting too close to something he didn't know how to handle.
She set her mug down in the grass and turned a little more toward him, studying the side of his face before answering. "Newsflash March. I don't invite you to shit because you're mean to me all the time. And yet, despite the fact that you don't like me, I still enjoy your company."
March looked at her then, properly this time, and his eyes widened. "I don't go around intentionally jabbing at you."
She gave him a flat look. "March."
"What?"
"You absolutely do."Series
- Part 1 of A Blacksmith's Guide to Falling in Love
Bookmarked by tricksterofthieves
15 Aug 2026
-
Tags
Summary
He flicked the lighter again, cupping his palm tight around the flame. Somewhere above them, the sky had taken on that specific sickly yellow-brown hue that meant the storm was coming in faster than forecasted.
A few feet away, Rudo stood with his boots planted uncertainly, posture stiff in the way people got when adrenaline finally began to drain out of them. His hands were tucked close to his chest, cradling something fragile with reverent care.
A tiny succulent, stubbornly alive, nestled in a previously cracked tea cup. It had been carefully glued back together, the seam still visible despite the effort taken to mend it. Twine had been wrapped around a few times for good measure.
He watched Enjin struggle with the lighter for another moment before finally speaking.
“So,” Rudo squinted across the street, “If she works for the Cleaners… why’s the shop in town and not part of HQ?”
Enjin finally got the cigarette lit and took a drag. The smoke barely made it past his lips before the wind stole it away.
“She doesn’t work for us,” he said, tone easy, almost lazy, even as his eyes never quite left the door.
“Bro Santa said–”
“Yeah,” Enjin tapped the cigarette, “He says a lot.”Bookmarked by tricksterofthieves
28 Dec 2025
-
Tags
Summary
But before she understood what was happening, the world tilted sideways and the cavern lights blurred into streaks. For one impossible moment she was weightless – suspended above the ground.
Lune hit the liquid stomach brine with a force that drove the air from her lungs in a single violent burst. The substance closed around her instantly; warm, viscous, thick enough that it clung to her limbs as she sank. The texture was like cooking oil mixed with mucus, like something half-alive trying to pull her deeper.
The brine forced itself against her mouth, seeped into the corners of her eyes, clawed into the grooves where pictos had overextended and bled.
She twisted, arms flailing for anything solid. Her legs scraped against slick muscle and found no traction. The water dragged at her clothing, at her hair, at her limbs, pulling her down and a hand collided with her back.
Then an arm wrapped around her ribs.
A chest pressed against her shoulder.
“Got you,” Verso’s voice, low and steady, came out of the darkness, distorted by the wet echo of their surroundings. His grip was firm, anchoring her as the two of them were jostled by the slow, rhythmic contractions of the bourgeon’s stomach.Series
- Part 2 of Painters Writers and Musicians
Bookmarked by tricksterofthieves
15 Nov 2025