((OOC: Hi everyone! Mod3 here to apologize for the lack of updates. We’ve all got a lot of life things to deal with. I myself have a webcomic, and a job that is also art based so it’s difficult for me to take a break from drawing to draw more but we are working on getting asks done and we thank you for being patient with us! ))
So come and ask good ol’ Eddie K. whatever you like
((OOC: I’m the Edward from askthekengays but I want to answer non-kenways specific stuff too. PIRATES YAY 8D))
((Mod 3 : for those of you who wanna ask edward non-kengay things 8U *salutes* ))
Connor’s a bit of a lightweight tho so be weary of him haha
((OOC Mod3: Happy talk like a pirate day everyone!! Hope you enjoyed it! alsosorryforchangingmydrawstyleagain;;; ))
not sure what you mean by starting blog but we sure do love blogging
“You thrice damned fool…. God forbid I ever escape the consequences of your nonsense.”
Haytham glared back towards Connor, watching the boy shiver and rock himself back and forth with his hands gripping at his own shoulders to try and cage his body’s heat. Outside the tent, the night was already overtaking the sky, darkening the heavens like a toppled bottle of ink over a swath of pure blue. The air was positively glacial. Home was miles away.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Haytham grumbled with a huff as he turned away from the campfire and knelt before his son reaching for him. “Take these off before you catch your death.”
Connor didn’t speak, but even with ice in his hair and his jaw chattering, he managed to level a particularly poisonous sneer at his father. One that Haytham let roll by him with a scoff and another insisting tug to the boy’s coat.
“Either you can do as I tell you or you can break off your extremities yourself after you get frostbite. The choice is yours,” Haytham said. Connor snorted once. But eventually unbent his arms to peel the layers of his soaking clothes off, piece by piece. Haytham set the thickest blankets they’d brought near the fire and then dismissively gestured for Connor to sit upon them. Haytham shed his own coat and shirt before seating himself behind his son, wrapping the boy up in his arms as he pulled their last quilt around both of them.
“Your methods are…questionable, father,” Connor mumbled beneath his chattering teeth.
“And my survival tactics are inarguable,” Haytham said. He pressed his chest firmly against Connor’s back, shivering a little as the boy’s icy flesh sought to paralyze his nerves. In the quiet glow of the fire they remained. Haytham took deep, steadying breaths, nuzzling Connor’s wet hair away from his neck whenever it crowded in his face. And if he happened to place a few scorching, open-mouthed kisses there at the boy’s nape…well, it was only to make sure his son’s blood would run hot again.
Anything to keep him warm.