#i hope you enjoy them <3

[neolxzr]

enstars ships to draw you say.....

slides kohiiai across the table

GET SCENE'D

[bookwyrminspiration]

For prompts “ hey, i know it’s really late, but... i didn’t know who else to call. “ or “how did you even get sick? you look ugly. come here.” as Kenric and Oralie?

Guess who's back at the dialogue prompts! It's me. This ask is rather old, so I don't know if you're still around, but if you are: I hope you enjoy, as they were quite sweet to write <3

ill-advised indulgences <- ao3 link

warnings: mild sickness

word count: 5.1k

Councillor Oralie didn’t enjoy midnight hails under the best of circumstances, and mere hours--if that--away from finishing a project that’d been bothering her for weeks was many things, but it was not the best of circumstances.

“Yes?” she sighed, unable to completely hide her irritation and knowing it was absolutely unprofessional of her; she hadn’t even bothered to look at the screen. The others would have her back in etiquette trainings without hesitation if they caught her like this.

“Hey, I know it’s really late, but... I didn’t know who else to call.”

She straightened in spite of herself, furious at the blush she felt spreading across her cheeks. But even stronger than the heat was the confusion.

“Kenric?”

“Forgotten me already, Ora?”

When she looked to the screen, she couldn’t see a hint of his soft, elegant features--not even an awkward corner angle.

Only stars, twinkling bright across her screen as she held it close in her palm.

“Why are you hailing? Is something wrong?” What was he even doing up in the middle of the night? He should be long asleep by now--just as she should’ve been, but she ignored that.

Something rustled, and his voice followed--low, like a sigh. “No, nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry your pretty head about it. I just…need a hand, and you’re less likely to be upset with me than any of the others for disturbing you so late. Or at least I thought you would be--that was quite a cold greeting.” He tried for light, but something in his voice strained and it fell flat.

“I’m sorry--you caught me in the middle of something; it was rude of me. What do you need help with?” The sleeve of her dress had slipped, and she pushed it back up her arm to have something to do, then tucked a straying ringlet back behind her ear. She couldn’t remember if she’d looked in a mirror that morning, and she wasn’t willing to admit to herself why she suddenly cared.

“Can you come to Siren Rock?” he asked, and she blinked.

“What are you doing at Siren Rock? Your Universe homework? If you’ve forgotten it, I think it’s a little too late to make it up.” She couldn’t help the laugh in her throat and smile on her lips, because it was such a ridiculous place for a councillor to be. People only went to Siren Rock for mediocre stargazing, or to appease their Mentors with proof they could passably bottle starlight.

Her laugh cut off as he answered, “Yes, actually.” He sounded amused.

“You’ve lost me,” she admitted. And yet she found herself trying to remember where she’d set her pathfinder; surely it was somewhere amid all these papers.

Still not showing his face, he explained. “It’s part of a…classified assignment. I was supposed to be working on it myself, bottling quintessence, but the quantity is more than I can manage. I can’t see straight enough to even guess where the right stars are anymore.”

“You’re bottling quintessence?” There it was, on the floor next to her desk; she must’ve bumped it off and hadn’t noticed amid the rest of the mess she’d made.

“From Phosforien and Marquiseire, yes. Can you help? It’s alright if you can’t, I’ll ask one of the others.”

“No!” The word burst out with more force than she intended, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “I’ve already set my pathfinder. Do I need to bring anything, or is it just me you need?”

“Just you, Ora.” Then he added, “Make sure to bring a warm cloak, I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I’ll be right there,” she promised, ending the hail and turning from her project with a small pang of regret. She’d built such momentum, but it’d been doomed the moment she answered the hail. She could never say no to Kenric.

Except when it came to the one topic neither of them dared breath a word about.

~

The chill slipped around the edges of her thick rose cloak as Oralie glittered into the dark of Siren Rock, the uneven earth illuminated by the silvered moonlight creeping across it, the waves pulsing against the cliff’s edge and filling the air with salt.

It didn’t take her long to find Kenric, who lay back against the hard ground with his eyes closed. A stellarscope lay forgotten beside him, alongside a case of quintessence, almost full of bright bottles.

Unnerved, she moved to the other side of him; that much quintessence simply sitting there? Kenric was oh so careful, but the substance was too unpredictable to ever be safe.

And yet here she was.

“Kenric?” she asked, uncertain. He hadn’t moved, even though she certainly hadn’t been quiet.

The hand on his chest twitched, and his bright eyes found hers.

They looked…tired.

“Ora,” he answered, and it was as if a mask descended over him. Gone were the lines and exhaustion, now he smiled gently up as her, pushing to a sitting position. “Don’t worry over me--I see that crease in your brow. I was only resting my head to try and ease the blurriness.”

His smile widened, that crooked one that always made her heart beat twice as fast, but she didn’t believe him. “Did it work?”

He shook his head. “You’re all smudges--which is a shame. You have a lovely face.”

Now that it wasn’t through an imparter, there was definitely something wrong with his voice. Too thick? Too deep? Too worn?

And then she remembered she was supposed to say something back. “How many bottles do you have left?”

Something crossed his face she couldn’t identify, and she wanted to reach out to brush skin and feel exactly what it was. But she didn’t, and Kenric sat up straighter, entirely unaware of how his hair stuck out at the back from his repose as he turned to count.

“Four more--can you handle that?”

In spite of her concern, she scowled as indignation sparked. “Of course I can handle four bottles. I’m not fragile.”

“Of course you can,” Kenric agreed, running a hand through the copper of his hair--he wasn’t wearing his circlet, she realized. And he didn’t have a cape--didn’t he feel the cold? She could even through the thick fabric of her cape.

In the silence that fell, she stepped around him to pick the stellarscope up from where he’d left it; his hand reached toward it a moment later, as though he was going to get it for her, but had moved too slowly, and practically flinched away as he nearly bumped her arm.

Awkwardly retracting his hand, he blinked up at her. They were level, but only as she bent down; he’d stayed on the ground since she’d arrived, and it couldn’t be comfortable. She could see the flecks of green in the blue of his eyes, the lashes framing them as the red of his hair fell over his brow, the creases around his eyes, and the stars reflected in his pupils.

She realized she’d frozen looking at them, and heat bloomed deep in her chest.

“Phosforien and Marquiseire, correct?” She grabbed the accompanying bottling gloves, donning them as she straightened, hoping the slight distance would clear her head, that the chill of the night would wash away the flush she could feel spreading against her will.

It didn’t. If anything, the few feet between them intensified the charge as she stood over him reciting all the reasons she shouldn’t and couldn’t.

Kenric needed a moment as well, and his breath came heavy as he nodded. “Two of each, please.”

Oralie nodded, re-tucking that same stray ringlet back as she searched the sky; she’d called up her memories of the unmapped stars as she’d grabbed her cape, wanting to be prepared--if they could even be called her memories, since they’d been implanted in her head by a mind much sharper than hers when she’d accepted her circlet.

With careful precision she searched through the stellarscope, checking thrice she’d calibrated correctly before flicking the switch and filling the bottle she’d loaded.

The other three went just as smoothly, the only sound her roaring pulse as she worked; Kenric sat behind her--he’d asked if she’d minded, as he didn’t want to stand too soon and undo all the progress he’d made re-orienting himself; of course she hadn’t minded.

She tried her damndest not to squirm, even though she swore she could feel his eyes tearing bits and pieces of her away and draining her very essence.

Blinking away a heady flash of light with the final bottle of quintessence, she carefully placed all four into Kenric’s compartmentalized satchel alongside the other ten. Each divided section was thoroughly padded to keep the bottles from bumping together and increasing the risk of explosion.

As she crouched, resolutely not looking at him, her cape shifted. A cold breeze coiled around her and she shuddered, goosebumps raising on her arms as it washed over her so thoroughly it left her senses entirely blank.

And with it, her focus sharpened.

She’d been trying so hard not to be aware of him, she’d missed the signs--even though she’d known the moment he called something was wrong.

It wasn’t his eyes on her back she’d felt creeping and draining--or at least not entirely.

“You’re unwell,” she said, turning her head to look at him. And suddenly it was obvious--the shadows beneath his eyes and the flat line of his mouth, the heavy breaths and low voice, the fact the most he’d moved was to sit up when she’d arrived.

How he’d needed her to complete his starlight bottling, already entirely unable to see when there’d been hardly a dozen in the bag.

She could see him forming the defense in his mind, and sure enough, “It’s just a headache, Ora. A long day and intense starbottling. I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry your pretty head about it..”

Oralie scowled back. “Don’t patronize me. I can feel it, even from here.” She eyed the space between them.

She was a talented Empath--but she was valuable for her stellar interpreting abilities upon contact, not for being able to take readings without it.

If she could feel the bone deep weariness through the air…

“When will you learn you can’t lie to an empath?” she asked, shaking her head. And a sort of recklessness surged through her. “How did you even get sick? You look ugly. Come here.”

She lowered herself near him, the cold rock startling even through her clothes as she unfastened her cloak.

“Ora, you don’t--”

“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going to let you sit there in the cold when you’re sick.” She shrugged off the cloak, and Kenric only mildly protested as she wrapped it tight around his neck--if she’d needed any more proof that he wasn’t himself, that was it.

The thick gradient pink fabric shimmered under the moonlight, embroidered with roses and lilies and entirely at odds with Kenric’s simple color-blocked attire. But he sagged ever so slightly beneath it anyways, reaching up to clasp it tighter around his neck as her warmth seeped into him.

He looked to her then, and raised a brow. “Did you say I looked ugly? Is it really that bad?”

And even though it was the middle of the night and goosebumps had started to erupt on her arm, and his discomforted exhaustion pulled at her very core, she flushed.

“I didn’t--”

He laughed, and it made obvious the thick crackle in his throat. “Relax, Ora. I’m only teasing. I know I’ve looked better.” He sat forward off his hand to rub it over his eyes, grimacing.

She wanted to argue for some reason, but…he wasn’t wrong.

A faint gleam of sweat had broken across his brow, and his fingers trembled where they held the cloak close at his neck.

“I’m taking you home,” she told him, making up her mind right there. He furrowed his brow, so she continued. “You have your quintessence--surely whatever it’s for can wait at least until morning, if not for a day or two for you to recover. I insist--I don’t want you handling anything potentially disastrously explosive when you can hardly see straight!”

Kenric shook his head slowly as she retrieved her pathfinder from her pocket, gloves making her fingers slip before she removed them as she began to adjust it for the coordinates she knew better than any other.

“That’s kind of you, Ora, but it’s unnecessary.” He began to unfasten the cloak, but she stopped him by pushing the satchel of quintessence into his lap alongside the stellarscope and gloves. He tried again. “I’ll manage, and you have better things to do than worry about me.”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back, successfully clicking the pathfinder into place and reaching for him; she made sure to touch only fabric, but even so the feeling of his sickness washed over her. “Concentrate--I don’t want to lose you.”

“Ora--” he began, but shut off and did as she asked as she held the crystal to the light, casting a beam over them to draw them away; she’d done it that way so he wouldn’t have a choice--either concentrate and go with her, or get drawn into the light for eternity.

Not that she would’ve ever let that happen to him; her concentration had been wrapped around him even tighter than around herself.

From the intent way he stared at her, brow furrowed, as they reappeared, for a moment she wondered if he’d been doing the same thing. The fool.

“Thank you for being so cooperative,” she told him, and he laughed again, softer.

Kenric began pushing to his feet, and despite the nausea and headache that’d pounded through her when she was only touching the cloak, she reached to help him in spite of herself.

She flinched when their hands touched, and he must’ve noticed, for he pulled away quick once he was steady as he could be.

He looked around at the castles towering over them, the arranged rocks that made up his front yard; they’d materialized on the path towards his door.

“You’re adorably stubborn,” he remarked as she turned to lead the way; she had no worries about him not following now. What else was he going to do? Walk away from her?

Sure enough, his footsteps followed behind as she opened his door--but they fell heavy and shuffling, and he was attempting to hide a grimace when she turned back to look at him. And then they stopped, and she peered over her shoulder to see him still at the bottom of the steps, staring at them.

It took a moment before she figured out the problem. “Oh, you’re ridiculous.”

She didn’t allow herself time to cringe away or hesitate as she alighted down the steps and linked her arm with his, taking some of his weight.

“Ora, you should go home,” he tried, but she wasn’t hearing it.

“You can hardly stand and you want me to leave you alone?” she hissed, jaw tight against the malaise flooding her. A cacophony of hurts and aches bruising inside her ribs, pressing foul heat against her heart, throbbing in her fingertips. She refused to let it win. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Never, when it comes to you.” The words were like a sigh as he let them slip and leaned against her, giving in.

She decided not to try and decipher what that meant as she led him inside and was faced with where, exactly, to put him.

The stairs would be unwise with his trembling even though his bedroom was up there, so she turned instead towards his greeting room.

The plush cushions were where he’d meet guests and visitors from the population, if he wasn’t always so busy with such random errands--what on earth could he need so much quintessence for?

She deposited him on the cushions, guilty at the relief it was to no longer feel his symptoms as she pulled away to seek out remedies. She was almost entirely out of the room before realizing she’d forgotten an important step

“Have you taken anything already?” she asked, all business as the most ludicrous pang had her wanting to touch him again. To feel his flushed heat, even as dizziness washed through her.

Kenric took a moment to reply, and when she looked back over at him he’d hunched; his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose tight, brow crunched intensely and mouth a thin, pale line.

He started and straightened as he realized she was still there, still watching.

As though he’d been allowing himself a moment of weakness, one she wasn’t meant to see.

“Ah…no,” he admitted, and had the wisdom to look sheepish, so she didn’t say anything as she turned away again to allow him his reprieve.

He thanked her politely upon her return, leaning back against the couch and more composed as he downed the few elixirs she’d brought. Simple things, but hopefully enough to tide him over until she could convince him to see a physician.

But she knew trying now would be fruitless, and she didn’t want to waste his energy when he clearly had so little--he may have been able to fool the others, but he was most assuredly not fooling her.

She’d watched him too closely for too many centuries.

And she realized with a start as he cleared his throat that she was doing it again.

“I’ll make you some tea,” she offered, searching for the first possible thing she could think of to break the silence.

Kenric had taken off her cloak now that they were inside, and shook his head again. “Truly, Ora. I’m fine--you’ve done more than enough tonight. Don’t let me bother you any longer and go home--you need to rest.”

It took her a moment to respond, but only because she almost couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You’re telling me to rest?” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest.

He tried again. “I know you always want to help--”

“Then shut up and let me.”

“I--”

“No!” she cut him off. “When you hail me in the middle of the night for help, you don’t get to suddenly take that back! You should’ve known I’d realize you were sick when you decided to hail me--that one’s on you. Now I’m going to get you a cup of tea, because it’s cold out and your voice sounds horrendous, if you’re done complaining that I’m doing what you asked.”

“That’s not fair, Ora,” he protested, moving as if to get up.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “And don’t even think about moving.”

She fumed silently as she turned on her heel, that damned ringlet falling into her face again as she made for his kitchen. She was never looking for a fight with him, but he always managed to poke and prod and rile her up in the most mundane of ways.

She took a few calming breaths as she set the water to heat, and it was starting to work--until she heard footsteps from the greeting room.

Indignant again, she rounded the corner back to him, ready to scold him.

He beat her to it, pausing in the hall with a hand on the wall. “I’m only going for a shower--unless that’s not allowed?” He raised a brow as he said it, a challenging look of amusement on his pallid face.

It brought her up short, and she blanked for a moment. “Of--of course that’s allowed. I’ll just...I’ll be down here,” she finished inelegantly as those green-flecked eyes teased hers.

“If you insist--I do love your company,” he said, maddeningly, as he continued to the stairs; the elixirs must’ve been taking effect, for he seemed to manage without too much trouble.

And then she flushed as he disappeared from sight, realizing she’d been staring at him again.

The night must’ve been getting to her.

The momentum of her now long-forgotten project had pushed her through, and then the rush of Kenric’s hail and the chill of Siren Rock.

But now, warm and unhurried in Kenric’s home, lethargy began to tug at her.

Water turned on overhead, and she had to fight a tingling feeling along her skin as she realized he was, right that moment, undressed just a flight above her.

Shocked by the direction of her own thoughts, she shoved them away and returned to the kitchen, deciding she could use a cup of her own to reorient herself.

She’d just tentatively taken a first sip, hoping it’d cooled enough not to burn her tongue, when Kenric had walked back in.

Stilling, she watched the water drip from the spikes of freshly washed hair, his skin now soft and dewy instead of damp and sweaty--though his color had only marginally improved. Still too wan, still lined, bags under his eyes even more prominent under the kitchen’s crystal lights than the moon’s soft glow.

His clothes stuck to his skin and bunched slightly, and relief flooded her as she saw the simple house attire; he wasn’t planning on leaving again.

Unless he was going to try and get rid of her before he changed and went out…

“Like what you see?” he teased as he took the other cup of tea still beside her on the counter, the one she’d prepared for him.

Her face heated as she scowled, and she tucked that stray ringlet away again. “You really should lie down--you’re exhausted. I can see it in how you move.”

His smile lessened, and he sighed before he took a sip. “You truly won’t let this go, will you?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He leaned against the counter beside her, and something flickered through the malaise electric in the air between them--too quick for her to pick it up, but enough to have her on alert.

Turning, he searched her face, and she may as well have been laid bare for how much she was certain he saw. “I mean, Oralie, that you don’t need to stay. You’ve done more than enough for me already--you always do. But it’s late, and you must be exhausted. I can manage myself--I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take the night off. And I’ll even talk to Elwin in the morning. I’ve disturbed you enough for one evening.”

His voice remained low, his eyes still on hers, making it difficult to understand what he was saying.

And then it registered. She straightened, stiff. “I see I’ve overimposed myself. My apologies for not realizing--I won’t keep you from…whatever it is you need to keep from me any longer.”

She set the half-empty mug down that she’d forgotten she’d been holding, and turned away, ignoring the ache in her throat.

“That’s not--” Kenric started, but she cut him off.

“Then what is it, Kenric?” The defeated words burned, dangerously close to everything they weren’t allowed to talk about as she ached. “You say one thing and mean a million other and expect me to be able to parse it out? You say you want my help, and then send me away at the first opportunity. I find you barely able to see on the ground, and you worry if I can handle four bottles. What do you want?”

Silence fell for a heavy moment in the wake of her outburst, swallowing heavily; she was still looking at the door.

“Oralie,” he said, and she knew he was asking her to turn.

She didn’t.

“Oralie,” a plea. “Look at me.”

She wouldn’t.

And then footsteps, and he walked in front of her frozen pose.

Despite herself, she looked to him as he stopped in front of her, his hands reaching.

He hesitated a moment away from her hands, the open skin, but then he moved. Gentle over the fabric, he placed them over her arms, holding his breath as she flinched.

The elixirs had dulled the worst of it, but he wouldn’t be better without time.

“I’m sorry,” he began, quiet, earnest. “I didn’t mean it that way--I never meant to upset you. You can feel I’m telling the truth.” He was. “You’re too good to me, Oralie, you know? You’re so kind, and genuine, and helpful. I don’t want to take advantage of that--I’ll be alright, so I don’t want you wasting your goodness on me when you could be putting it into so many better things.”

“You asked me for help,” she reminded him, voice just as quiet.

“I did.”

“Then why are you trying so hard to push me away?”

She’d fought with him on practically every account since he hailed--even though he’d hailed her. Knowing she was capable and still trying to protect her, knowing he was unwell and unable and yet still trying to do whatever he could alone.

It was enough mixed signals, and it was late enough she could hardly bear their usual dance.

Her next question ached against her tongue. “Do you want me to go? Truly.”

Kenric’s eyes, which had been searching her face this whole time, fell closed. Pained.

He drew a breath, water still dripping from his damp hair, and confessed.

“No.”

The truth of the words rang through her where he still held her. And with it, all her anger drained, leaving only desolate longing she didn’t want to think about.

His fingers tightened around her arms, and he repeated it with a shake in his voice. “No, I quite like it when you stay.”

She knew how close they were pushing to things they shouldn’t talk about, and yet still she reached a hand to rest on his outstretched arm, bracing for the feelings.

She let them wash past her, passing her by without picking them up.

She shouldn’t, couldn’t.

She wanted to.

“No one would blame you for wanting company in your condition.” Her voice felt too light as she created the lifeline, an offer, an impossibility. Something they shouldn’t allow themselves, but that she longed for. Desperately.

And he wanted it too, so much it stole her breath.

“Of course they wouldn’t,” he agreed, slowly, the two of them watching themselves walk over the edge of a cliff they’d never return from. “I might do something unwise, after all.”

She could see it happening, knew this was her last chance to stop this mistake.

And yet she said, “We wouldn’t want that, of course.”

All there was left to do was enjoy the fall, before they hit the ground.

His hands loosened around her, slipping slightly as he exhaled, the weight of what they hadn’t said settling. Permanent.

And as her heart pounded, she damned them further.

She reached a hand out, tracing her fingers along his cheek and furrowing her brow at the heat. “I meant it when I said you should rest.”

And it was as if they both decided to never say a word about what they’d chosen for this night, the indulgence never to be acknowledged again.

“You always know best,” he agreed, leaning into it. His eyes fell closed and his brow softened, and they stood a moment longer.

“Come,” she said, fingertips light as she gently pulled. “Let’s get you settled.”

He followed as she led him up the stairs, past the still-steamy bathroom and to the living quarters she’d only been in a few times before.

They both winced when she snapped the lights on, and she quickly dimmed them.

Kenric’s sheepish embarrassment washed through her as she took in the state of the place; he’d been trying and not quite succeeding for years at keeping his personal space and his work space separate, and scrolls cluttered a significant portion of every surface available.

The bedspread was rumpled and bunched, left from however he’d rolled out of bed that morning--and he quite possibly had rolled, given that even stronger than the embarrassment was the mounting exhaustion.

She had no clue how he’d been able to push himself through the day.

She paid no attention to the mess as she drew them in further--she tried her best not to look at anything, not wanting to know.

Kenric said nothing as she let go of him, moving to the windows and propping them slightly.

Chill air slipped over her skin, a welcome relief from the staleness the walls had captured.

Without her prompting, Kenric had laid down--atop the covers, but laying down nonetheless. The bed seemed to swallow everything but the fevered brightness of his eyes as he watched her, but even as she watched, his eyelids started to flutter.

For some reason, it made her aware of how lopsided and frazzled her quick bun had become, so she reached up to untangle the tie and set it loose.

Kenric made a small noise, almost a hum. He lifted his hand then, an invitation.

Her heart stopped in her chest, and something in her screamed at them to stop, reminded her of just how much they weren’t allowed to want this.

But she took it anyway, and lowered herself to sit on his bed.

He was nearly asleep already, the poor thing. But still he whispered, “Thank you, Ora.”

She didn’t ask what he was referring to.

And as his eyes closed, she could’ve sworn they flickered to her lips, and a wave of…something, pulsed where they still touched. Too abstract and encompassing even for her to translate.

So she didn’t let herself try, dreading when they’d hit the ground.

She just let his hand hold hers, and watched his breathing settle as he stopped fighting himself.

And in that moment, she’d never been further from him.

Sitting on his bed, watching the lines of his face smooth and feeling the peace settling through him where they touched. Alone together with cool night air filling her lungs, everything she could not have prickled in the back of her mind.

The pillow was wet from his hair, and she wanted--oh, how she wanted--to trace the edge of his jaw, the line of his registry pendant over the smooth skin of his neck, to press her hand to his chest and feel his heartbeat. Reminding her over and over with its rhythm that he was alive, alive, alive.

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t do that to him--or to herself. To the countless people who needed her kindness to challenge the others’ fear and haste.

So she didn’t move, only breathed.

And tried to absorb every moment of this foolish, beautiful indulgence before it was gone.

[itsevanffs]

Sugar

E | 1.4k | WIP | Chose Not To Warn, Rape/Non-con, Underage

Tags: A/B/O dynamics, Non-traditional A/B/O dynamics, Humor, Scenting, Non-consensual touching

Summary:

Peter’s throat works, like he’s trying to search for words. "...It’s like a boss-employee relationship. If you disobey the rules, you get fired. In this case, fired means mauled." --- Miles finds out the hard way that different worlds means different dynamics, too. And the hard way happens to be Miguel O'Hara.

[lilybug-02]

Pain is a great motivator…

Part 26 || First || Previous || Next

—Full Series—

Meanwhile Toriel:

(Loud noises don't wake her up usually.)

Artist note: I’m so proud of this :))) I know it’s a lot of dialogue and reading, but dialogue is grueling work for me. I’m glad with the art and for the amount of pages I made in such a relatively short time span -w- page 5 was super fun to work on. A lot of blood, sweat, and hours here... :) The backgrounds were a big bore tbh, but I finished them! Yippie!

[queerdraws]

projecting on luffy again. get bited.

[dekariosclan]

Imagine Gale as a talented and impressive young man, able to compose the Weave at will, skilled in a way that few can match, and favored by the Goddess of Magic herself. Imagine that because of these accomplishments, he’s caught the eye of a few up-and-coming magic adepts, and he falls in love with one of them—his first real love. Gale isn’t one to toss the ‘L’ word around lightly, so when he tells them he loves them, he means it; he gives himself over to them completely.

And in return, they love him for his potential. For his status. For the magic he can command. They love the wizard they see on the surface, but not the man underneath. They are attracted to his power, but not to him.

So of course the relationship fails, after the thrill of his magic wears off. But because Gale is a resilient young man and he’s caught the eye of so many, he soon falls in love with another.

And then it happens again. And again.

And each time Gale’s heart is ravaged, his ambition to become a better wizard grows, because he’s being shown time and time again that his magic ability is all that matters.

So much so that, by the time Mystra decides to elevate him from Favored to Chosen to Lover, he welcomes her with eager, desperate arms. Because if all his worth is in his magic, and that’s all he has to offer, and that’s all anyone wants from him, who better to love him than the Goddess of Magic herself?

Except…there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that whispers she doesn’t really love him. There’s anxiety in his heart as time passes, and he reaches both the limit of what his talents can do and what Mystra will allow him to do. And most troubling of all: a growing panic that, just like his other lovers, she will soon grow tired of him and discard him if he can’t improve his magic any further.

He tries pouting, and pleading, and begging her to let him take more power, to let him be more for her, but she refuses. Smiles patronizingly. Tells him to be patient. But Gale can’t be patient when his power is tied so closely to his self-worth; he can’t be patient when doing so in the past has only ever lead to heartache.

So he does what he believes will be a Grand Romantic Gesture, one that will finally put him on equal footing with the woman he loves. Instead, it turns out to be a folly that dooms him and destroys his talents. And just as he’d always feared, Mystra tosses him aside the moment his magical gifts are gone—because what’s left of him holds no value for her.

————

Imagine Gale in his tower, alone, afraid, the ever-hungry orb in his chest, with only his tressym there to help him. No other friends to speak of. His colleagues forced to keep away for their own safety. His magical talents utterly stripped down, so that even when he does try and distract himself with illusions, he’s bitterly reminded of what he used to be capable of. Waking every morning wondering if it will be his last, ending every day full of loneliness and disappointment.

…and then he meets Tav.

At the lowest point in his life, at his most vulnerable, when he knows he’s going to be considered a burden, he meets this stranger and their group. So he does what he can to be useful—assigning himself to be camp cook, offering up his (now meager) magic skills, turning the charm up to 11—as he desperately hopes this will somehow work out. He’s pleasantly surprised when, after providing only minor details of his condition, Tav agrees to help him. He’s even more surprised when they actually follow through.

Imagine how Gale feels as Tav treats him kindly. As he grows to trust Tav, and then grows to like them. Imagine his surprise as he opens up and shows them more and more of himself, and they don’t turn him away.

But then his condition worsens. And he has to reveal everything: the foolish mistakes he’s made, and how dangerous he is as a result. He clings to Tav’s hand as he shows them his folly. He’s at their mercy now, and he knows this might be the last time he’ll ever feel the touch of another being, if they decide—and Gods, why wouldn’t they decide?—to cast him out.

…but they don’t. They don’t. Instead, they tell him to stay.

Imagine the relief Gale feels. The gratitude. And perhaps…just a hint of something more. Something that he dare not name, but that flares to life every time he thinks of how warm their hand was in his. Something that feels dangerously close to jealousy, when he’s had too much to drink and sees Tav smiling at another…

But he knows these are all foolish thoughts, because he has nothing to offer Tav. They are wonderful just as they are, but he…he is an empty shell of a man, a discarded husk of a wizard, and while they might tolerate him, he could never believe they might actually want him.

And besides, he still thinks of Mystra. He still longs for Mystra. She who cast him out, but to whom he still feels tethered. Sometimes he needs to cocoon himself in the weave, just to try and calm his fears and bring some joy back to his life, because magic is his life. And sometimes he just needs to see her face, even though that hurts as much as it heals.

One night he’s lost in thought, having conjured Mysta’s image after settling down at camp. Thinking that even if she hadn’t ‘loved’ him—certainly not in the way he’d loved her—she’d given him enough otherwise, hadn’t she? She’d amused him and been amused by him, they’d shared countless pleasures, why hadn’t he been satisfied with that?

Gale is so lost in thought he doesn’t realize Tav has come up behind him. Until they ask a question, startling him out of his trance. He’s a bit shaken, so he tries to turn the conversation from Mystra to the weave itself. And then a wonderful idea occurs to him, something that he’d been toying with already: what if they were to conjure the weave together?

He can show Tav how important magic is to him, let them experience what he does, perhaps even impress them a bit. But most importantly, share a moment with them. As friends would do…

He’s elated when Tav agrees. He leads them through the steps effortlessly, and they’re a surprisingly good student, following his instructions correctly (if a bit clumsily). He’s as excited as they are—perhaps even more so!—when they succeed in channeling the weave.

It’s such a pleasant, familiar feeling for him, like coming home to his tower in Waterdeep. Even as the weave connects him with Tav and makes them one, he’s easily able to hide his innermost thoughts, because he’s done it so many times before.

…but he’s forgotten that Tav has not.

————

Imagine Gale knowing every romantic partner he ever had only wanted him because of how he could raise their status, or how he could amuse them, or how he could command magic for them. And, each time, he was happy to oblige them, even desperate to oblige them, because if that was the price of their love, then he was sure it would be worth it.

But it still all came to nothing.

Now imagine Gale connected in an intimate way with someone he likes very, very much���while being what he considers his lowest, most worthless, and most humbled self. As far from the powerful, impressive wizard he once was as he could ever be. And suddenly a vision enters his mind from the lovely creature standing next to him. Only, to his complete and utter shock, it isn’t one where he is providing them with a service, or wowing them with his magical ability, or granting them some kind of power from one of the spells he commands.

Instead, when he sees their desire laid bare before him, it’s a vision of kissing him. Of holding his hand. The two most basic forms of affection and physical connection. The two things that he would still be able to offer them even if every last ounce of his remaining magical abilities were stripped from him. The two things he could share with them even if he was no longer Gale of Waterdeep, and just plain old Gale Dekarios instead.

Imagine the embarrassment and trepidation he feels at first, because surely he is mistaken?…and then the elation when he realizes that he is not. So much elation that his concentration is broken, the weave dissipating as he forgets about channeling it, as he forgets about Mystra. Because all that matters to him now is the image before him—the most pleasant and welcome image he’s seen in a very, very long time.

Imagine how that would feel…and how besotted, enamored and completely devoted he’d be to Tav afterwards. To know that someone finally—finally—just wants him.

Just imagine.

[coreytaylr]

100% legit totally real facts about the historical stede bonnet

no the title is not a lie these are really REAL bc believe it or not, somehow the show made our stede MORE competent than the real one

sources: Real Pirates podcast (ep1, ep2, ep3, ep4, ep5), Dirty Sexy History podcast (with jeremy moss, bonnet's biographer, who LOVES the show, and said it changed his perspective on bonnet's and blackbeard's relationship PLUS he has the stedesrevenge handle on twt)

the library on the revenge was a real thing. the man really did that.

running away from his family to be a pirate

paying a salary to his crew

SHOWING UP IN NASSAU IN FRILLY GENTLEMANLY CLOTHES AND A POWDERED WIG

before bonnet's capture, he ran his ship aground and that's how the english caught up with him BUT the two english ships also ran aground (😭), so they fought each other with their flintlock pistols from behind their ships (until the tides turned and dislodged the english ships first. rip)

adopted an alias when he started pirating so people wouldn't know it was him but he raided ships near Barbados (where he's from), so that didnt turn out well. his solution? burning every ship from Barbados

he only succeeded in his early days bc merchant ships knew they would get off easier if they surrendered

ATTACKED A WARSHIP that whooped his ass so bad he almost died. the remaining crew steered the ship to Nassau where he met blackbeard

blackbeard stole the revenge from him but "allowed" him to stay on BB's ship (either as a guest or as a prisoner, it's not clear, but he def wasn't a crew member bc he didn't have any chores)

he was seen on deck running around in his gowns 😭😭

BB eventually reinstated him as the captain of the revenge and they sailed together for a while

"there is a 4 month period where stede and blackbeard kind of disappeared and no one really knows what they were doing" 👀

BB allowed bonnet to raid on his own which lead to him getting his ass beat by the Protestant Caesar. BB then proceeded to HUNT DOWN THE PROTESTANT CAESAR while flying the RED FLAG (which meant no mercy to anyone on board)

bonnet would raid ships and take what provisions he needed and give the other ship what he didn't need (essentially the library raiding scene lmaoo)

BB betrayed bonnet by raiding his ship and marooning his crew while bonnet was off getting a pardon

SO BONNET SWORE REVENGE AGAINST BB who was at the time, the most feared pirate

this led to him adopting another alias - "he also changes his name, at the time he goes by captain edward's. which is really interesting, I don't know if that's an homage to, you know, edward teach, but.. captain edward's with an "s", that's as if he's.. a possession of captain edward" ONCE AGAIN 👀👀👀👀

HE ESCAPED PRISON BY DRESSING AS A WOMAN

after escaping, he was promised a sloop by some rando. when the rando didnt deliver, bonnet "WROTE HIM A STRONGLY WORDED LETTER REPRIMANDING THE MAN"

that letter led to him being recaptured 😭😭

he was hanged while holding a bouquet of wilted flowers

[wheretheresawyll]

What's happening with Theo Solomon is so, so frustrating and needless and disgusting (more info can be found at this post), and I also want to acknowledge the treatment of Wyll's original voice/mo-cap actor, Lanre Malaolu.

Malaolu gave an excellent performance! His delivery and the way he incorporated mannerisms and posture into Wyll's physicality was amazing. The original characterization of Wyll was written very well and matched the general tone of the wider party/narrative.

And to suddenly have Larian, years into the project, rewrite the character entirely and then re-cast it? To have other actors talk about how Wyll just 'wasn't working' as a character? All because of fan criticism that places ridiculous (and often contradictory) standards and expectations on black characters. Even if the re-cast resulted from scheduling conflicts (as Malaolu couldn't come in to re-record), we lost Malaolu's entire performance because of a rewrite that was simply not necessary.

And after disregarding Malaolu's years of work into this character, the same criticisms that Larian caved into are thrown at Wyll's rewrite, and the same disregard is being seen with Theo Solomon again and again. As someone who started playing early access when it first came out, fans' treatment of Wyll and his actors hasn't gotten better. It's actively gotten worse.

[bloominflowers]

Genshin Impact Fashion: Anemo Edition ☁️💙

[puddii-ng]

some outfit sketches i made for shumika ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

[lady-arryn]

TOP 10 JANE AUSTEN ADAPTATIONS (according to my followers)

1. Pride and Prejudice (2005) with 20.67% of votes

[spacebubblehomebase]

(ALL) 🌈 "R stands for Robin." 🤍

"Had you asked us when we were younger about who we think we'd grow up to be, none of us would have answered who we did end up becoming. Someone bigger than ourselves. A symbol beating in different hearts. Each coming from unlikely origins. A partner to Batman and a fledgling that would soar higher and shine brighter than any other. They think we've divided this mantle, but no. Each of us made Robin WHOLE. Afterall, light refracts into multiple colors, right? And birds of a feather are stronger TOGETHER."

R is for Righteousness.

R is for Rebellion.

R is for Responsibility.

R is for Respect.

R is for Redemption.

R is for Revolutio- NO. It's a Reminder.

(Fun Fact 👀: If you look closely, you might notice how each Robin wears the color of the one that comes after them. Except for Duke who wears the first Robin's colors to tie them all together again. Proving they're better as a set. Speaking of, these drawings were sold at a booth in my school and the Batgirls were particularly popular! XD) -Bubbly💙

[bluegiragi]

the prettiest pets you'll ever see (happy valentine's day!)

nsfw version on patreon

[noxious-fennec]

Hands are too shaky these days

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[blorbocedes]

BROCEDES! ROOMMATE AU + UNEXPECTED VIRGIN!

‘Take a shot if your body count is more than 5!’

Most of the crowd drinks, even those with obviously shifty eyes and guilty demeanours. Lewis drinks.

He was coursemates with Adrian the previous semester and had to hear his bitching and moaning about the bitches he gets – the lack thereof, spots him drinking too. Nico’s standing at the end of the couch, expensive loafers careful to step around the sticky spilled beer.

He nurses his red solo cup, untouched. Lewis frowns.

‘Take a shot if your body count is double digits!’

Fewer people drink this time. The crowd goes ‘ooh’ at the ones who do. Technically, Lewis’ is 7 – 8 if you count the blowjob and her getting her period at the last second, opting out. But college athletes have a reputation to maintain, so Lewis finishes off his cup.

This time, Nico is watching him. Smiles when their eyes meet and does a mock salute, lips still not grazing his drink.

What the fuck? What could it be? It bothers Lewis that Nico’s not being honest. He's seen Nico half-lidded hanging off some guy’s arm at a party or cuddled into some girl to know better. Although, since Nico has access to all the population instead of 50%, it would make sense if his count is twice as high.

A pretty girl in a low cut top and blonde highlights taps Lewis on the arm to dance with her, and all thoughts of his roommate and how many people he fucks are forgotten.

A few hours later, the party has died down. Cold pizza and the music is less in-your-face, more indie. A small group gather on the floor playing the laziest truth or dare with a half empty bottle of Bacardi. The guy beside Nico is in an obnoxious leather jacket and tight pants, and his hand rests on Nico’s thigh.

It falls on Lewis.

“So… Lew-iss,” Natalie? maybe asks, voice slurring a little. “Do you remember when you first met Nico?”

Nico raises an interested eyebrow. Of course he remembers. However, Lewis is aware they asked the question because people think him and Nico are secretly hooking up because they live together, and since Nico’s seen with everyone. His teammate Felipe and his girlfriend are within earshot.

“Nah, man. I don't remember shit like that. I remember when I like, lost my virginity.” Lewis offers as bait.

Nico frowns, it's cute on him. Brows wrinkled up.

Naomi(!) bites. “Tell us about how you lost your virginity.”

“That's two questions.” Lewis leans back, flashing his most charming gap-toothed smile. Everyone's too drunk to keep track of whose turn it is.

Nico disappears off with Mr. Skinny Jeans.

It's a little while later when Lewis has smoked a spliff to clear his head, rejecting the blonde highlights girl’s offer back to her dorms which is on the other side of campus, when Nico returns, hair mussed and shirt buttoned more than it was when he left.

“Home?” He asks. Lewis follows.

Nico’s a pretty chill roommate. He grew up with a silver spoon and an only child, so he has no concept of sharing. Instead, when he orders Thai, he makes sure to order for two so that Lewis doesn't try to eat any of his dumplings. Lewis gets to have the flat to himself a lot since Nico disappears for the night, returns at early hours of the night with glitter on his cheek or bite marks on his neck and a cheeky smile before collapsing on the couch. Lewis can't complain, it makes bringing girls over easier. And when Nico is studying, he keeps to himself. Lewis will know, because there will be an extra coffee for him. In turn, Lewis gets rids of the bugs in the flat – the first time Nico seeing a cockroach asking if they should call pest control or sue their landlord for unhygienic living conditions.

“Why didn't you drink? At the body count question?” Lewis asks, breaking the amiable silence of their walk home, and the lack of filter signalling he was drunker than he thought.

Nico hums thoughtfully. “Cause that would be a lie?”

Lewis tries to make sense of that, doing math in his head. “No…? It wasn't about the exact number, just if it's more than.”

“Yeah,” Nico smiles, unlocking the door and stepping side. “That would be a lie.”

Lewis rolls his eyes. Nico and his riddles and his games. “It would only be a lie if you're a virgin. Which you're not.” He snorts at the thought.

Nico’s eyes flash dangerously. “Yeah?” Nico turns around, effectively trapping Lewis between the door. “You think about who gets in my pants a lot, Hamilton?”

Lewis feels a flush rise in his neck. Thank god for melanin, if he were Nico he'd have two giant red spots on his cheek right now.

“I don't care who you sleep with. Or don't sleep with.” Lewis tries to go for gruff, chill, but it doesn't quite land. He gets out of Nico’s cornering, going to the couch. “It's just weird you’d lie considering Jenson–”

“Oh if Jenson said it, it must be true.” Nico’s sarcasm is shrill and annoyed, betraying how drunk he is.

It does make Lewis pause. Jenson has a habit of embellishing stories of his conquests. The fated twins threesome never happened, he had separately hooked up with twins. Lewis remembers Jenson bragging in the locker room how he rocked Britney’s world and Lewis had worn his his shin guards with a little more force than necessary.

“Rock my world?” Nico rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Hardly. We made out for forty minutes until he came in his pants.”

TMI because now Lewis is inundated of images of Nico, mouth swollen and bodies entangled while fully clothed.

“So you're actually a virgin? What about all those people?” Lewis is still trying to wrap his head around it. Nico is the most sexual person he knows. He eats yoghurt off the spoon distractingly, and has no shame walking around the apartment naked. Very sexual liberation chic, and Lewis had to draw up boxers boundaries.

Nico wrinkles his nose. “So you get with the easiest lay on campus and you're the only person he won't fuck. Do you want to admit something's weird and wrong with you, or do you just go about inferring you had sex? It's not like I'm going to correct them.” He must see something on Lewis’ face because he interjects, defensively offensive, “Don't ask why it's better to have a reputation. I know your tells. You drank twice.”

Lewis chooses his words carefully, gentle like he's not trying to spook a wild cat. “I'm not judging. I'm just surprised. Nobody figured it out?”

Nico softens at the tone. He sinks on the couch beside Lewis. “Honestly, you're the first person to notice.”

Lewis finds that sad. “Hey, we don't need to talk about this if it's a sensitive topic. I'm sorry I –”

“Jeez, Lewis. I don't have trauma, I'm just frigid. A pricktease. Nothing bad ever happens to a Rosberg.” Nico works on the complicated laces of his boots. He hates being pitied.

Lewis leans over. “It's really not all that cracked up to be. The first time, at least. Cause you're bad at it and you don't know how to pace yourself. Lots of people wait until they're ready. My first time, it was this girl I was seeing after GCSEs. We couldn't find a place so we got in my dad’s old Subaru. Lasted like 30 seconds. Wiped the whole place down but I was convinced he would know somehow. Come Sunday, I went and told him. He hadn’t the slightest clue. So that was an awkward drive to church.”

Nico gawks him, crumpling into himself laughing. Lewis regrets being a vulnerable and oversharer of a drunk. Nico’s gelled hair has come undone from hours of partying and falls over his eyes. Lewis is never going to open up to anyone ever again.

“On God's day, Lewis?! And you think I should save myself until marriage? Find myself a nice, righteous wife?”

“Someone you trust. Someone you're into.” The room spins a little. Nico Rosberg is a virgin.

“Someone who’d remember when we first met?” Nico challenges. "That's not very nice, is it? I can't believe you forgot--"

“You were checking out an encyclopaedia on space at the library. I wanted the Senna autobiography. We were 12.”

Nico’s eyes go wide. Lewis holds his gaze.