#*asks for requests of new characters to draw*

[technovillain]

YOUR ART GOES SO HARD TYSM I LOVE TRANS FEM DEAN AND EGG DEAN LIKE SOOOOO GOOD CHEFS KISS MWAH I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT WEEK AND FIND $50 ON THE SIDEWALK!!!!!!!!!!!♥️♥️♥️

i did not find 50 dollars this week but i did find this new drawing for you :]

[plague-ridden-rat]

can i request that you doodle my elf milf again 🥹 a girl needs her evil witch.......

Sorry for taking so long!!! :’0

I’ll put some alt versions under the cut

[davidzochi]

he is like a bug to me. i am playing dress up with him like he is a doll. still working on the new requests i got <3

(if you want to support me consider following me or commissioning me in vgen!)

[gbirrd]

just reqlised i never shared this.... jason goomba sandwich thati made way back in, like, August, for the Dc gotcha for gaza from twitter

[ena-the-eepy]

Have my girl Amethyst interact with two of the characters(Liko and Amethio)

(Btw, she’s an anarchist that lives with hisuian zoroarks. Because humanity’s the worst(to her at least)

Eep!! I’m not doing oc requests at the moment sorry 🥺😭 I hope u understand!!!!

[inkhasnothoughts]

I've got a request, I hope you'll consider this please

Thank you so much for the request! Your oc is soooo adorable! I love the mint choco vibes so much, plus they were so fun to draw!! I hope I did your oc justice!!

[ninjapaste]

Here's an art request: OC squid forms or default face/pose they'll do when a photo is getting taken of them! 😁

Did some photo faces of OCs, specifically ones I should draw more of! Though with Troy im already drawing him a lot haha, but never as much as Orion, who even in THIS drawing i couldnt resist to draw...

The top three are the main members of Siphon and the bottom three are agents!! I should probably mention Lohanna, who is my agent 8 who is quite the serious but dedicated person, though tends to be cold towards most people. Shes an octarian soldier at heart and never would have left her past life if it werent for her dear friend, agent 7, trying to escape to the surface and roping her up in his plans. However, only one of them managed to come out of kamabo Co. alive, so Lohanna tries her best to live in a place she has always hated from afar, in an effort to make her friend proud.

Also I drew Hubert B. Pubert. The best Lohanna can do is tolerate him most of the time, though there are moments where they recognise their shared trauma (and matching big man tshirts)

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

Expression requests are open 💖

(And Free)

Please send request to inbox, yes you can do this anonymously.

Only transformers Universe I won't do is bayverse just cause it takes so long....unless you dont mind me just trying to make my own design of them >>

I would like to try drawing Transformers for different worlds animated or comic wise.

Doesn't even have to be popular characters.

But like yeah that's all 💖

The expression sheet of choice

[cupowhale]

A friend's Final Fantasy XIV Character!

Would anyone like a doodle of thiers?? Send a request!

[hayatheauthor]

100 Dialogue Tags You Can Use Instead of “Said”

For the writers struggling to rid themselves of the classic ‘said’. Some are repeated in different categories since they fit multiple ones (but those are counted once so it adds up to 100 new words). 

1. Neutral Tags 

Straightforward and unobtrusive dialogue tags: 

Added, Replied, Stated, Remarked, Responded, Observed, Acknowledged, Commented, Noted, Voiced, Expressed, Shared, Answered, Mentioned, Declared.

2. Questioning Tags 

Curious, interrogative dialogue tags:

Asked, Queried, Wondered, Probed, Inquired, Requested, Pondered, Demanded, Challenged, Interjected, Investigated, Countered, Snapped, Pleaded, Insisted.

3. Emotive Tags 

Emotional dialogue tags:

Exclaimed, Shouted, Sobbed, Whispered, Cried, Hissed, Gasped, Laughed, Screamed, Stammered, Wailed, Murmured, Snarled, Choked, Barked.

4. Descriptive Tags 

Insightful, tonal dialogue tags: 

Muttered, Mumbled, Yelled, Uttered, Roared, Bellowed, Drawled, Spoke, Shrieked, Boomed, Snapped, Groaned, Rasped, Purred, Croaked.

5. Action-Oriented Tags 

Movement-based dialogue tags: 

Announced, Admitted, Interrupted, Joked, Suggested, Offered, Explained, Repeated, Advised, Warned, Agreed, Confirmed, Ordered, Reassured, Stated.

6. Conflict Tags 

Argumentative, defiant dialogue tags:

Argued, Snapped, Retorted, Rebuked, Disputed, Objected, Contested, Barked, Protested, Countered, Growled, Scoffed, Sneered, Challenged, Huffed.

7. Agreement Tags 

Understanding, compliant dialogue tags: 

Agreed, Assented, Nodded, Confirmed, Replied, Conceded, Acknowledged, Accepted, Affirmed, Yielded, Supported, Echoed, Consented, Promised, Concurred.

8. Disagreement Tags 

Resistant, defiant dialogue tags: 

Denied, Disagreed, Refused, Argued, Contradicted, Insisted, Protested, Objected, Rejected, Declined, Countered, Challenged, Snubbed, Dismissed, Rebuked.

9. Confused Tags 

Hesitant, uncertain dialogue tags:

Stammered, Hesitated, Fumbled, Babbled, Mumbled, Faltered, Stumbled, Wondered, Pondered, Stuttered, Blurted, Doubted, Confessed, Vacillated.

10. Surprise Tags

Shock-inducing dialogue tags:

Gasped, Stunned, Exclaimed, Blurted, Wondered, Staggered, Marvelled, Breathed, Recoiled, Jumped, Yelped, Shrieked, Stammered.

Note: everyone is entitled to their own opinion. No I am NOT telling people to abandon said and use these. Yes I understand that said is often good enough, but sometimes you WANT to draw attention to how the character is speaking. If you think adding an action/movement to your dialogue is 'good enough' hate to break it to you but that ruins immersion much more than a casual 'mumbled'. And for the last time: this is just a resource list, CALM DOWN. Hope that covers all the annoyingly redundant replies :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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[meliohy]

Does anybody want to make an original story as a (somewhat) animated music video with me? 🥺 You don't have to do any drawing or animating if you're not interested in it, you can just come up with the story and characters with me

[snowstormarts]

Can you do cuddling headcanons for the Hanks, Mac, and parker ?

Thanks for the request and I got another ask about including Luke Nukem in the next Headcanon I write so I will include our dear, crazy microwave man in here. Also I'm going to be honest here and say I don't like Parker, sorry if it's obvious in his part & with most of the characters here I went the Friendship route ^^" But it was still fun to write!

I hope you will still enjoy it, likes & reblogs are always appreciated and don't forget to send me an Ask or Request if you want [I also really should make a do/dont write for list, huh?]

Cuddle Time #3 [Date Everything x GN!Reader]

[Feat; The Hanks, Mac, Parker & Luke Nukem] [Divider Credit]

𖣳 The Hanks 𖣳

- You are always in the middle of the pile, the other Hanks had started with drawing matches to see who sleeps next to you. But after a while Hank 2 suggested to make a detailed rotation plan, so everyone had a turn cuddling with you

- All of them run quiet hot, some run a bit cooler [Hank 1 & 5] while others are the definition of a human oven [Hank 4] so if you're cold you can ask the boys to let someone else cuddle you for the day

- All of them are diffrent cuddlers even if they all share the same amount of muscles, here are the details;

Hank 1; Smells like Peach Vanilla Bodywash, his cuddling style is the Half spoon [One arm around your shoulder, leaving his chest wide open to be used as a pillow], he also has a dream journal

Hank 2; Smells like Kiwi & Passionfruit, he cuddles the classic spooning style with him switching between being the small or big spoon [he slightly favors being the big spoon], loves to give and recieve tight hugs

Hank 3; Smells like Deodarant with a hint of Cinnamon, he prefers to have both of your arms around each other with his head resting against your sternum

Hank 4; Smells like "3 in 1" Shampoo with a cool name like "Noir" or "Cool Breeze", he has you laying on top of him with one of his arms around your hip while the other runs up and down your arm, talks about his future plans durring cuddle time he soemtimes asks for feedback on those plans

Hank 5; Smells like Mint & Lime, his cuddle style is the Honeymoon Hug [Arms holding each other, legs intertwined and your head resting in the crook of his neck as his head rests atop of yours], sings lullaby to lull everyone to sleep he has a nice voice

🖥 Mac 🖥

- Thanks to all your fanfiction and acess to the internet they know many diffrent ways of cuddling & snuggling with you, they will offer you a few to choose from

- Dosen't care what position they are, little spoon, big spoon, something else they just enjoy being with you. That said they do prefer the lap pillow cuddle style where either you rest on their lap and they get to play with your hair or they get to lay on your lap and talk about their day

- Will play cozy game soundtracks from their little mouse buddy who besides being a mouse is also a portable bluetooth speaker [Mac got bored one day and just improved the lil' guy & then went "Do you want bluetooth speakers? Yeah? Ok"]

♟ Parker ♟

- He will roll for the Cuddle position, who's the big/small spoon and where you should cuddle [the bed, couch, floor, the yoga mat, ect], you can't stop him unless you beat him in another game

- He falls so quickly asleep during cuddling, he's just so relaxed and safe with you that his whole body goes comfy eepy mode

- Loves to have you rest in the crook of his neck with his arm around you while the other waves around wildly while he explains a new game to you. He will sometimes lean down to nuzzle you before going back to talking

🧨 Luke Nukem 🧨

- While he's a loud and energetic person deep inside he's a softie and that's best reflected when you two cuddle togehther, it's one of the few times where he can be himself without having to fear to be judged

- He will ask you to hold him tightly more often then not but when he senses that you had a bad day he won't hesitate to hug you tightly, wrap a blanket around you and turn you two into a cuddle burrito. He will also make a strange, whispery beeping sound mixed with vibrations to simulate purring [he learned that from Timothy once that purring can help to lower stress and anxiety, a great tool to have in this wasteland]

- He told you that Cuddles ward off Youngling Swarmer who are super tiny and will dig into your skin, so you should stay always close to him so you're both safe in this cruel, monster filled world, Ranger

[eydilily]

someone asked for a cleo and a 5am pearl in my reqs (AND I WILL GET TO IT!) but i wanted to share some of my practice cleos from the past months because of the coincidence that they were already right next to each other on my sketch canvas

cleo was one of the first hermits i drew even before i really got to know them because i just love their character design

(bonus cleo under the cut where it was my first time drawing them and all i knew was that they were amazing at armor stand things)

help me you could really tell the diff of me looking up references vs first impressions

anyway !!! i will draw something new for cleo and pearl over the weekend when i finally get the time to do my art requests :3c

[desigal-26]

Everyone, this is my first Oscar Piastri post and my first SMAU post, so please treat me as fragile little baby 😂

Requests are open and well appreciated

Shy Cat Who?

Oscar Piastri x Actress!Reader

She was the controversial ex-WAG. He was the shy cat of McLaren. But together? They were the storm media hadn’t expected.

F1 75 Event was the most awaited event of the Formula One world. Drivers and new liveries sprinkled with a bit of glitz and glamour. But no one expected the cameras to catch a face no one thought would be seen in the F1 circles again.

Warnings: Max and Kelly slander (see, I love them both sooo much, but for the sake of the plot), fluff, internet hate towards reader, she is a famous actress and is part of Stranger Things and her character’s name is ‘Kat’ and knows archery, fluffy, use of ‘slur’ and ‘whore’ once. I guess that’s it.

The flashes of the paparazzi cameras came in rapid bursts—sharp and relentless, much like the corners of the track he was so familiar with. But unlike the adrenaline of a race, the weight of expectation tonight settled far heavier on his shoulders than ever before.

Oscar was the quiet one—the calm, reserved McLaren driver who rarely made headlines outside the track. In stark contrast, his teammate was loud, charming, and unapologetically extroverted—the kind of personality that drew fans and critics in equal measure. Lately, the latter group had grown louder, branding Lando a “playboy” for reasons Oscar never cared to dissect.

Drama had never been Oscar’s brand. He was the steady hand, the focused mind, the last person anyone would expect to stir the media into a frenzy.

So when he stepped onto the F1 75 event carpet with a well-known actress on his arm—someone with a turbulent history involving the current world champion—the world paused. For a split second, even the cameras hesitated. Then the chaos erupted: flashes exploded, questions flew, and voices rose in a desperate bid to make sense of the unexpected.

His hand rested gently on the small of her back, the silk of her white dress soft beneath his rough, calloused fingers. Subtle, comforting circles traced against her spine—his silent message to her that he was here, steady and unshaken. She looked poised, even radiant—she had likely faced this kind of attention more times than he had taken to the grid.

But he knew this wasn’t just another appearance for her.

Because they would be here.

Because the past had a way of resurfacing.

And because no one—not the media, not the fans, not even the critics—had expected her to return to this world after the scandal that shattered her once-golden image.

“Are you alright?”

Oscar blinked, dragging his gaze away from the blinding barrage of camera flashes. His smile softened as it landed on the woman beside him—her lips curved in quiet encouragement, her eyes glimmering with concern that reached deep into him, melting away the stiffness in his posture. His hand shifted from the small of her back to wrap securely around her waist, drawing her closer as he leaned down and whispered with a teasing lilt, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

She laughed—a full, uninhibited sound that echoed like music across the cold marble of the entrance. Her head tilted back, eyes crinkling at the corners, catching the lights of the flashing cameras and reflecting them like a million tiny stars. Oscar, the ever-composed Aussie driver, would usually be wary of such attention. In any other moment, he would’ve steered her quickly into the venue, avoiding the scrutiny. But here and now, watching her laugh so freely, he forgot everything but her.

The whispers of criticism waiting online, the haunting pieces of her past, the quiet insecurities that clung to him like shadows—all of it dissolved the instant she leaned into him, instinctively seeking his warmth as a cold gust teased at her hair. He welcomed the closeness, pressing a soft kiss to her temple in a gesture no camera could cheapen.

“Let’s go inside,” he murmured, his arm loosening around her waist only to slip his hand into hers. Her fingers fit against his with practiced ease, the kind that comes only from months spent in secrecy—shared meals under dim lights, whispered conversations behind closed doors, fleeting touches exchanged like promises.

The world saw her now—the poise, the grace, the way she smiled up at him like he was the very air she breathed.

But only he had seen the broken pieces beneath.

Only he had held her through the nights she couldn’t sleep.

Only he knew the shape of the wounds left behind by the man who now stood at the pinnacle of the sport.

And tonight, for the first time, they were stepping into the light. Together.

Sinking into the plush mattress of the hotel room felt like heaven to Oscar. After hours beneath the hot glare of camera flashes and the overwhelming buzz of voices and attention, the stillness was a balm. He didn’t mind the fans—he loved them, truly—but this, the quiet, the dim light, the comforting weight of a smaller body curling instinctively into his side… this was where he felt most at home.

He looked down, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took her in. She had showered too, her face now free of the makeup, glamour, and practiced poise that the world always demanded of her. In this room, she wasn’t the headline-grabbing actress or the woman people whispered about in scandal-heavy tones. She was just his. The woman he loved—not despite everything the world had said, but because of everything she was beneath it.

“What are you doing, baby?” he asked, brow slightly furrowed as he noticed her focused on her phone. It was rare. When they were together like this, their phones usually stayed untouched, traded for quiet conversations, kisses, and the rhythm of shared silence.

She hummed in response, glancing up at him with a mischievous grin. Without a word, she turned the phone toward him. Oscar matched her smile, but as his eyes scanned the screen, his expression shifted to one of surprise—quickly softened by amusement.

He raised a brow. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice low and curious, one hand moving to lazily twirl the ends of her hair—something he always found himself doing when she was near and he was at peace.

“I wouldn’t have come today if I wasn’t,” she replied, voice gentle, sure. Then, she leaned up and kissed the edge of his jaw—slow, grounding—before asking the same question back, eyes gleaming with something deeper than simple mischief.

Oscar chuckled, the sound warm in the quiet room, before flipping them over in one smooth motion. Her surprised squeal was followed by laughter, the kind that came from deep inside—the kind only she could coax out of him. She swatted at his shoulder in playful protest as he hovered over her, the shadows dancing across the contours of his face.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She smiled into it, her breath mixing with his.

Reaching for her phone, he glanced at the screen again—her Instagram app open, a carefully chosen photo of them from the event tonight waiting to go live. His thumb hovered over the ‘post’ icon. For a second, he hesitated—not out of doubt, but reverence.

He looked back at her, wordless.

She met his gaze, her smile answering questions he hadn’t even asked.

And without another moment’s pause, he pressed ‘post.’

cookies.and.creammm just posted!

Liked by oscarpiastri, lando, mclaren, alexandrasaintmleux, and 36789 others

cookies.and.creammm that’s my man ✨

view all comments

oscarpiastri that’s my girl 💗

cookies.and.creammm 🤭

lando gross 🥴

cookies.and.creammm we are not talking about you lando 😇

carlossainz55 ROASTED

alexandrasaintmleux the pretty lady is back 😍

cookies.and.creammm only for you ✨🫶🏻

alexandrasaintmleux 🤭🫶🏻

charles_leclerc uhhh hello?

mclaren our best wag 💪🏻🧡

cookies.and.creammm you mean your only one?

lando I feel attacked 🥲

oscarpiastri you should

user leave our shy cat be!!!

oscarpiastri just posted!

Liked by cookies.and.creammm, lando, mclaren, logansargeant and 15987 others

oscarpiastri my pretty girl ✨

view all comments

cookies.and.creammm my fast driver 🎀

lando gross 🥴

oscarpiastri kindly shut up lando

lando what happened to my shy cat 🥺

cookies.and.creammm he is busy playing with his 🐱

oscarpiastri 😊

mclaren we do not meddle in our drivers’ conversation 🤐

logansargeant I heard lando gag from Florida

user that was a shut up call for everyone calling Oscar too shy

[chow0w]

could you draw blaze its her b day today and also OMG i love your art

thanks so much sun! you and @thatoneabsolutegoober (working on your other asks btw, I'll reply to you directly when I finish snowfall or lynx!) wanted to see Blaze redesigned, and while I may have missed her birthday by a mile, I can still give you my take!

My Blaze redesign is set during the war of sandwing succession - I know Blaze hid just outside of the great ice wall where it wasn't too cold, but I still feel like she would have complained her way into getting a fluffy fur coat to wear for more warmth. I used some checker patterns and tan colors to mimic leather, while the fur itself has those little brown spots you always see (I think this is stoat fur, but a stoat isn't big enough to fit around Blaze's neck anyways so it doesn't matter.)

Most of Blaze's actual body is hidden under her massive jacket, but you might notice she has a plumper frame and smaller wings. I can't explain why, but I feel like it suits her a lot. Her scales don't have any unusual patterns, with most of the detail being concentrated at her wings - which have swirls near the top and a small flame-like impression near the base. I feel like it would be cool if all three sisters had fire/flame design elements given their names, but Blaze's should definitely be the least noticeable since she shows the least.. aggression. I've always interpreted 'blaze' as the beautiful way fire looks and linked it to Blaze's love of jewels.

On the topic of jewels, she doesn't wear any. Sorry Blaze, but you could only run away with so much and your icewing friends probably aren't very empathetic toward your hoarding hobby. I imagine Blaze can only get away with light jewelry/earrings during the war, since heavier items would slow her down and make her more vulnerable. I'm sure she argued about this with her icewing allies a lot.

--

Thank you guys so much for taking a look at my designs! This community is so awesome, and I always appreciate your support! Here's my list of characters that have already been requested:

Here's my current waitlist for designs: Sunny, Clearsight, Luna, Freedom, Bigtail, Cricket, Clay, Queen Thorn, Starflight, Darkstalker, Snowfall, Grandeur, Sky, Lynx, Burn, Blister Queen Oasis, Queen Wasp, Dusky, Sundew, Hazel, Whiteout, Squid, Bumblebee, Sky, Winter and Kinkajou!

And for new readers, here's who I've already designed! You can find these guys further up in my blog: Lady Jewel, Tsunami, Sunny, Blue, Moon, Typhoon, Albatross, Glory, Peril, and Turtle!

If you don't see your favorite on this list, I do have a req box! Later!! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s okay. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m okay.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m okay.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were okay!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Okay…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Okay.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s okay. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—?” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor, shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—?”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, okay? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—?”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—?”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, okay?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys okay?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.