#handywork

[oillampslit]

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.

Psalms 19:1

#psalms #heaven #handywork #bible #bibleverse #christians #christianity

[barefoot-a-pregnant]

New upcylced bath carpet. Not as pretty as I hat imagine, but cheep and made warm toes!

Made from an old bedsheet.

#upcylced #handmade #wartime housewife #diy #handywork #housewife #tradfem #tradwife

[shelley-rants]

(via Diy; Do it Yourself Water Bottle by ShelleyBees)

#findyourthing #redbubble #diy #crafting #revovations #interior designing #handywork

[ditchthediy]

New wrap arounds stairs to match the existing deck. Woodwork is hard so #ditchthediy and hire a Harding’s handyman instead. #deck #decks #backyardoasis #stairs #seemless #fences #handyman #handymanservices #handmade #handywork #woodwork #customdeck #deckbuilder #yychomes #airdriehomes #cochranehomes #okotokshomes #chestermerehomes (at Dear Ridge, Calgary, Alberta) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgbywF0LhP_/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#ditchthediy #deck #decks #backyardoasis #stairs #seemless #fences #handyman #handymanservices #handmade #handywork #woodwork #customdeck #deckbuilder #yychomes #airdriehomes #cochranehomes #okotokshomes #chestermerehomes

[k1ngj0ve]

Headcanon that while dethklok employes a specific professional manicurist whos entire job is to do their nails, the boys always forget about that option and Nathan always paints his lefthand nails with Insta-dry black sallys nail polish and then, when its dry, has Skwisgaar do his right hand.

(and whenever skwisgaar wants his done they trade)

they only remember the manicurist when they have a special event to go to, in which Nathan likes his nails to be fancy to match the fancy enviroment.

#nathan explosion #dethklok #metalocalypse #i know the more common thing is that offdensen or pickles do it #but im picturing them starting during earlyklok #and at that point nathan had been doing it himself before he met pickles #and pickles isnt the type to point out minor imperfections and weaknesses in his buddies fun little aesthetic treat #but skwisgaar IS the type to see nathans shaky handywork and offer to do it in order to show off #also probably for flirtatious reasons

[mona-liar]

Being german means writing on tumblr at 14:57 about how you very calmly you wait until 15:00 to sand down your table in order not to break the mittagsruhe

#I WANT TO GET TO WORK #Also now I get why folks want a house with garden I do not know what I would do if I had to accomplish this handywork in an appartment

[pikslasrce]

im such a handyman this is so butch of me <- struggled to figurw out how to put the criss-cross rods on the table legs. has one screw that wouldnt fit in its hole. cant turn the desk over

#ok this is all. lighthearted and joking kinda but broo #i built something. i mean assembled something!! with my own two hands!!!!!!! this is huge i see why people love handywork #this is almost the same as the high i get when i paint smth really really good <333 #piksla.txt

[daily-whistlepaw]

daily whistlepaw until bu becomes PoV day 914

#warrior cats #whistlepaw #windclan #medicine cat apprentice #working whis because I too was doing handywork today by changing the clotheslines in the garden since they were covere in paint #it's not the same work whis is doing #but yeah #my hans have been poked so many times by the dumb things insidde the lines #it was fucking hell

[littlestpetship]

hmrmm i am thinking of me and kuni laying on a nice grassy hill, perhaps under a tree... he lays his head on my lap while i braid flowers into his hair... then he falls asleep and wakes up to an entire bouquet worth of flowers in his hair... hehehe :3c

#text #🎭 #he doesnt even bother taking them out... #he just puts his hat on and walks into town with 10000 flowers in his hair #his aunty nahida sees him and compliments my handywork >:) mwhahaha

[quarter-life-crisis2]

With the moral support of my dad over the phone, my all male team on slack and a couple men on YouTube, I have successfully changed my fire alarm battery.

I think we can all clearly see I am indeed an independent woman.

#lia thoughts #personal #it literally wasn’t difficult #but I didn’t want to fuck something up even more #plus I’m short which is usually the bane of my handywork

[beththebuilder]

Want more snark & more content & also want to support me super directly? I HAVE A PATREON NOW! So I’ve got early access, exclusive vids & posts, and eventually merch & loads more stuff!

If you care. 😉🥸

Otherwise. Just keep watching! 👀

#handywoman #youtube #diy #patreon #how to #youtubechannel #handywork #girls with tattoos #diy project #do it yourself #home improvement #home renovation #beginner woodworking project #beginner home repair #women empowering woman #women entrepreneurs #badass Handywoman #home remodeling #home ownership #patron

[the-forsakenlegionnaire]

All drafts are done, i can now proceed to finish what is owed on my other blog. Reminder that my anon, IMs and askblx are always open.

#ooc #good handywork is good

[baekuras]

Hate it when the government sends you something to BE ANSWERED TO URGENTLY because they ALREADY SENT YOU A REQUEST

which A: no you didn’t and B: AGAIN someone messed up god knows what number so I also can’t do it quickly and comfortably online which I just adore thanks

also they went all “pls do it online it saves paper” like bitch you already sent the empty formula that just needs to be filled out the paper is already used sweetie

#txts #i...hate these things #also it arrived in the mail yesterday but was sent a week ago which #cool thanks thats great #its nothing insane or too important at least to me but my god.......is it annoying to deal with #welp its gonna be sent in 2 days bc I dont have anything to mail it with today #and i work past post gathering tomorrow #also apparently the handyworkers who were suppossed to install my fire alarms were here on wednesday last week #which despite being home at that time i didnt notice #and also they didnt like....inform me....at all about that #which is great #and then they said they' be there saturday again which i also magically didnt notice apparently #despite being home ALL WEEK (-monday) because I was sick #but sure jan....you totally were there #great thing i knew about that beforehand too huh

[usedtobecooler]

"daddy, sit still, you gonna ruin it!" the frustrated little huffs from your three year old echo down the hall as you step foot into the apartment, toeing off your shoes next to the door after a long day.

"i'm trying, baby girl, it's tickly," eddie's soft dad voice makes your heart melt, the tender way he coos to her like she hung the moon and the stars.

you walk in through the door to see one of your old eyeshadow pallets balanced haphazardly on the edge of the sofa, your baby girl in her fuzzy pyjamas sat atop eddie's stomach as she runs an old fluffy brush over his eyelids.

"baby love, what're you doing to daddy?" you laugh, sneaking up behind her to check out her handywork. when she notices your presence the widest smile appears, little dimples poking in as her face scrunches up.

"pupple!" she grins, little curly pigtails swaying as she turns around to look at you with her big brown eyes, full of mischief and pride as she shows off the masterpiece.

eddie looks like he's been punched six ways from sunday, dark mauve and vibrant lilacs dusted along his eyelids, right up to his eyebrows. fanning out over his temples, down his lower lash line and onto his cheeks.

"sure is purple, baby," you smile back, sticking two thumbs up in her direction, which she copies with enthusiasm, "you look so pretty, daddy!"

eddie peels one eye open, wild curls fanned out over the sofa pillow from where he's slumped, hands on your daughters back to keep her upright, "pretty enough to take on a date?"

"absolutely," you beam, leaning over to give him a small kiss, grinning against his lips, "maybe to the movie theatre... or on a late night stroll... or anywhere dark."

"ha ha," eddie responds dryly, rolls his eyes, before putting his attention back on your little one, "and what do you think, princess? where should we go to show off your gorgeous artwork?"

her little chubby finger points towards the door, "park!" she giggles, high pitched and screechy, as she clambers off of eddie with great enthusiasm.

you end up in the park, in broad daylight, amongst giggling mothers and other small children who look mixtures of mortified and awe struck.

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader #girl dad eddie munson #eddie munson fic #mine #x reader #absolutely not based on something that happened today </3 #babies :( #my fanfic

[glitter-epoch]

Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.” 

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.  

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...” 

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling. 

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.” 

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked. 

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.” 

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory. 

i’ve been personally invited to the office.  

not like it’s the first time, though.  

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too). 

“lay down,” zayne commands.  

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up. 

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.” 

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.  

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.” 

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.  

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.” 

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.  

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad. 

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.” 

“and that’s bad?” 

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.” 

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.” 

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.  

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.” 

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.” 

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.  

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.” 

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.” 

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose. 

“ouch,” you hiss. 

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.  

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse. 

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.  

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says, 

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?” 

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.” 

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.” 

your eyes blow out like glass. 

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.” 

“oh, how nice of you.” 

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.  

he inhales at the sound. 

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly. 

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest. 

you bristle. “god, no.” 

“then why are you staring?”  

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say, 

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.” 

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”   

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think. 

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.” 

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.  

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures. 

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.” 

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.” 

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?” 

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.” 

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.  

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.” 

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine. 

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.” 

“it’s okay.” 

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill. 

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.  

you peel one eye open and then the other. 

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.” 

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.” 

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident. 

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.” 

“okay.” 

his brows lift. “okay?” 

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.” 

“no apologies,” zayne says. 

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.  

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.  

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.” 

well, i can’t now. 

“got it,” you grind out. 

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...” 

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth. 

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.” 

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.  

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.  

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?” 

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.” 

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.” 

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.” 

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.  

“no,” you gasp. too fast. 

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?” 

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.” 

oh, sure.  

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.” 

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying. 

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.  

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.  

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done. 

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.” 

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-” 

“watch.” 

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?” 

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.  

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.” 

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.” 

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.  

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand. 

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up. 

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.  

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs. 

“where?” you croak. 

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.” 

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.  

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word. 

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.” 

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.  

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more. 

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.  

“you like to watch me work,” he hums. 

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over. 

“shut up,” you bite. 

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving. 

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.  

his pupils are swollen. “sure.” 

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.  

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.  

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches. 

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare. 

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.” 

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.” 

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says, 

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.” 

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.” 

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins. 

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?” 

you swallow. “of course.” 

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds. 

“oh, sure,” you tease. 

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.  

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.” 

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’ 

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace fluff #love and deep space x reader #l&ds zayne #l&ds x reader #l&ds #l&ds zayne x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #l&ds fic #l&ds smut

[swordcreature]

I return with another idea for the tiefling trio

Where they would take reader/tav for their first official date :0 I was thinking post game after the gate is rebuilt but you can set the time whenever :D

hi hi sorry this took so long, things have been a little crazy for me lately!! i love soft romantic things and this definitely scratched that itch a bit for me hehe! ty as always

Dammon, Rolan, & Zevlor - First Dates

Where the tiefling boys take you for your first date

First Dates 

Dammon: 

Okay the guy is a bit of a romantic, but in a laid-back way. He doesn’t want to take you to the most expensive spot in town or buy you bouquets of the rarest flowers; Dammon wants to take you someplace meaningful and quiet. Somewhere you can have a little privacy and enjoy the beauty of the world around you.  

I think he’d take you to a cliffside in Rivington. He planned a picnic, maybe having someone help him set it up beforehand so that it’s waiting for you when you two arrive.  

He arrives at your home to “pick you up” so to speak. Stopping by to get you so that you both can walk hand in hand to your date. 

He definitely doesn’t tell you exactly what you'll be doing or where you’ll be going. He strikes me as a bit of a teaser, so he wants to be able to keep you guessing in suspense – and poke a little fun at you while you do. Nothing malicious of course, our boy is a gentleman, thank you very much. 

There's just enough sunlight left in the day for you two to eat and enjoy yourselves, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t planned the timing just right so that you could watch the sunset together. The sun’s golden reflection cast over the calm surface of the Chionthar may be one of the most beautiful sights the area has to offer, and it shows just how much thought Dammon put into your date.  

And then your little picnic date becomes a stargazing date. Laying back on the blanket, holding hands, pointing up and trying to name the constellations you know. I could totally see Dammon just dropping the absolute bomb on you that he knows most of them from memory. 

It’s the perfect spot for it too. It’s one of the highest points around the city, so you feel like you two are as close to the stars as two mortals can be.  

On the walk home, it’s quiet and calm – the perfect night to share a couple kisses in the street without any nosy onlookers.  

Rolan:  

Rolan has a goddamn entire tower to himself (and his siblings, of course, but that’s still a whole lot of tower at his disposal). Of course he’s going to take you there for your date. It has the best view in all of the Gate and he has home field advantage (and this is important because Rolan is very nervous about the date so he needs all the help he can get), it’s a win-win.  

You’ve been to the tower before, sure, but you hadn’t really had the chance to see it under Rolan’s influence yet – except for the storefront that is. He didn’t make huge, drastic changes but somehow it all feels completely different from the last time you were there, before the city was in ruins. Less like a madman’s hoard of all things powerful and rare, and more like the homey library of an eccentric lord. It fits him. 

He gives you a tour and makes note of all the changes he and his siblings made, delighted by everything they’ve done so far. I think Rolan sees this date as a chance to really impress you, so he wants to show you what he’s proudest of. Right now, that’s the life he’s created in the Gate.  

Lia insisted on her and Cal making dinner for the two of you, because if there is one thing the great Rolan of Ramazith’s Tower can’t do, it’s cook. So you head to the dining area to eat when she calls you both down. He does pick out the wine though. 

After dinner he brings you to the top floor where the observation deck juts out over the city. It’s covered in a beautiful garden that makes it feel like a forest suspended in the air (Lia’s handywork Rolan admits, but he still is just as proud of it).  

You sit as Rolan conjures up lights in the sky, something akin to what he did at the camp party outside the grove but bigger. He sits with you to watch, keeping his concentration steeled so that the lightshow doesn’t go out.  

It’s romantic and thoughtful and very Rolan, tying the entire date together with an impressive display of his powers. The people in the streets below can definitely see the show with how bright it is. 

But as you lean into him to enjoy it, reaching up to quickly plant a kiss on his lips, the lights abruptly stop, his concentration shot to the hells. 

Zevlor: 

Zevlor strikes me as a traditional romantic. He wants to court you the way they used to do it when he was young, the proper way. He wants to arrive with a rose in hand, dressed in the best doublet he has, and take you out to dinner. And not at a ratty tavern or inn, either. No, he wants to take you to a place befitting someone as wonderful and deserving as yourself.  

After the Gate is rebuilt, I like to imagine that the lower city is filled with more businesses than ever before as the city tries to stimulate the economy, especially for the poorer part of the city. The Elfsong and the Blushing Mermaid are no longer the only places to grab a warm meal. There are proper eateries and bakeries of all sorts.  

So, he takes you to a tavern built in the wake of the Steel Watch Foundry, an area that has been transformed into a small market district. It’s a quiet place that offers candlelit tables, soft piano music, and good food.  

It’s the perfect place to talk all evening, indulging in food and drinks while just enjoying each other’s company. Zevlor wants above all else to know you, to get so see all parts of you that you’ll offer to him, so the conversation never dies down.  

After a mead or two, Zevlor will even pull you to the dance floor after having requested a song from the pianist. He’s a practiced dancer, and easily sweeps you across the tavern, earning some claps from onlookers. 

The rest of the evening goes like that. Alternating between conversation, drinking, and dancing. Even though you’re in a tavern with other people, you feel like the only two people there. It’s incredibly intimate, all things considered. 

As the date draws to a close, you notice that the tavern is mostly empty, save for the staff wiping down tables. It’s close to closing, time having flown by without either of you noticing.  

Zevlor walks you home so that he can make sure you’re safe, and most definitely not because he’s hoping for a goodnight kiss. Okay, that’s part of it. But mostly the safety thing.  

When you do offer him a kiss as a thank you for the wonderful date and as a sign of your true affection, Zevlor blushes a shade of magenta, but kisses you back. It looks like he’s trying to hold back a giant smile when he turns around to head home.  

#bg3 #bg3 dammon #bg3 rolan #bg3 zevlor #dammon #rolan #zevlor #my writing #dammon x reader #zevlor x reader #rolan x reader #requests/suggestions