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hand. . . his heart jumped as the change in temperature washed over him. Still confined beneath the bill of his cap, he glanced at the merchant's scarred lips.
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🐍 i should remake the pinned with his new design. i don't want to be mistaken for a l3wd account again

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He could tell Zacharie was having fun, teasing for the sake of it, but ah, that grin. . . How can he deny them the amusement when the thought of being 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 only made his heartbeat race with a mixture of anticipation and surrender?

A soft breath, one that didn't quite qualify as a

cont.
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There's a tiny songbird perched on his left shoulder, repeating over and over something into his ear. The hermit remains perfectly motionless, but a slight twitch of his eyebrow betrays him every so often when he hears the "Gay gay homosexual gay".
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@maskedmarchant.bsky.social 💜

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—𝘠𝘰𝘶. You have something of importance to me.
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. . . ?
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🐍 my fault chief, the hermit swallowed this

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Prince said nothing, rubbing a thumb over his boyfriend's hand. Few things made him fall into such patient and mindful silence as listening to Zacharie orate about rediscovered sparks and colors. The hope he'd found in the naga, even though said man never found it in himself, had become

cont.
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He didn't feel like idling for an eternity either. The glare he cast at their comment was furtive enough to go unnoticed before trailing after their steps in silent anticipation.

At that moment, they were located in his bunker— the poorly drawn little house circled with red

cont.
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🐍 Nnnooooo okg here it is

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There's always a way to get in.
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. . .

Gripping the baseball bat under his ragged cloak.
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But the hermit paid little heed to the more or less subtle attempts to flee him once he had an objective burned on his forehead. Crossed under his cloak, the credits jingled tentatively inside the leather purse as he quickened the pace.

Traders' role is to trade.
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🐍 whatever, go my scarab

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. . . Why is that thing smiling at him like that.
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🐍 n!batter rn