Amidst the bustling marketplace, the pair strolled hand in hand, their shoulders bumping together, letting nothing come between them. Whispers of shared jokes and a symphony of laughter passed between them. Their eyes met, brimming with stories and thoughts only they understood, despite their partners' best attempts to translate their secret language.
Maiele shot Tyril a playful wink, his eyes tracing the lips of his beloved, while, Daenarya pulled Mal in for a fleeting kiss before pushing him back away. Maiele guided Daenarya closer to his side as their giggles and secrets resumed—the two completely inseparable.
"Why should they have all the fun?" Mal grumbled, reaching for Tyril's hand, hoping to make his own memories.
"What do you think you're doing?" The elf pulled back, slapping the rogue's hand away.
"If they can hold hands and whisper secretly together, so can we." Mal's hand sought Tyril's, but he found his advances once more denied.
Tyril's gaze shifted to the rogue's hands, still stained purple from the delicacies they had enjoyed earlier. "I think I'll pass. You're worse than the children."
"You love me anyway." A devilish smirk pulled on his lips as he held up his dirtied hands.
Tyril pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the space between his brows. "Your definition of the term love must hold a different meaning than mine."
Mal's arm snaked around Tyril's waist, holding him close. "We both know that isn't true."
Despite the purple hue flushed across the elf's cheeks, his body relaxed beneath Mal's touch.
"Told you," Mal gloated, rocking up on his tiptoes to place a kiss on Tyril's violet cheek. "I love you, too."
Okay okay I’m gonna finally share this gem!! I’ve kept it to myself for too long but I cannot tell you what this little drabble meant and means to me.
You sent this the day after a particularly trying day. Big decisions had to be made and big feelings were discussed and it was hella stressful. I cried myself to sleep that night and then I woke up to this. And it reminded me that everything would be okay.
I know that may be silly but it’s what happened. I was so crazy overwhelmed and my emotions were so overtaxed that I desperately needed something fluffy and lighthearted and beautiful. I almost didn’t log in that day.
But I did and I read this line and it made me smile.
“Your definition of the term love must hold a different meaning than mine.”
I don’t know if I ever told ya but my partner has this habit of making up definitions for well defined and established words (like love lol) and I not infrequently will tell him that we must define our terms before continuing the silly conversation because his definition is not mine lol
I adore this drabble so so so much! More than I can truly put into words! Thank you for gifting me this and your friendship 😘
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He, Dreamless by nizzuto
Part 1 of I don't see the sun (I know it's there)
Through the tear-away of waves and the vastness of oceans and the separation of the three of them, there remains the legend of true love and the infinite fight to get back to it.
A gift for the incredibly talented @guarncre, whose gorgeous fic (and every single fic since) I adore so much. Few fics have so effectively simultaneously ripped me apart and put me back together, and swallowed me up with every word. These drawings have been a long time coming, but I really wanted to show my love for the fic by attempting to capture its evocative storytelling and imagery. And this is my call to everyone to go read it, now! Right now!
[Image description under cut]
[I.D.] Two digital drawings of Joe and Nicky, respectively, depicting scenes from nizzuto's fic He, Dreamless.
Joe is standing alone in a dark brick tower, visible down to his waist. His head is tilted down, his eyes closed, and he has a melancholy expression on his face. Only one of his arms is visible, his hand gently curled over his chest. His hair is long and loose, a few curls lit by moonlight. A deep red garment is draped over his shoulders. Behind him is a small arched window with bars, where a bright moon attempts to shine through. He is half-lit and half in shadow. A small signature in the bottom left corner reads, "Siggy, '23".
Nicky is sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his head tilted up and painted with bright, almost heavenly moonlight. He is in a hole underground, and the dark ground can be seen surrounding him. He is wearing a tattered uniform, the details of his clothes mostly hidden in shadow. His hair has been cut short and uneven, as has his beard. He is reaching up with one hand, the tip of his finger poking through the bars above his head. He wears an expression of longing. The moonlight is casting streaks through his fingers onto his face. He's looking at the same moon as Joe. The same signature as the first image is written on the bottom right corner.
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I have to say this because I just had a very serious talk with my bestie about weight.
When I first went to college, I was doing acrobatics four days a week and a 15 to 18 hour course load a semester, while spending six months out of the year sick or recovering from such. The bronchitis plus [whatever comorbid illness struck this time] was bad enough, but the recovery took so long because I had so little fat that my body would start eating muscle and tissue.
I had access to a school nutritionist and so I wrote down everything that I tended to eat, how often I did so. My diet was and still is semi-decent, mostly because I have enough texture issues that a lot of junk food and "unhealthy" (I say that loosely) stuff I can only eat very tiny portions of, if at all, and most meat things are completely off the table unless I make it myself.
I was and still am very high energy. I have always been skinny or slender since I started walking, had some body image issues after being sick and I could count every rib. At the time of going to the nutritionist, I was 190 pounds of mostly muscle.
She looked at me like I'd lost my goddamn mind when I said I wanted to gain some fat and I wanted to know why I just wasn't. I was a freshman. I knew about the freshman fifteen. Instead of gaining fifteen pounds, though, I lost it, and it was fifteen pounds I didn't really have to lose. I was eating something ridiculous like almost double what the average woman "should" be, calorie wise, basically constantly snacking because I was always hungry.
Two years later I was in the hospital for a month. A wheelchair for seven. Lost almost eighty pounds in eight months. Died three times.
It's five years past that now. I'll never be able to fly like I used to, but I can pick up unsuspecting coworkers and adoptive siblings again, which is great fun for startling them. I can renovate my house without too much issue. I weigh 160 lbs now, and for the first time in my life, I have fat on me, after seven years of working at it and so many goddamn catastrophes it's ludicrous.
It took me seven years to gain twenty pounds of fat. Of me actively working on it. There's no such fucking thing as "weight gain!" pills, and there's no such thing as "weight loss" pills either, and take it from an Irish woman? Starving yourself doesn't work either. If you feel good in your body, if it works for you regardless of your weight, then you're fine. The only way anything is going to change is a massive force--like illness, or amputation, or cancer, or occupation, or food scarcity.
Fat people's positive representation in media is shit, and the way that Americans, at least, tend to see fat people is shit, and I'm sorry. You are worthy of feeling at home in your body, without fear of judgement of yourself or society, of feeling good without reservation. The twenty pounds of fat I've gained has, no joke, changed my life. I don't get cold standing in front of a refrigerator, I'm not utterly terrified of getting sick again and dying of something stupid like bronchitis or strep throat. I feel good, and I hope that you can feel good too, and not continuously damage your body by yoyoing your weight with attempted diets and pills.
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