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thoughtportal · 1 year

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Gods' Man is a wordless novel by American artist Lynd Ward (1905–1985) published in 1929. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gods%27_Man

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Frans Masereel My Book of Hours https://theanarchistlibrary.org/library/frans-masereel-my-book-of-hours

#books #wordless books #graphic novels #woodcuts #wordless novel #woodblocks #books and literature #books and writing #books and libraries #books and authors #art history #Frans Masereel #Lynd Ward #art book #history #book history

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bookpatrol · 1 year

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Please not again.

VOTE!

image from White Collar: A Novel in Linocuts by Giacomo Patri. From the 1975 edition published by Celestial Arts. Originally published in 1940.

#vote #abortion #linocut #great depression #books #wordless novel

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recursive-rupture · 3 months

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Chris Lanier: "Your grandfather was an influence on you, in pursuing art..."

Eric Drooker: "My grandfather introduced me to silent storytelling when I was a boy. He showed me several woodcut novels, which were popular in the 1930s, when he was a young man. None of the books had any words in them, only stark black-and-white images."

Chris: "What woodcut novels did your grandfather show you?"

Eric: "When I was about twelve, he gave me two wordless books, Passionate Journey and The City, by Frans Masereel, the Belgian expressionist. He said, 'Take a look at these books, they're written without using any words.' I was intrigued, but could hardly penetrate the books. They were too serious ... not cartoony enough - or linear enough - for me to grasp. But over the years, I'd occasionally crack these books open and marvel: 'Hmm ... Entire stories told in pictures - in woodcuts, no less!' Each year they affected me more and more ... until I began to feel haunted by these silent books. In my early twenties, I began to study Masereel's technique, and after Sue Coe gave me a huge anthology of his work, I became possessed by his vision."

Chris: "Have you seen any other woodcut novels?"

Eric: "I'd stumbled upon a collection of woodcut novels by Lynd Ward, the American illustrator. His book Storyteller without Words contains all his silent stories, including Gods' Man and Vertigo. I was deeply moved by his art, and inspired by the social realism in his work."

{pictured: prints by Eric Drooker, Frans Masereel, and Lynd Ward, in that order}

#eric drooker #frans masereel #lynd ward #prints #art prints #wordless novels #woodcut #scratchboard #woodcut novel

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talbrosh · 4 months

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In April I published my second graphic novel Trigger Shot. It is a textless and abstract comic following a woman's journey through infertility and medical intervention.

#comic book #graphic novel #abstract comics #infertility #graphic medi #wordless #textless #self publication #self published #small press

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dynamobooks · 1 year

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Josh Simmons: Le Manoir (2007)

#josh simmons #house #le manoir #comics #graphic novel #huber #the mansion press #wordless

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odoraful · 2 months

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Moment's respite

the boys react to you being really sleepy around them 💤

characters: zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn reader content: established relationship, comfort a/n: this was from an anon who requested a sleepy m/c! i'm sorry it took a bit, but to the lovely anon i hope i did your idea justice! shoutout to all my constantly sleepy folks out there as well

𝒁𝑨𝒀𝑵𝑬

It was only midday when you and Zayne boarded the train from Snowcrest back to Linkon, but your head was already lolling to the side. The homey, wintery town had an atmosphere that was too relaxing. Especially during those late afternoons after you and Zayne had gone cafe hopping, you wanted nothing more than to bask in the sun and fall asleep.

As you settled into your seat by the window, Zayne pushed his and your luggage in the above storage compartment. Seeing his partner’s head bob towards the glass window, Zayne smiled to himself.

“I've never seen a person so sleepy before.” Zayne remarked, taking his place in the seat beside you.

“It’s not my fault,” you mumbled groggily, “it’s the town.”

You began to rub your eyes, attempting to bring some life back into them.

“I didn’t realise a town could have sedative properties.” He said, dryly.

“You don’t understand, it’s too cosy. I feel like all my defences are down.”

Zayne was entertained at the way you spun that into a complaint. A renowned hunter who finally takes a well-needed break feels too comforted by their holiday getaway.

He rested a hand on his chin in mock thought. “Should we have added combat training in the itinerary to have you be more alert, then?”

You laughed, knowing that if that had actually happened you would have hated it. The relaxation you experienced on this trip was a genuine good thing for the both of you. You continued to rub your eyes, trying to remove the build-up from when you last slept. Your movements were halted as Zayne gently held your wrists in place. You looked over at him, curiously.

“I may not be an ophthalmologist, but I know rubbing your eyes too hard can damage the lens.” He leaned closer to examine them. They were slightly red from all the pressure you had put on them.

“Forcing yourself awake won’t do you any favours.” He gently brushed a thumb over your eyelids. “You should sleep.”

He relaxed his shoulders, bumping them against yours in wordless invitation. You felt your protest fizzle away at the thought of resting on Zayne right this second. Some argument about how he would be bored without his number 1 conversation partner on the commute disappeared when you tilted your head and fell on his shoulder.

“Don’t forget to wake me up when we get there…” Your voice trailed off as you nuzzled in place, trying to find a good spot to sleep.

Zayne combed his fingers through your hair, tidying it up from your head wiggling. You were unresponsive to his touch. Your steady breathing signalled that you had already passed out. He stared fondly at your peaceful face. Inwardly, he admitted that the ride would be much less fun without your chatter, but he was more than content with just your presence alone.

Succumbing to temptation, he lightly poked your cheek. He mused to himself about how you were somewhat correct — your defences were down, but it was to his benefit. He could finally do things like this without your teasing.

𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹

Xavier moved his hand, ready to turn over to the next page of the book. He looked at you, expectantly.

“Have you finished this page?”

You hummed affirmatively, and he eagerly flipped to the next chapter.

You and Xavier had begun the habit of reading in bed together in the evenings. The book of choice was Xavier's pick — an old-school mystery novel. Someone is found murdered in their private quarters on a train, and the detective must find the culprit before they strike again. The plot was thrilling, and you were enthralled from the beginning. However, between being weighted under plush quilts, propped up by fluffy pillows, and the body warmth of Xavier, you felt the words of the page slipping away from you.

“Xavier, could you read aloud for me?”

His eyes turned wide like a surprised bunny. “Why the sudden request? Is everything okay?” He immediately covered your forehead with his hand, checking your temperature.

Chuckling, you swatted his hand away. “I’m alright. I just want to hear your voice, please.” You looped your arm around him and Xavier softened.

He couldn’t argue against your wishes. He cleared his throat and read the words out loud. Though Xavier didn’t have the most performative voice, he still tried to be a good storyteller — acting out the dialogue for each different character and steadying his pacing. The gentleness of his voice enveloped you. It quickly sounded less like an intense crime novel, and more like a children’s storybook.

You closed your eyes, attempting to keep an attentive ear to what Xavier was saying.

“Are you still with me?” He asked, sensing how you had relaxed against his side.

“Yes, yes, I’m still listening.” Your eyes remained shut, words slightly slurring together. “Keep going. I think the case is-” A yawn you tried to stifle came out. “About to be cracked wide open.”

Xavier continued, taking note of your growing drowsiness. He read out loud this time in a more hushed voice, “‘The detective gathered everyone in the train’s shared compartment space. Pacing across the carpet, he had finally figured out the killer’s identity.’”

There was a slight thud against the headboard.

Turning to the source of the sound, Xavier found you fast asleep.

He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Even when the culprit is about to be revealed, you still decide to fall asleep.

To be honest, he was beginning to get sleepy himself, so perhaps it was perfect timing. The two of you were cutely similar in that regard. In fact, Xavier had done the exact same thing a few days ago. Chastising you about it would only backfire on himself.

He carefully removed your arm loosely looped around his own and quietly stood up to tuck you in. Laying you in a more comfortable position, he readjusted the blanket to cover your body, admiring how snuggled deeper into the sheets. He joined you in bed. The warm glow of the night light behind him on the bedside table faintly illuminated your serene expression.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, before placing a light kiss on your forehead and switching off the light.

𝑹𝑨��𝑨𝒀𝑬𝑳

It was a hot day in Linkon, and Whitesand Beach was the perfect respite for the artist and his bodyguard. The sand gleamed silvery-white under the sun, with crystalline waves crashing against the shore. There were many others here who had also pitched beach canopies to provide a shield against the heat. You and Rafayel had tried your best to create a comfortable interior with your rented outdoor lounge chairs and mini portable fans. You were lying on one of the chairs, relishing in the fresh air (a definite contrast from the city) whilst you waited for Rafayel.

He soon returned holding up two drinks, both decorated with little umbrellas and even small skewers with fruit.

You took the glass from him in amused shock. “Raf, did you make a special request for more decorations?”

Rafayel took a sip of the drink before placing it down on the table. “Nope, the employee recognised me and wanted to add a bit more pizazz to the drinks.” He plopped in his seat and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I tipped them extra for their efforts.”

You sipped the cool drink and gazed out at the beach, mesmerised by the waves. It’s repetitive ebb and flow almost lulled you somehow.

The day hasn't even started! How can you even think about sleeping?! You scolded yourself. You patted both your cheeks to snap out of this tiredness.

You turned your attention to something else. A couple were playing volleyball nearby. You watched the ball be tossed back-and-forth, back-and-forth… Your eyelids began to fall on their accord.

Rafayel's voice pulled you from your drowsiness, and you realised he had been observing you this whole time. “Didn’t sleep well last night?” He cocked his head to the side in concern.

“I did, but-” You turned to your side to face him properly. “Being out here just makes me feel sleepy, that’s all.”

Too adorable. He thought to himself, seeing the small pout on your face as you rubbed your eyes.

“I can’t think of a better place to rest than next to the ocean. It’s nature’s own background noise.” He proclaimed.

Though that sounded enticing, you still hesitated. Wouldn’t it make you a bad partner if you slept for most of the time you two were outside? Sensing your reluctance, Rafayel continued.

“And how are you going to be a good bodyguard for me if you’re not well rested? Didn’t they teach you that in Bodyguard 101?”

“‘Bodyguard 101’?” You repeated in disbelief at Rafayel’s ability to dramatise. “I must have skipped that introductory course in university.”

“Well then, you can make up for the lost study with experience, starting right now.” His humorous tone waned, as he brought out his sketchpad. “Don’t worry about me, I was planning on doing some drawings anyway. I won’t leave your side.” The softness of his words reassured you.

The mixture of crashing waves and light chatter from other beach goers had you sleeping almost immediately.

Rafayel had intended to do some drawings of the scenery, but he fixed his artistic eye on you, now finding a much better source of inspiration to fill his pages.

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late-night-secrets · 9 months

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It’s almost midnight when you’re finally ready for bed. Tooru’s lying on his side, bedside light on, glasses on the bridge of his nose, book lying open on his chest. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of the novel and the soft features of his relaxed face are all you need to know that he’s dozen off. Your heart warms at the sight, yet at the same time guilt pinches your stomach; he’s been waiting for you, but the late hour and the exhaustion of a busy week have got the best of him.

Carefully trying not to wake him, you remove the book and his glasses to put them on the bedside table. Strangely enough, it’s you turning off the light that makes him stir. As you lie down next to him, you hear him mumbling your name.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” you mutter into the dark. Since he’s – kind of – awake anyway, you don’t hold back when you snuggle into his side throwing your limbs across him.

Out of reflex, he pulls you closer and tugs your head under his chin. “’s fine,” he mumbles into your hair. “What time issit?”

“Around midnight,” you answer and lift your head briefly to give him a light kiss against his jaw.

A grumble vibrates through his chest which could be interpreted as complaint.

“Sorry, it’s gotten late,” you apologize quietly. “I really need to work on my time managem–…”

“Lips…!” he interrupts to clarify his wordless protest.

You can’t help but smile. Once more, you stretch to lift your head. “Sorry,” you whisper again before you give him a proper kiss on the lips. When you part, you can see his content, droopy smile in the dark. His eyes remain closed.

He’s as tired as you are.

Guilt tugs at your guts again and you lie down in your place underneath his chin. “I’m sorry, Tooru. I really wanted to spent time with you tonight.”

He holds you tightly in his arms, your head pressed against his chest. After being used as pyjamas for a couple of days now, his shirt not only smells but also feels like him; all soft and comfortable. “You worked hard today.”

For a moment you relish his scent, his embrace, his support. Then, you reply, “It’s still no excuse to neglect us. Our time together.” You snuggle a little closer. “Miss you, Tooru.”

“’s fine,” he exhales. It sounds as if he’s at the verge of sleep again. You are about to let him, he deserves the rest – and you do, too.

But then one of his arms shifts; lower. You almost squeal in surprise when he suddenly pinches your butt, and his voice, tired or not, sounds somewhat mischievous. “’m gonna take back all of what we’re missin’ out now when your exams ’re over…!”

You chuckle. “Is that a threat?”

“Yes.”

You let a moment of silence pass. “A promise?”

Because you are missing him.

He presses a lazy kiss on the crown of your head. “’course.”

More seconds pass and you’re slowly drifting into sleep.

You swear he’s fallen asleep with the way his breath slows down but then you hear him once more, his voice muffled by a thick layer of slumber. “Love you.”

A content sigh. “Love you, too, Tooru.”

**********

masterlist

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa drabble #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabble #hq fluff #hq!!#fluff #take a wild guess who has exams and is burnt out??#(spoiler) it's me

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jazzsonly · 7 months

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ʙᴏʀᴅᴇʀᴢ

pairing(s): wednesday addams × fem!reader (implied.)

warning(s): mentions of being shot, angst. not proofread.

summary: all that woe inside you wrapped in a bullet wound.

part two. (coming soon!)

────────✬────────

you couldn't pinpoint what this feeling or what these feelings were, they seemed to mix together like presents in a box, a bow to go on top. envy, anger, woe all wrapped in one inside of you; the box.

you would add solace to that list but it was forced. you told yourself it was better this way. it was better that she ignored you all summer, it was better she came back and still didn't talk to you, it was even better she came back to be with him.

after all, she's the reason you're on medication and crunches. she got you shot twice, why would you want to be with her anyways? let alone talk to her.

wednesday addams was an emotionless black hole of trouble.

that's how you swallowed that bow and box to look at it.

that's how you managed to watch them sit together in now Ms. jekin’s (was ms. bandt's) botanical science class. In fact, that's exactly what you were doing now.

xavier had drawn a spider, snake, and a scorpion, all for wednesday who smashed them to dust in a 'playfully' way.

"glaring won't help." you turned to your seat-partner and roommate, bianca.

"i wasn't…” you trail off in defeat, if you didn't care so much why were you glaring.

envy started to come up.

✬

with your book-bag on your shoulders, you made your way to the quad with crunches at aid. you had no idea how damaging two shots to the abdomen could be, it'd been four months and you were still in a crippled state. well, you could've healed quicker if you didn't take up ajax's idea of ‘water wrestling.’ whatever the hell that was anyways.

cute but clueless, enid would call both of you.

you searched the quad for the pair in fact, only to find them seated with wednesday and xavier. of course your best friend had to date wednesday's roommate and friend. you could sit with bianca but you would spare yourself her judging siren friends.

maybe you could get away to your room.

"y/n!" or so you thought—

you stare as ajax, who waved you over with tense and bewildered gaze. enid definitely got that clueless part right—about both of you because you moved towards the table.

"sit down, idiot," the boy took your tray, sitting it next to xavier.

kill me—no, bury me alive. you thought.

you moved your crunches to one side of your body and took a seat, setting them on the ground.

the way you sat, you only could face ajax and enid.

"we're all going to jericho later and you're coming. no butts, ms. Crunches."

"i told you to stop calling me that, medusa."

"and I told you to stop calling me that." ajax attempted to throw a fry in your direction but you caught with your mouth.

“please do not throw food, the last time you guys did this I did not like how it ended." enid spoke of your mini food fight.

"it was one time!" your best friend defended.

the time went on in lunch and you wordless sat staring off. ajax was occupied with enid and it wasn't like you could talk to anyone else. You aimlessly scrolled through your phone for ten minutes, even checking enid's blog; where you quickly founded she wrote about xavier and wednesday.

you played anger birds for a bit but that got boring. You went into your text log, looking for anyone but you resurfaced your message to wednesday.

june 12th, the second last day of school, beginning of summer:

hey.

june 13th, the third day of summer.

how's thing? I miss him lol

how's ur novel going?

but none of those messages were to be responded or looked at all.

delivered. not even read.

you shuffle out the message, deciding to ultimately just click your phone off. you sat there now aimlessly staring around the quad, you still had fifteen minutes of this torture to sit through.

──────── dreading part two cos i hate writing wednesday dialogue

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xjustakay · 9 months

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(8/13) prompt: snow cone — 771 words (jegulus dads + harry)

Regulus sighs and runs a hand down his face, pressing over his eyes in irritation. This stupid fucking novel is going to kill him, he’s convinced. Either that or Dorcas will when he tries to plead for any possibility of an extension on his deadline again. Before he can resort to smashing his laptop to pieces on the patio table —real productive, that— he hears the familiar patter of little feet running on cement, coming up the side of the house to the backyard.

Easily, a gentle smile slips onto Regulus’ face as Harry comes into view. He hurries over to where Regulus is sitting, slurping from a paper cone in his hand. A little bit of the remaining neon green liquid in it dribbles onto Harry’s shirt and Regulus clicks his tongue.

“My darling, you’re making a bit of a mess there.”

Uncaring of trivial things like a stain right in the center of Buzz Lightyear’s face, Harry doesn’t even look down, instead grinning brightly at him as he gets closer. “Papa, look!”

Harry proceeds to hold his mouth wide open, tongue stuck all the way out for Regulus to see. It’s obvious why he’s done it in an instant; his tongue has turned the same bright green as the treat in his hand. Exhaling a laugh, Regulus shakes his head.

“Hold on, let me take a picture for your mums and Luna.” He picks up his phone from beside his laptop and turns the camera on the five year old. As soon as he’s taken it, he sends it off in the group chat he and James have with Lily and Pandora, then returns his attention to Harry.

“Luna’s at gymnastics, they won’t see it,” Harry points out.

“They can look at it after, can’t they?”

“Oh, yeah, duh.”

Regulus snorts, nothing but fondness in his gaze as his brows lift. “Now, riddle me this, if you and daddy were meant to be rollerskating round the block, how did you end up with a green tongue?”

“The ice cream truck came by us.” Harry sucks in a big breath like there’s more he wants to add, but James finally joining them in the backyard causes him to pause.

James has a package of wet wipes in hand and the partial roll of paper towels from the kitchen under his arm to get Harry cleaned up. It never ceases to amaze Regulus how attractive it is to watch James be so in his element as a father, even down to such simple details.

Still, Regulus manages to shoot him a sharp look. The unhelpable curl of his mouth makes the silent reprimand for treats before dinner entirely lacking, though.

“Sour apple snow cone did that, didn’t it, mate?” James says; Harry nodding quickly in confirmation.

“And you didn’t bring me anything, huh?” He looks back at Harry to ask.

“Daddy said you don’t like the ice cream truck because all the stuff’s too sugary,” Harry replies.

“Well.” Regulus gives a tilted nod of his head; can’t argue with that.

Harry leans his head back to look up at James expectantly when he slows to a stop beside him. Harry takes a held out wipe from him and wipes his face and hands after James takes the sticky paper cone from him.

Once he’s finished, James nods in Regulus’ direction in some wordless communication with Harry. He must understand immediately, because then there’s a mirrored playfulness on both of their faces when Harry swivels back to Regulus again, bouncing excitedly on his feet.

It’s half-giggled, wholly proud of himself as Harry announces, “Also, he said you’re sweet enough without it.”

A surprised laugh slips out, Regulus shaking his head as he looks incredulously at James. “Did you just use our son to flirt with me?”

“That depends.” He smirks, wagging a finger at him.

James sets the trash collected from Harry on the table’s edge, then wipes off his own hands. Harry, now cleaned up, has bolted to the trampoline in the corner of the yard, his job here clearly done.

“And what, pray tell, does it depend on?” Regulus asks, leaning back in his seat to gaze up at his husband.

James moves in front of where Regulus sits, nudging his knees apart gently to stand as close as possible. Both of his hands lift, cradling Regulus’ jaw between his warm palms and staring down at him adoringly.

Brushing a thumb over his cheek, James wrinkles his nose subtly. “Did it work?”

Regulus’ responding laugh ends up muffled into the kiss that James leans down to press to his lips.

#jegulus #starchaser #baby harry #somehow screaming and giggling at the same time over this one #they make me so happy #love them so so much #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing #jeggy dads series

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loviatarsluv · 28 days

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Would That I (3)

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place in an AU where the absolute and the cult basically don't exist so this is non-canon compliant, I guess)

rating: slightly mature (no spice just yet)

content includes: yearning and pining (still), teacher gale, tara being the best wingman (heh) in waterdeep, fluff

in summary: things are still a little tense the morning after the almost kiss, and both gale and elara are miserable (but still somehow cannot communicate properly for the life of themselves) until an unexpected magic lesson brings them together and makes them have a much needed discussion

a/n: ugh I wanted to make this a slow slow slow burn but I just can’t help it I need to write sweet wizard smut STAT so here we flippin go gamers it has begun

word count: 7k

Wordless meals and silent mornings were not a novel concept.

She’d endured many in her years living with her uncle, who was not exactly a morning person by any means, whilst she typically was the opposite.

She was an early riser, always had been. She loved waking up with just enough time to greet the sun as it peeked over the horizon. She loved being able to sit outside and admire the way it painted the sky in gorgeous pastel hues as if it were an offering or a gift to those who woke early enough to see it. She loved the purity of the calm and quiet of the breeze off of the ocean and the songs of the birds before the rest of the world had begun to stir for the day, before the sounds of the bustle of the city could drown them out.

The first month or so living here in Waterdeep, mornings were mostly like this, as they hadn’t really gotten to know each other well enough for any substantial conversation or even most small talk. It wasn’t quite so agonizing then, though, as it is now. It was a gentle awkwardness then, both of them wanting to initiate conversation but not really knowing how to. This— this was much worse.

She woke to the smell of breakfast already cooking and the faint sounds of pots and pans clattering. That was her first warning sign.

She almost always woke before Gale on any given day. She would normally be lounging by her favorite tree or reclining on the sofa in the main area reading by the time he stumbled into the kitchen, eyes still full of sleep and voice still gruff.

She debated just locking herself in this room and hiding away until uncle Alastor returned— as impractical as it was of an idea, its appeal only increased as her morning dragged on.

She took her time dressing for the day, hoping maybe Gale would finish his breakfast before she made it downstairs and move on with his day. That, of course, was a fruitless thought.

Even with tensions as high as they were, he still waited for her, busying himself by burying his nose within a tome about Abjuration as he absently pushed around his food with his fork.

He was still in his night clothes— his loose white linen shirt very loosely laced and showcasing the dark hair on his chest, his deep indigo comfort robe very lazily thrown over his shoulders, and she assumed he was wearing his matching linen pants as well but couldn’t see past the table. His glasses were perched in the spot they almost always were whenever he read— right on the tip of his nose— as his brows furrowed in concentration while his dark eyes skimmed over the pages. His hair was mostly tied back, only a few loose strands falling around his shoulders and face.

The universe was mocking her, she was sure of it.

He was being dangled in front of her, like a carrot being dangled on a string before a rabbit to encourage it to run. And oh, hells, did she want to run right into his arms— if only they had been open for her to run into.

“Good morning,” He says, never looking up from the pages of his book as he greets her, his voice warm but not entirely eager. Not the way it had been nearly every morning prior.

“Morning,” she says meekly, her voice still rough from slumber. She sits without another word, staring down at her plate.

She knows that he won’t eat unless she does, he always waited for her to eat before he took a bite. But she could not muster the appetite to even be interested in what looked to be an otherwise delicious breakfast. She sighs, grabbing her fork and prodding at one of the eggs on her plate.

His eyebrow quirks as he glances up at her, noticing her poking at her food when normally she’d have been wolfing it down by now. He clears his throat. “Not hungry?”

She meets his gaze with trepidation, hoping she isn’t offending him even further than she already had the night prior. She sits back in her seat, leaning her head against the backing of it and directing her face toward the ceiling. “Not particularly.” She admits.

He nods, then takes a small bite of his own food. “I can save it for you, for when you are. If you’d like.”

She offers him a weak but thankful smile. “I’d appreciate that.”

Not another word was exchanged between them for the rest of the time that they both remained downstairs, until eventually Gale stood and grabbed both of their plates and began to wash up, barely acknowledging her as he reached over her to reach her plate.

Agonizing may have been putting it lightly. She was in utter misery.

She wanted to ask him if there was a time traveling spell that he could teach her, but decided maybe that wasn’t the best idea considering he was very clearly a large reason for her wanting to learn the spell to begin with.

She stays frozen in her seat for what felt like an eternity, unsure whether she wanted to break the silence or not. She took far too long to decide, because after a while, Gale emerged from the kitchen once again and breezed past her, heading straight for the stairs. She doesn’t dare turn to look, but she hears him pause on the first step for a moment before continuing to ascend the steps and retreat into his office for the day.

“Fucking hells,” she curses under her breath, her head falling into her hands as she releases an exasperated huff. Her shoulders began to ache from how tense she’d held them for the entire morning so far, but her muscles had no intent on relaxing any time soon.

“Language, Miss Heartspell,” Tara chides as she glides down onto the table from somewhere behind her. She jumps slightly, the sudden presence unexpected.

She sighs, placing a hand over her heart. “Tara. You scared the hells out of me,” she tries to steady her breathing. “I’m sorry.”

“What ails you this morning, friend? You look like you barely slept a wink.” The tressym observes, her large green eyes boring into her as she eyes her curiously and with slight concern.

Your wizard and his big dumb brown eyes and his stupidly beautiful hair and that godsdamned shirt—

“Just tired. Couldn’t sleep well last night.”

That was putting it very simply. She had barely slept more than a handful of hours, not nearly enough to be well rested enough to function through the day. She felt terrible, and it seemed that she looked the part as well, according to her small feathered friend.

“Would this have anything to do with Mr. Dekarios and his admittedly awful attitude?” she grunts, rolling her eyes and baring her teeth slightly. “He’s been incorrigible since yesterday evening.”

How to politely tell a grumpy tressym that you may or may not be the cause of her wizard’s ire— step one: don’t.

“Has he? I hadn’t noticed,” she remarks nonchalantly, the tiniest hint of sarcasm in her tone. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Tara scoffs, stretching her tiny body as far as she can and yawning, digging her claws into the placemat where Gale’s plate had been a few minutes prior. “Maybe he’s finally realized he needs to shave that wretched thing on his chin.”

She lets out a chuckle— though she rather loved his facial hair, for numerous reasons— she found Tara’s hatred for it endlessly amusing. She was constantly pestering him to shave or at the very least trim it, and likely he ignored her just to spite her. Their bond reminded her of a doting mother and her slightly rebellious but very respectful son. She’d raised him right. Her, and Morena, of course.

She hadn’t met his mother yet, only heard stories and small little details about her that he’d share. She seemed lovely, just based on what her son told her. Plus, any woman who could raise a man like Gale Dekarios had to be something special.

She wonders how many lovers he’d taken to meet her, if any had ever made it far enough for him to deem it appropriate to introduce them— she wonders what his criteria for such a thing would be.

“Tara? Can I ask you a question?” She asks, biting down on her lip nervously.

Tara stares back at her expectantly, awaiting her questioning.

“It’s a strange question… just— please, keep this between us, okay?” She begins, placing her elbow on the table and resting her cheek against her hand. “Has… has Gale ever been… married?”

Tara has to hold back a cackle, stopping herself before her amusement takes hold. “Oh, darling, no. Mr. Dekarios has had few friends, we’ll call them. Can hardly get the man’s nose out of his books, doesn’t typically fare well for his social life, much less his romantic life.”

She blinks rapidly in surprise, her eyes widening. It made sense, and no sense at all in the same vein. It seemed so strange, just considering who Gale was and the gentlemanly nature of him that he hadn’t had any long term loves. She would’ve imagined him to either have had several failed loves or only one very long term one— more likely the latter, she thought.

She nods. “Makes sense.” A lie.

Tara eyes her suspiciously, carefully strolling across the table to her. “Miss Heartspell, might I be so bold for just a moment, to ask you what that ninny upstairs seems to be too frightened to?”

She cocks an eyebrow up at her, sitting up straight in her chair. “What might that be?”

“Are you spoken for? Have you got someone waiting for you back in Rivington?” She asks, sitting perfectly prim and proper in front of her, her peridot irises catching her crystal blue ones in an intense gaze.

She pauses for a minute, the question having caught her more than off guard. “N-No, I don’t. I don’t exactly have the most successful social life, either.”

Tara’s eyes gleamed, seeming all too pleased and Elara could tell that if she could, she’d undoubtedly have a knowing smirk on her face.

“Hm. Fascinating.” Is all she says before prepping her wings to take flight, flapping them and stretching them gently. Before she can give any sort of response, Tara departs from the conversation and soars out of the open window, surely off to terrorize all the local gulls and pigeons. The mail couriers must wish to stuff her or turn her into stew at this point.

These two and the way they end conversations. Ugh.

Which reminds her— once again, ugh.

Last night could not have ended worse, aside from possibly being told to pack her belongings and leave— though she doubts that Gale would ever do that without warning.

She wanted to talk to Gale about everything— well, maybe not everything— but she had never really talked to anybody about her parents or what happened to them. Not even Alastor. It was a forbidden subject in that household as far as she was concerned. Too many emotions to sort through to pile onto someone else. Plus, she didn’t want to be treated differently, or viewed through different eyes that pitied her. It happened so many years ago, but the occasional nightmares made her feel as though it happened only the night prior.

Perhaps it would be nice— to talk to someone. Gale was easy to talk to. He listened so intently and he was always engaged, even if it were the most uninteresting conversation in the world. Perhaps that was why he was so well learned— he was an excellent listener.

It couldn’t hurt to try.

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

The door to his study seemed so much more imposing when you were on the other side of it, with your knuckles primed to meet the sturdy wood and plead for entry.

He almost never shut his office door.

Perhaps now isn’t a good time.

She sighs quietly, her chin falling to rest on her chest and her gaze at the spot on the floor between her feet, defeated.

Perhaps another time.

She turns to head down the hall toward her bedroom, just as she hears the creaking of the office door behind her, opening.

She shifts slightly, peering over her shoulder and expecting to find a certain pair of brown eyes watching her as she creeps through the hall— only to find nothing. The door was slightly ajar, but no sight of the wizard within.

Curious, she takes a few cautious steps forward, careful to move quietly and mindfully. She stops just before she could peek in to see whether Gale was at his desk or not, using the door to shield herself from view— then she hears the sound of a strange whooshing from right on the other side of the door, to the opposite side of the room, likely where Gale sat. She raises her eyebrow, confusion written all over her face as she finally peeks in the room.

Gale is at his desk, where she half expected him to be, leaning against the back of his chair, his feet propped on a small stool next to him and a scroll in hand.

Normal.

Her eyes scan a little further to search for the source of the strange noise, finding nothing— until she hears it again, just before an icy blue flash of light soars across her vision in the shape of a disembodied hand.

A mage hand. She’d seen her uncle conjure one once before— only because he thought she wasn’t around and couldn’t see.

The spectral hand flew to the top of one of the large bookcases on the far end of the room, swiftly retrieving a book and bringing it back down and placing it on Gale’s desk. He sighs, running a hand down his face, then scratching against his beard as he places the scroll next to the newly acquired book.

She cranes her neck a little further, trying to watch as he commands the mage hand around, then loses her balance just enough to send her falling forward and into the room, crash landing into her hands and knees.

Gale jumps at the sound of her colliding with the ground, standing and leaning over his desk, worry in his eyes as he peers down at her.

“By Mystra’s mantle, are you alright?”

She sits up and rubs her hands sheepishly, the heels of them aching from the force of her contact with the hard wooden floor. “Sorry, I just— I was passing by, and I saw— I just… got curious. I apologize.”

Gale’s brows furrow as he looks around, searching for what was out of the ordinary that she was referring to. He disregards it for a moment as he rounds the side of his desk, briskly walking across the room to her side and offering her a hand up.

She looks up at him for a moment before accepting his offer, slipping her hand into his. He braces her with his other hand on her elbow and pulls her to her feet, holding her steady while she gets her bearings.

“Why don’t you always just— use that? Why do you ever have me help when you can just…” she trails off, motioning with her hands what appeared to be a conjuration.

His eyes widen slightly as he realizes what she was referring to, then motions the mage hand to come closer. “This— have you never seen a mage hand before? Has Alastor not conjured one in front of you before?”

She shakes her head. “I caught a glimpse of one once, but it was so fast I couldn’t tell what it was. My uncle rarely did magic around me, mostly just small spells here and there. I, myself, only know a few simple spells that I taught myself. Granted, I'm not very good at it, but they’ve come in handy at times.”

Gale hears Alastor in his head from the night he invited him over for that fateful dinner: perhaps Mr. Dekarios could pick up on your old man’s slack and actually teach you some damn magic.

“What a strange one, that old man is. Cryptic as ever. I’m not sure why I was under the impression that any of this was old news to you.” He says, motioning to the crystalline digits beside him, motioning for it to wiggle its fingers.

She shrugs, her eyes locked on the spell with a certain childlike wonder in her eyes that Gale couldn’t help but find most endearing. It reminded him of being young and awed by his own conjurations and manipulations of the weave and those of his professors at Blackstaff.

“Would you like to learn?” He asks her, snapping her from her daze and her eyes flying to his in disbelief.

“Are you serious?” Her voice is quiet, as if he’d just asked her the most scandalous of questions.

She had long abandoned the hope of learning even just the basics of wizardry, seeing as neither Gale, nor even Alastor in his letters, had ever mentioned it since the night they discussed this arrangement. She never asked, because the last thing she wanted to be was a bother to the man who so kindly took her in without a second thought. She never abandoned her desire to learn all together, though. That still lingered.

“I don’t see why not,” he drawls, stepping backward a few steps to allow her space to enter the room further. “Perhaps it’ll be helpful for us both. Besides, it’s been quite some time since I’ve had a willing and able pupil to impart my vast knowledge on.”

I could kiss you right now!

A grin paints itself across her face so wide that she fears it may crack, her eyes lit up and her hands clasped together in excitement. She realizes and quickly adjusts her behavior from juvenile enthusiasm to calm and collected curiosity, though she couldn’t entirely contain the smile on her face.

“I’d love to.” Was the tame iteration of what she wanted to say. Given the state of their relationship being somewhat cloudy and confusing at the moment, she rather not push her luck. This was an excellent excuse to get him to talk to her to make up for the painfully silent morning they shared just hours prior.

Not to mention, it gave her more untainted time with him before she decided to share with him her tales of woe of life as an orphan and being decidedly unpopular within her community back in Rivington. She was more than thankful for the distraction and redirection.

“Excellent!” He claps his hands together, a pleased smirk on his lips as he takes his glasses off and allows them to fall against his chest, hanging by the dainty golden chain attached to them that hung around his neck. “This one is a fairly easy spell to learn. I learned to conjure my first mage hand at the ripe age of seven. Drove my dear mother up the wall when she’d ask me to do my chores only to catch me lounging with my nose in a book while this fellow did all the heavy lifting.”

She chuckles, picturing a younger Gale getting into all sorts of mischief and being too smart for his own good and his poor mother trying desperately to keep up with him. She imagines that he has her eyes and her smile, despite never seeing her with her own eyes. It was just a feeling.

He motions for her to come closer, pointing to the spot just beside him for her to stand. She obliges, standing right where he’d indicated, turning to face the direction he was facing.

“You said that you know a few simple spells, yes?”

She nods.

“Excellent. Would you be able to demonstrate something for me?”

She looks at him with uncertainty for a pause, prompting him to nod and encourage her to try something simple, the look on his face purely that of a warm encouragement and devoid of all judgment.

Despite this, she still feels the swell of embarrassment before she even attempts the bare minimum spell that she knew— knowing that her talents were meager in comparison to his. She swallows hard and tries to steady herself, attempting to focus so the spell doesn’t go awry.

She moves her hands in a flourish that took much more effort than anything she’d ever seen Gale do, only to conjure a small flash of purple weave, sparks scintillating at her fingertips as the spell leaves her palm and quickly dissipates into the air. She frowns deeply, averting her gaze back to the ground between her feet.

“Please don’t laugh at me.” She groans, heaving a sigh as her cheeks and neck heat and tinge a bright pink.

“Hey,” he coos, crossing the space between them and tapping her chin with his fingertips to urge her face upward to meet his gaze. “I’ve seen novices do much worse than that even after an entire fortnight of study— nobody got hurt, in this case, which is fantastic. Once, during my time at Blackstaff, one of my classmates set the entire room ablaze while practicing simple incantations. I had to be the one to put it out as I was the only one that already knew how to conjure water.”

She tries in vain to bite back the smile threatening the corners of her lips, and allows a chuckle to pass through her as her eyes meet his. He brushes against her chin with his thumb a couple passes before pulling away. She’s still getting used to Gale’s sudden physicality— not that she would complain. Not even slightly.

Especially after the events of the evening prior, as she half expected him to be withdrawn entirely. She hoped he took note of the way she leaned ever so slightly into his touch. The way she savored it.

“I picture you as the perfect pupil to any professor. So bookish and attentive. You’re a scholar’s wet dream.” She jokes, poking his chest with featherlight jabs. He coughs at her crude remark, his eyes widening and his chest heaving as he attempts to regain composure. She’s full blown cackling now, causing his chuckles to join hers in harmony of the melodic sounds surging between them.

“Perhaps you should borrow a page from my book, then,” he jests as he gives her a lighthearted warning grimace, his earthly eyes glinting golden in the candlelight. “We’ve only just begun our lessons and you’ve already sassed your tutor.”

“My mistake, Professor Dekarios. I solemnly swear it won’t happen again,” she pauses, a devious smirk on her lips at the name that causes his face to flush at the sound of it. “Probably.”

He feels something stir within him at the sound of that name falling from her lips that he refuses to recognize, if only to spare himself from the embarrassment of having to explain his body’s impulse reaction to it. He clears his throat, and straightens himself.

“Alright, alright,” he huffs, leisurely beginning to roll his sleeves further up onto his forearms. “Focus is a key ingredient to this equation, which is clearly something we are lacking.”

She tries to tame the spark of mischief in her belly, deciding maybe it was best to be a better suited pupil to such esteemed talents as that of Gale of Waterdeep and hold off on any hijinks for the time being, despite how much she reveled in the sound of his laughter, so warm and genuine and real that it felt like being curled up within a thick wool blanket near a fire in the dead of winter.

It was a much welcome deviation from the despair he held in his graceful but strong features in the dim moonlight streaming through the window of her bedroom the night before.

Though, she couldn’t resist one last little quip just to get a rise out of him.

“Apologies. Continue, Professor.” She feigns innocence in her light eyes, rounding them and clasping her hands behind her back.

His face is unreadable, and she almost wonders if she actually managed to upset him with her playful remarks. Only when she notices him allow his tongue to dart out and wet his bottom lip does she consider something else— something that makes her blood feel like molten lava as it surges through her veins.

He clears his throat once again, suddenly feeling as though the room had risen several degrees in temperature, tiny beads of sweat forming on his back and neck.

“It’s a fairly simple spell, once you get the hang of it, it’ll be as simple as a flick of the wrist,” he explains, moving to stand beside her and demonstrate the spell. “I’ll show you.”

He steadies his posture, though the way in which he follows through with the spell seems effortless— as if he could’ve done it while in deep slumber. He whispers the cantrip softly, the Latin words dancing off of his expert tongue in a way that sends a shiver through her.

Focus, Elara.

A near impossible task when in his presence.

The spectral limb hovers before them, the air around it chilly and crackling with pure weave. She steps closer to it, in awe of the strange being. Could she even call it a being?

Gale smirks triumphantly, then commands the hand to float in a circle around her, her curious eyes following it as it flies past her vision. He halts its movements just in front of her, the palm facing her as an invitation. She lifts her hand tentatively, raising it until her palm is level with the nearly translucent one, her fingertips brushing those of the spell.

A chill flows through her as her skin makes contact with the specter, her hand jolting backwards at the sensation, only to return for further investigation. It was strange— something so impermanent and ethereal, yet, if it had been warmer, it would have felt like a real corporeal hand. She wondered if Gale could feel anything through the conjuration— if it worked as an extension of his own hand.

Curious.

“Would you like to try?” He asks, breaking her from her thoughts as her eyes snap back to his.

She nods, her gaze flitting back and forth between the wizard and the airborne hand before him. He dismisses it, the spell emitting an airy whoosh as it dissipates.

“Now, do as I do as closely as you can, and say ‘veni et iuva me’,” He instructs as he moves to stand just beside her, their shoulders mere inches apart. “Ready?”

With an affirmative nod, she watches him as he expertly demonstrates the spell, the weave appearing around his hands and fingertips in a violet crackling mist, as she’d seen it do before— it made sense why purple was his favorite color, now. It suited him.

In a flash, another hand appears, just as the one before. Crystalline and nearly translucent. He gives her an encouraging look, his smile easy and eager as he awaits her attempt at the spell.

She bites down on her bottom lip, then steadies her body and attempts to mimic Gale’s exact movements, then recites the incantation— and much to her surprise, another hand appears before them, glowing blue and bright.

Excitement fills her to the brim and she feels as though she might explode from pure childhood fulfillment induced delight. She looks at Gale with a giddy grin, giggling with sheer glee.

“I did it! I actually did it!” She cheers, still attempting to concentrate on the spell so it doesn’t dissolve.

Gale claps his hands together excitedly, beaming at her with pride. “Excellent! Now, think of exactly what you want it to do, where you want it to go, how you want it to move. Stay focused. You’ve got this.”

She feels a blush creep to her cheeks under his watchful eyes and his encouragement, but maintains her focus on the spell as she motions for it to move forward, toward one of the bookcases. She imagines the book she wants and knows exactly where it is— it was the thirteenth book from the right on the third shelf from the top. The hand effortlessly retrieves the book, then returns to her, presenting the book to her just as she’d seen it do for Gale.

She turns to Gale, tears brimming her eyes from pure joy and amazement at her own ability to pull off the spell. It was a simple spell, they both knew that, but for her this was the greatest accomplishment she’d ever achieved thus far, outside of the small spells she’d taught herself over the years.

Gale smiles at her warmly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Well done, Elara. You did wonderfully, especially as a novice. I’m quite impressed.”

She tries to contain the grin threatening to turn the corners of her lips, pressing them tightly together, but unable to mask the pure elation in her eyes, tears still pooling in her vision.

Before she can stop herself, she throws herself at the wizard, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, burying her face into his chest. He grunts at the sudden contact, his body freezing in complete shock and his heart racing a million a second. After a moment of panic, he allows his hands to settle on her back, pulling her close to him and resting his chin on the top of her head.

Lavender. Gods, he adores the smell of lavender.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She whispers into the soft fabric of his shirt, her voice muffled as she presses herself further into him.

She pulls back slightly after a moment to look up at him, her still teary eyes meeting his, and he gives her a warm but reserved smile. Her eyes soften, her brows scrunching with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, feigning ignorance. “Nothing at all. I’m— ah— I’m very happy to teach you more, if you’d like.”

She observes him for a moment, noting that something was on his mind that he wasn’t expressing. She frowns. “Gale?”

He sighs, pulling away from her completely and turning away, his hand running over his face in distress. The large study falls into a heavy silence for a few moments before he walks toward the large window where she often perched herself as he worked. He allows his hand to trail the spot where he has found her dozens of times before, gazing out at the seaside, the wind rustling her raven tresses like a tidal wave.

“Forgive me, I’m just feeling a bit under the weather today.” He resigns, rubbing his eyes with his finger and his thumb and then running a shaky hand through his hair.

She swears with how silent the room was, you'd have been able to hear her heart thumping away in her chest as if it were a war drum.

Here it goes.

“Is this… about last night?” Her voice is meek and timid when she asks, catching her bottom lip between her teeth nervously.

Gale keeps his back to her, and she can see the muscles in his shoulders and back tense at her query, as if he was bracing for a blow at any second.

“I… it’s nothing, Elara. I’m quite alright.” His voice is curt but still holds the ardor toward her that it always did when he spoke to her— he was warm to everyone he met, but there was a specific tone he used when he spoke to her. She had only begun to notice it in the last few days, and she feared the day that it went away.

“Gale,” She pleads, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm. He tenses further under her delicate hand. “I’m so sorry. I owe you an explanation. I should’ve never—”

He spins to face her briskly, his expression hard, betraying the way his dark eyes twinkled as he looked at her. “You don’t owe me anything, Elara. I should have never crossed any of the lines that I’ve crossed, and my behavior is inexcusable. Deplorable. You needn’t apologize for a thing.”

Her hand still lingers on him, now having moved to his chest after he’d shifted to face her. She stares at how small and frail her hand looked against his solid frame. She closes her eyes, honing in on the feeling of his chest against her palm as it rises and falls rapidly with his breathing. She can feel his heartbeat. She wished he could feel hers as well. She wonders if he could hear it like she feared he could.

“Elara…” Broken. Torn. The only words capable of describing the man’s voice as he squirms under her touch, unsure whether to move away or lean into it. What he wanted and what he felt was right to do were at complete odds, as they always seemed to be as of late.

“I never drew any lines, Gale.”

His eyes widened. Had he heard her right? Surely, he was mishearing. Perhaps he should have his ears checked soon. Or perhaps he’d finally started to lose it.

One too many romance tomes.

“What did you—”

“You can’t cross a line that was never drawn to begin with.” She grips at the fabric of his shirt, finally opening her own eyes to find the utter shock in his.

He shakes his head, his mouth opening and closing several times as his mind attempts to formulate a coherent sentence that wouldn’t just come out as complete nonsense.

“Please,” she sighs, her mind at war within itself as she fights to find the right words to convey it all properly. If any even existed. “You must stop making assumptions about the way I feel before I have the chance to sort through them myself.”

He looks visibly shaken, as realization hits him once her words sink in. “Are you saying—”

“I don’t know if I have the right words to explain, right now,” she admits. “What I do know is that I don’t need you to decide how I feel for me. Especially how I feel towards you.”

How I feel for you, she wanted to say.

The hand that had been gripping his shirt slowly begins to fall, but is swiftly caught against the hard planes of his stomach with a strong hand, holding it gently as if it may break and shatter from the slightest touch but firm so as to keep it there, at all costs.

His eyes bore into hers, the intensity in them something that shook her to her core. She had to look away.

“Elara,” he breathes, the sound equal parts desperate and hopeful. He adjusts her hand so that it’s flat against his stomach, and drags it to the left side of his chest, pressing her palm into it. “Do you feel it?”

The rhythm against her palm is rapid and thunderous, the feel of his chest is solid and strong and she can hardly breathe. She nods, while attempting to remember to take air into her lungs and release it back out, then repeat.

He leans his face down closer to hers, his voice low and husky as he whispers to her, “I hope this tells you everything you need to know.”

Her mouth parts and she sucks in a sharp breath. She feels as though her entire body had become nothing more than a melty mass of human goo under his gaze and his touch and what he’s saying without saying it directly— is this a dream? Was she dreaming?

How did this encounter begin with him scooping her off of the floor after her face planting into it, only to land here, with his heart against her palm and his lips so close, too close once again?

It was like Deja vu— the way their faces drifted closer to each other as if some invisible force were pushing them together, just as they had less than twenty four hours prior. It was familiar and yet so new, an entirely new rush of energy and emotion charging them this time.

She feels one of his hands move to rest against the side of her neck, his fingers tilting her jaw upward as he dives in, his nose brushing hers and their breaths intermingling. Her eyes flutter closed as she prepares for the feeling of his lips against hers, only to feel nothing but his thumb dragging across her bottom lip.

Her eyes shoot open, her brows furrowed in confusion and a hint of frustration. His eyes flit back and forth between hers, searching for something, anything, that would tell him to stop. “Is this what you want?”

A sound akin to a whine or a groan leaves her lips before she can stop it. She chokes on the word yes before she can even utter it, so instead she nods desperately.

Not a second is wasted before lips are entwined and tongues are tangled— one of his hands moves to grip her waist and pull her body against his, the fullness of her chest pressing against his solid one causing him to break the kiss to suck in a sharp breath and moan slightly, the sound low and rumbling in his ribs. She catches the muffled sounds within the kiss, drinking them in and savoring them as if they were the finest wine she’d ever tasted.

It all feels so surreal. He feels surreal. As if maybe she’d never woken up this morning and this was all some incredibly vivid dream that she never hoped to wake from. It would make sense— this wouldn’t be the first time Gale had invaded her dreams and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last either.

The tips of his fingers dig into the plush flesh at her hips, his other hand moving to caress the back of her head and lacing his fingers through the dark tresses at the nape of her neck. Heaven. This is heaven.

She feels him beginning to walk her backward, unaware of the direction until she feels the edge of his large mahogany desk bump into her lower back and she almost hisses in pain, but swallows it before she can. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered past his lips and his body and his heart still steadily beating against her palm.

All too soon, he breaks away from the kiss, his eyes wild with lust but a bit of trepidation that sets her on edge. “What is it?”

Gale’s chest heaves with concerted effort as he looks at her, his hands still at her hips and his body still pressed firmly to hers. He takes in a shaky breath as if it pained him to do so. “I just— gods, I want to do this. More than you can possibly imagine,” he starts, his words coming out in whimpered and hushed tones that set her entire body ablaze, even more so than it already had been.

“But…” she continues for him.

He clasps his eyes shut tight, the little lines between his brows deepening and becoming more prominent. She ignores the urge to smooth them out with her thumb. “I’d like to know more about you as a person before I get to know you as a woman, if that makes sense.”

She’s unable to contain the chuckle that escapes her lips at his gentlemanly attempt at being coy, rather than laying it out in blunt terms as she likely would have. He softens at the sight of her smile, his shoulders relaxing and sagging in relief.

“Are you saying you’d like to court me before taking me to bed?” She asks, amusement in her tone as she playfully pokes his nose which scrunches at her teasing.

He catches her wrist in his hand and places a kiss to the soft skin at the heel of her palm. “Ideally, if it’s amenable to you.”

That would be putting it incredibly mildly.

She studies his face— as she’d done a million times before— she’d seen him disheveled from sleep or stress as he studied a particularly convoluted subject, his hair mussed and messy and his lips pressed into a hard line, his eyes weary and half open. She’d thought it strange how even in what would be considered one’s worst state, he looked exquisite and refined, still with that same air of elegance and grace about him that he had at his very best when he was in his robes and confidently discussing a topic that interested him.

But this state of disrepair was something else entirely.

His eyes were heavily lidded but not from exhaustion, the dark umber pools of his irises swimming with desire and need. His lips were visibly swollen as they peeked out from behind the thick bushel of hair that covered his chin and upper lip, still glossy from her as evidence of their kiss. His shirt crumpled and creased where her fingers had gripped the fabric tightly in her fist. He looked completely undone, and it was her that had been his undoing.

Gods, have mercy. It’s a wonder that she hadn’t jumped his bones at the sight alone, she thinks.

“What? Is something wrong?” He asks, his voice breaking her from her reverie and snapping her out of the myriad of filthy thoughts that had been rushing through her lust laden mind.

She shakes her head, partially in response to him and partially in attempts to ground herself. “Nothing else in my life has felt quite as right as it does right now.” She admits.

It was the truth. Not much had felt right in her life up to this point— something always felt off, like there was a missing piece to the puzzle that was her life that had been missing for as long as she could remember.

This was as close to feeling whole as she had ever felt in her life.

Though, there were still two missing pieces. But she had accepted long ago that they would never return. A bitter truth, but a truth nonetheless.

He looks as though she’d just told him the best news he’d ever received, elation writ large upon his face as a wide grin splays across his lips. “Well, in that case,” He pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her just enough to where only her toes were still touching the ground, eliciting a giggle from her that only makes his smile grow wider. “Would you possibly have the time to share a glass of wine and a lovely candlelit dinner with me this evening?”

Her cheeks had begun to ache from smiling at this point, but she couldn’t contain it. Nor did she desire to.

“I think I’d be amenable to that.”

tags: @goddess-bound @mirandpeglell @celestialowlbear 🩷 (thank u guys for ur love I hope u like this chapter!!!!)

this is part three of a series - ✧ (ch 1) ✧ (ch 2)

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dross-the-fish · 4 months

Note

personally I'd love to see your even scarier and gorier art. The way people come into your inbox talking about your art being "too scary" or "too dark" when you are illustrating characters and concepts from *horror novels* boggles my mind.

in all fairness it's kind of my own doing. most of what I write or draw on this blog is fluff. It tends to be very indulgent, feel good drabbles and doodles. Which I like as much as anyone but I feel like it has given the impression that my characters and AU are softer than they actually are. Here's an example of one of the more "scary" sketches I did. it's just concept art for now but it's the scene where Hyde murders Carew. I headcanon that Edward's shape isn't totally static, that's part of why no one can really pinpoint what's "wrong" about him, because he slides a scale between human and inhuman depending on his mood. This is directly a result of Edward being what Henry makes of him. The more Henry thinks of him as a monster the more monstrous he can become and the harder it is for Henry to control Edward's impulses, which are his own impulses. I picture this is the first time Henry really lost control and was shocked to find himself in that state, barely human, nothing but wordless instinct and a deep burning hatred the likes of which he had never imagined himself capable.

#tw:gore #tw:violence #tw:murder #edward hyde #jekyll and hyde

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fraternoviril · 8 months

Text

Frans Masereel (1889-1972) - panel from the wordless novel Passionate Journey-Urination, 1919.

Imagem: https://www.tumblr.com/artforpleasure

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inconsistentwriting · 11 months

Text

Daylight

Warning: Spoilers of Nightbringer. In the mood for some NB angst. GN!reader x Lucifer. English is not my first language.

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The end of another exhausting day as the brothers’ assistant. Lucifer had dismissed you quite late tonight. You were saying your goodbyes when you passed the music room. Something pushed you to go in and sit in the small bench in front of the piano. The memories started flowing and pouring over you. All those nights playing that same instrument for the brothers. Playing in the background for Satan as he read his favorite novels. Teaching Levi how to play his favorite openings. Lulling Belphie to sleep while his twin looked at you with adoration. The way Mammon and Asmo always found their way there while you practiced. The countless nights playing for Lucifer when he wasn’t feeling like himself, neither of you saying anything, a mutual and wordless agreement. Absentmindedly you started to pay the melody you used to play to Lucifer. You don’t know for how long you had been playing or when the the demon with those silky black wings had placed himself in the doorframe until he called your name.

-”I thought I said you could go home.”

-”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstay my welcome. I’ll get going.”

-”Wait. What is that melody?”

-”Oh, it’s a song I used to play for someone I held very dear.”

-”Used to? What happened?”

Your mind went back to the day you were taken from them all. Your eyes swelled with tears as you remember the fight you’ve had with Lucifer. The things said by both of you, you don’t even want to think on how he must be feeling with your disappearance.

-”We fought. I say nasty things and he did too. And now I can’t take them back, no matter how hard I‘ve been trying.”

-”He must be a fool for being mad at you. You have been nothing but patient and caring with my brothers and me.”

-”It’s not his fault. The world just decided we must suffer being apart from each other for a while. Maybe it’s just trying to teach me a lesson.”

The tears that stained your face made Lucifer’s heart feel heavy. Why was he feeling so bad? Why was his heart weeping? He’d never admit it, but everything in him was telling to run to you and to catch you in his arms, to tell you he would never let you suffer like that. Instead, he asked a single question.

-”Could you play it for me? I’d love to hear the entirety of it.”

-”Of course. Whatever you wish.”

Once again you sat next to the piano and let your fingers move slowly to the sound of the song. You started to sing the lyrics under Lucifer’s careful gaze.

-”Telling myself I won’t go there

Oh, but I know that I won’t care

Tryna wash away all the blood I’ve spilt

His lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can’t atone from a lone prayer

Souls tied intertwined by pride and guilt.”

The words of your song struck a chord inside of Lucifer. The lyrics seemed crafted for him, he felt it deep inside of his chest.

-”There’s darkness in the distance

from the way that I’ve been living

but I know I can’t resist it.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and i drink the poison from the same vine.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hiding all of our sins from the daylight.

From the daylight, running from the daylight.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time.”

It clicked on Lucifer’s mind. By the way you were playing, by the tone in your voice, by the history you gave him. This was a love song. A love song between you and somebody else. Someone stupid enough to allow himself to loose you. He felt a lot of things, pity for the idiot who couldn’t realise what he had, jealousy for the fact that even after all you were still looking back, longing for you.

-”Telling myself it’s the last time

Can you spare any mercy that you might find?

If I’m down on my knees again.

Deep down, way down, lord I try

Try to follow your light but it’s nighttime

Please don’t leave me in the end.”

The words touched something so deeply buried. Those words felt so very his. It was like those lyrics had been born from his deepest core. It shook him, it frightened him, it comforted him.

-”There’s darkness in the distance.

I’m begging for forgiveness

But I know I might resist it.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine.

Oh, i love it and I hate it at the same time

Hiding all of our sins from the daylight.

From the daylight, running from the daylight.

Oh, i love it and I hate it at the same time.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine.

Oh, i love it and I hate it at the same time

Hiding all of our sins from the daylight.

From the daylight, running from the daylight.

Oh, i love it and I hate it at the same time.”

The final note hanged in the air for a second, and it felt like an eternity when your eyes met Lucifer’s. There was something in his red hues, something that reminded you of your Lucifer, something that wasn’t there before.

-”It looks like whoever this song is for is deeply adored by you.”

-”He is. He is one of the most important people in the world to me. I love him with everything I have. I actually risked my life for him, because of how much I loved him.”

Lucifer felt the weight of your words in his heart. Deep inside he knew what it meant, he wanted to be that man, he was jealous of that unknown individual who had stolen your heart. He wanted to be the person you loved with that abandon, but he couldn’t.

-”It’s been a very long day MC, go home and rest. I’ll need you on your best moment tomorrow.”

You knew him like the palm of your hand. He kept quiet but his body speaked a million words. You could see how he swallowed a little harder as before saying those words, trying to hold back his tongue. You saw the way his eyes looked at you. You knew him so well, even this far back, he was still the demon you fell for.

-”You are right. I’ll see you tomorrow Lucifer, rest well.”

But you were just like him. His sin shinned in your eyes, the pride too strong for you to admit how much you missed him.

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I apologize for the emotional distress this might have caused. It's just one of those nights.

#obey me #gn reader #obey me oneshots #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x y/n #obey me lucifer #lucifer x mc #obey me angst

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