#gnome writes

[thegnomelord]

You're walking alone at night, the streets are well lit and the air cool enough to make you go at a brisk pace. Nobody is out this time of night, not even a lone taxi to break up the quiet.

You're looking at your phone so you don't look where you're going, and bump into somebody. It feels like walking into a tank, the man doesn't even flinch while you almost fall on your ass. His hand grabs you before he can and your eyes naturally follow the firm muscles of his arm before looking at his handsome face.

He's apologetic about being in your way - "that's alright lovie, wasn't looking where I was going." - he says despite you having walked into him. Turns out he's walking in the same direction as you, and he doesn't look like some mugger, so you chat while you walk. He's a charming devil, dark skin looking ombre under the streetlights that turn his brown eyes a polished amber.

You learn a lot about him; his name is Kyle, he's in the military and coming back to the base from a bar, he used to be a gymnast. He even tells you of how he fell out of a helicopter, soft voice turning into a rumbling little laugh to make it lighthearted and you don't notice when you start laughing along. He's just so easy to talk to.

You don't even notice him leading you off the beaten path; some shortcut he knows. Some part of your mind, that dumb dumb animal, bleats deafly in your ear, but it's his smooth voice that bounces around your skull and pulls on your strings to keep you putting one foot in front of the other.

Next morning you wake up back in your bed (how did you even get back home?) and it's not until you go shower that you notice two puncture marks on your neck.

[saturdaysky]

a little divine appreciation

-

God Gale is endgame for Mayhew, and Mayhew couldn't be more pleased 😌

their mutual wizard disease brought them to some pretty low lows, but hey, ignore the tragedy, they're gods now! first order of business is a little worshiping at the altar 😏

Here's the sketch, which I also like:

Got majorly inspired by these lovely photos, one of which I used as a pose reference.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Bison-coded Giants that migrate nearly year-round between seasonally good hunting grounds, who never bothered to develop writing because their memory is near flawless.

Gopher-coded Gnomes whose extensive underground civilization is fed by an earthen mound agriculture that they harvest from beneath and which is indistinguishable from regular-ass grassland to the untrained eye.

High Elves that plant Elven Cane everywhere they go, transforming the landscape and expanding the Elven Empire through ecological colonialism.

Appalachian Dwarves, drinking whiskey on a porch near sundown, telling the little’uns a scary story about gettin’ too greedy and diggin’ too deep in those ancient caves what which sum done been older’n life isself

[sesamenom]

went through some old files so heres a wip dump, featuring my horrible file names (incidentally also the reason why i had to go through everything to find a specific old file whose name i forgot)

ophelimae (put on hold bc i coulnd't figure out how to make the water work)

maglorconcert (teenage & adult maglor, put on hold bc the stadium perspective for the adult chunk was annoying)

feanorgame (concepts for a feanor survives au)

aaabalrog maglorsing

bbmaglor peredhelhiding (self explanatory)

ee2 (teenage elrond & elros. i don't actually remember which one is which in this pic)

bombadil (evil seasonal santa bombadil? i have no clue what the context here is but it looks like it was supposed to be included in a reblog of something)

wingdesign (wing armor design for rev gondolin prince elrond)

maeco1 (unfinished comic about how maedhros somehow managed to get ambushed by a small army of iron balrogs)

crittery (concept doodle for a vaguely entish quadrupedal tree creature)

centaurchairs (centaur wheelchair and prosthetic designs)

doddle (cool robot?) hands (whose hand? idk)

hdragons (i really like how the shading on the red parts turned out but i forgot what brush i used ;-;)

[minijenn]

Story Summary: What would happen if the Crystal Gems had settled down in a place other than Beach City, a little backwoods town just west of weird…? What if, upon coming to Gravity Falls for the summer, Dipper and Mabel were to befriend Steven and Connie? What kind of magical, mysterious adventures would they have? And, how would they fare against the combined threats of merciless Homeworld Gems and a certain triangular demon?

Find out what happens when Magic and Mystery meet in Universe Falls...

Chapter Summary: When Dipper and Mabel arrive to Gravity Falls, Oregon to spend the summer with their Grunkle Stan, they find a bit more than they bargained for with mysterious journals, lovestruck gnomes, pink lions, and new friends. “Well, Mabel, it’s official: this summer is gonna be boring .” “Whaaaaat?” Mabel finally pulled her face away from the window. It had been all but glued there for almost the entire 10 hour bus ride, giving her the perfect vantage point to point out anything even remotely interesting to her brother. And unfortunately for Dipper, Mabel found just about everything interesting. “No way! Just look around us, bro-bro! There are trees, and, uh… more trees!” “Wow, trees ,” Dipper deadpanned as he turned his attention back to the book he’d been reading. “Definitely can’t see those anywhere else. Really makes you wonder why this bus isn’t full of tourists desperate to visit this ‘Gravity Falls’ place.” Mabel couldn’t really argue with him there. Aside from the two of them and their stoically silent driver, the bus was empty as it veered down the forest-bordered road. All of the other riders had long since gotten off at other towns along the way. The twins’ destination was the final stop on the route, about as far out of the way as anyone could seemingly get. At least, that’s what it felt like to Dipper and Mabel.  Click the link to read more; all comments are appreciated!

[gnomewithalaptop]

Breakfast at Timothy's

Pairings: Bart Allen/Tim Drake

Summary: Bart stops by Tim's apartment to make him breakfast. Shenanigans (and feelings) ensue.

@/sapphicdick requested timbart! Posted as part of the DC Gotcha for Gaza Twitter event -- requests are still open for another four days, so please click on the link and check it out if you'd like to donate!

--

It is nearing half past nine in the morning when Tim opens his front door to find Bart Allen doing his level best to vibrate through a cardboard box of Splenda packets.

“Hiya, Timmy!” Bart says. As if on cue, several sugar packets vibrate through the bottom of the box and land on top of his shoes. Or maybe there’s just a hole somewhere. Impossible to tell really.

All he knows is it’s way too early for this.

Oblivious to Tim’s mental anguish, Bart cranes his neck to see around him into the apartment beyond. Except it’s Bart, so what that really means is he leans his whole body forward, shoulders oddly stiff in that particular way that means he’s trying his best not to vibrate out of his shoes. “So…” he says expectantly, “you gonna let me in, or what?”

Tim blinks muzzily, one hand still on the door. Then, for lack of anything to say, he bends over and checks the bottom of Bart’s box for any Splenda-packet-sized holes.

Vaguely dubious, Bart pokes him in the calf with the toe of his sneaker. “Uh. Are you okay? Are you having a stroke?”

There are no holes in Bart’s box. Tim goes back to his original hypothesis of Bart just being a morning person and straightens up. Makes sure to keep a firm hand on the door. “It’s just…” He rubs at one eye, yawning. “It’s really early, Bart.”

Infuriatingly, Bart flashes him a smile. “Oh, good,” he says, shifting the box to one side. “I was worried for a second.”

“Cool. Well, uh. Thanks for stopping by.” Tim makes to close the door, only for Bart to catch it with the toe of his sneaker, smile flickering into something more determined. Tim barely has time to react before he’s ducking under his arm at subsonic speeds; the tracest flicker of lightning later, and he’s already in the entryway taking off his shoes.

Somehow, the Splenda box has ended up awkwardly cradled in Tim’s arms.

“That’swhyI’mhereactually,” Bart says from the ground. He’s undoing his laces at normal speed for some reason, that determined, half-set expression Tim glimpsed earlier evaporated into mile-a-minute chatter like it’d never been there in the first place. “We haven’t seen you in ages, and Cassiesaysyou’vebeenweird about team meals ever since Batman got lost in time and came back to life or whatever so IjustfiguredI’dkilltwobirdswithonestone and make you breakfast!”

Tim blinks down at the box in his hands, brain still chugging along at half speed. Down on the floor, Bart, unbothered, has gotten started on his other sneaker. The laces on this one are a different color than the ones on the floor. Purple polka-dots to his right foot’s traffic-cone orange.

After a couple more seconds’ buffer time, something finally connects long enough in Tim’s brain to form a coherent thought. “…You know how to cook?”

Bart pauses for a beat, just long enough to give Tim a withering look through his fringe. “I’m sorry,” he says haughtily, “between the two of us, which one has actual, real-life experience being an adult with a job?” He thinks for a second, lips pursed in mock consideration, before removing his sneaker with a flourish. “Oh, wait! That’s right: me.”

A smear of lightning later, and he’s on his feet, sneakers lined up neatly against the wall. “Where’s your kitchen?”

Tim points, mutely, and before he can lower his arm again, Bart’s already blinking into the kitchen in a smear of yellow-gold lightning.

For a second, Tim just stares down at the Splenda packets, alone in the dim lighting of his entryway. This has to constitute cruel and unusual punishment; humans just weren’t meant to be up this early on a Saturday.

As if on cue, Bart blurs back into the foyer. “Hey, Tim,” he says, his socked feet squeaking against the hardwood floors, “where do you keep your electric stand mixer?”

Tim blinks. “I don’t… have one?” he offers weakly. Then, abruptly, his brain switches on again, and he shoves the sugar packets back into Bart’s arms. “Hey, wait a minute, your year as the Flash definitely doesn’t count—I mean, was it even technically you that experienced it—?”

“Okay, one, it absolutely counts, don’t talk like you know how the speed force works, and two—” Bart sticks his tongue out at him, shifting the box to his hip again, “—you have like a bajillion dollars and still don’t own a stand mixer, so your opinion matters even less to me.”

“You don’t get to act like you know how appliances work. I’m not the one who washed Speedy’s glue arrows and broke the washing machine.”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you to, Monsieur Mixer-less.”

It is at this point that Tim makes the executive decision to give up. He strides into the kitchen. “What do you even need an electric mixer for anyways?” he calls over his shoulder as he grabs a Zesti out of the fridge door. “Aren’t we just doing eggs or something?”

Another blink, and Bart’s dumping out the box of Splenda on the kitchen island. “No, because we’re not boring. We’re making Sugar-Blasted Brunch Casserole, as seen in Episode 211 of the hit Disney series Sick Life of Jack and Brody.”

That… takes a second to register. “Um,” Tim says blankly, and does his best not to stare at the avalanche of Splenda packets spilling onto his tile floor. “…What?”

Bart, meanwhile, continues to charge forward, unabated. “I even made sure to bring fake sugar sowecankeepinlinewithyourBat-diet!” he says, gesticulating wildly with one hand as he goes through every single one of Tim’s cabinets at lightning speed. A blink, and there are half a dozen eggs cracked open and with yolks and whites separated neatly between two glass mixing bowls.

Tim resists the urge to sit down, and just scruffs a hand through his hair, trying to track Bart’s movements through the kitchen as his speed ramps back down to just past human-normal. It’s a bit like trying to track the blades of a jet engine.

It’s… odd. Bart’s always had a bit of a hyperactive streak, but this single-minded intensity is new. Tim’s not sure what to make of it.

[Continue on AO3]

[avernusfuries]

Guess who's back, back again!

[regular-gnome]

If I, hypothetically, drew fanart of the gnomes, would you want to see it?

I would hypothetically, absolutely NEED to see it

[the-gnomish-bastard]

So, you wanna write a likable and honorable warrior/knight/whatever character? No worries, Gnomus has got you covered. Disregard chivalry. It’s boring, overdone, and just stupid. Here’s a list of what you need for them:

Have them respect their foe for having the courage to lay down their life for what they believe in. (Though they don’t necessarily have to respect what they believe in.)

Have them respect and acknowledge the strengths of their foe, let them offer a compliment or two.

Give them a core set of traits they respect in a warrior. For example, strength, intelligence, experience, ingenuity, preparation, discipline, commitment, and mercy are all good traits.

Give your warrior a main trait. One they respect above all others. Like strength or any other battle trait.

Give them values, true beliefs that they swear by. For example: Never strike a defenseless man (unarmed and defenseless are two very different things), never strike a child, never strike the innocent, always put your allies before yourself, always protect what you hold dear, a wise warrior knows that retreat is an option, a wise warrior also knows that if a retreat cannot be made without sacrifice then it is the duty of the warrior to lay down their life for their comrades, a wise warrior knows when retreat is futile but also if surrender may save their comrades, and a strong warrior faces their death with dignity and honor.

Don’t have them use dirty tricks, but have them respect the employment of some of those tricks in battle.

Take inspiration from Godfrey, First Elden Lord.

There. This should help.

[zytes]

neucypher

[thegnomelord]

Gaz isn't a 'manly' man.

Sure he may be a soldier, but he doesn't believe in any of the shit single men spout on the internet on how he is meant to act and what he is meant to demand from his partner beyond love and respect. It baffles him how some soldiers in his previous units would bemoan their ended relationships when they'd treated their partners like shit.

So no, Gaz doesn't listen to those people telling him he should be in charge all the time. He's content to do more than half of the housework when he's on leave and you're still working. He's happy to 'play housewife' and make you a nice home cooked meal you two can enjoy when you get back late at night. He's elated getting to be the little spoon when you two snuggle up at night, finally able to sleep peacefully when he has his back turned to someone he trusts.

He's especially happy to let you paint his nails and put makeup on him because he loves the face you make when you concentrate, when your sole focus is on him. It's always so hard for him to try and not kiss you because you asked him to stay still and he doesn't want to smudge the lipstick you had so carefully applied on him.

And it makes it even harder to hide his arousal when you grip his chin and firmly turn his head back to stare right at you because he had moved his head to look at something that had grabbed his attention. The sudden motion never fails to send a delightful shiver down his spine, the hard scowl on your face when you see the streak of eyeliner going across his temple leaving him squirming in his seat and whispering a tense and raspy: "Sorry lovie."

Because if he tried to say just one more word he'd end up moan like a whore.

[f-aha-efolk]

I play DnD in school and I just got my DM to get a knocked out character to say "No mommy, I don't want the mashed potatoes..." MY DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE

[blujayonthewing]

casting the cantrip Minor Illusion in dnd requires a bit of fleece, in a cheeky reference to the real-world idiom 'pulling the wool over [someone's] eyes' -> proficiency with Minor Illusion is common enough amongst forest gnomes that at the very least all player character gnomes have it automatically, indicating that wool is trivially common in their communities -> forest gnome communities in particular are described as typically somewhat hidden and secluded, pointing to a high likelihood that shepherding and/or goatherding are traditionally common for gnomes themselves, rather than wool being a resource they have to trade for -> 'pulling the wool over [someone's] eyes' is an idiom that means 'to deceive or trick' in reference to the cantrip Minor Illusion, which is cast using a bit of fleece and which gnomes use to deceive and trick people ten times a day

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi cutie!

I've, incredibly, keep on writing the same fic for one time in my life, so i'm posting the second part of the first part (obviously) of the whatever i've wrote.

I like writing. It's a little difficult switch from my italian kinda writing skill to the english language.

I feel less poetic in english. More...meh. Dunno.

Anyway, we do not have that much of a smut content in here, just...talking. A lot of talking. I like dialogues.

Sorry for every incorrect grammatical things, i hope i haven't made a complete mess.

DISCLAIMERS: not that much of a smut thing, anyway is GhostxReader, arguing, terrible nicknames, gym, blame shifting, not having breakfast, recalling of behaviours that shouldn't belong to a military base but oh well.

..................................................

First part is here:

https://www.tumblr.com/tassodelmiele/746173281244151808/noisy-little-mess?source=share

..................................................

Next day, you skip breakfast.

Your ass hurts like hell, you've got bruises on your neck and it seems like you've gone through a fight with the full cast of a Jason Statam's kinda film.

You rush through all the damn base like crazy, avoiding smiles and greetings, in search for that goddamn man who has to give you explanations.

'Cause that sort of thing doesn't happen between two who barely speak at breakfast. 

'Cause you may find muscles attractive, but you've never told him you like him in particular.

'Cause he almost ravaged you, without even saying "goodnight".

And 'cause you've liked it. But that's not necessarily to be known.

You're about to go straight to the training camp (you've seen Soap nearby, and he's Ghost's shadow), when the wanted finds the detective: a door suddenly opens, and you bump into his goddamn big chest, almost drowning your nose in that rock solid-muscle softness pile.

Ghost looks at you like he's just stepped on a candy wrapper. You open your mouth, ready to yell:

«ok, now you're going to tell me, sir, what in the actual fu-»

Then, Price gets out of the office too. And your face blushes with the brightest red.

«…sorry»

«'s nothing. We've finished»

It seems like Ghost's trying to make you comfortable, and that just gets on your nerves. You look at the captain walking away, and before having the opportunity to speak again, the lieutenant has grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed you in his office.

You do your best not to trip over your feet, almost making a pirouette to face him as he closes the door. You open your mouth, prepare your lungs to yell like a fucking eagle…and he stops you, cupping your face with all of the grace he's capable of, looking at you through his goddamn scary skull mask and spells:

«I'm sorry»

And your brain goes blank. 

You squeeze your eyes; you weren't ready for this. For a scold; for a joke, for him to make fun of you, for you to break his terrible per holder on his face…but not for this.

«…what?»

«I'm sorry. Fucking sorry, ok?»

«Yeah, yeah» you scroll his hands away from your face. «I'm sorry too for having my ass burnt and my fucking neck disassembled, that's not the point»

«I was just saying-»

«You were saying nothing»

«If you-»

«Sorry for what? For your kinks, or your lack of asking consent? Go on, i'm listen-»

And he ends up squeezing your face in his hand, glaring at you while you just stay still with your cheeks pressed together and your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow.

He sigh.

«You've caught me off guard»

You muffle, widening your eyes, about to try to say something but his grips tighten a little.

«Let me fucking finish! Bloody hell, you weren't so noisy yesterday! My god…look, 's not a great time to restrain instinct, ok? I'm not saying that you've…awakened something. You're not my type, anyway»

You start to move again in his grip, trying to punch him, but it's so easy for him to stop you.

«I just want to apologize 'cause i've acted by instinct, and is no good. And 'cause I've hurt you, of course»

He stares at you for five seconds before releasing his grip, and the first thing you say is:

«…not your type? Seriously?»

His eyes widen under the mask.

«You…is this really what you're interested in? Out of everything I've told you?»

«You haven't told me that much»

«What the hell-»

«And you're lucky i've liked it, otherwise i would have smash the whole set of weight on your face»

«Yeah, Yeah, sure, a gnome like you»

«I'm a gnome in berserk armor»

«Still a gnome»

«Fight me»

«I'm not wasting my time in a prison for your dead body»

«...weak»

«…don't you dare, rookie»

«Rookie a pair of nuts»

«Watch you fucking mouth»

«I can't do it, there's no mirror in here»

«…ok, maybe your murder is worth a life in prison»

«You're eating away your guts just 'cause i'm having the final say»

«No, but i'm going to eat your guts anytime soon» 

«Try me! Fight that fucking gnome! Then, you're gonna make better apologies»

«My apologies were flawless»

«You said i'm not your type! After…after making a mess out of me!»

«I've said, if you would have listen, that I was lead by my goddamn instinct»

«Yeah, and since when instinct tells you to ravage alone girls in the gym?»

«Since when i've heard you-»

He suddenly stops. Your mouth is still open, ready to talk back, when he starts to push you by the shoulder in order to get you out of his office immediately.

«Time is finished» he says as he tries to get rid of your presence.

But you're not ok with him.

«Nonononono, don't you even-»

«I've told you everything i had to»

«Fuck your excuses! You didn't even make me come!»

That wasn't a challenge. But somehow Ghost's brain classified it as such.

And the same night, in the gym, different machines…you spot him looking at you.

And your panties get instantly wet.

«No» you suddenly say. He gets closer.

«"No" what?»

«No. I won't»

«What?»

«Don't tease, you know "what"»

He doesn't listen to you, and starts a whole different topic: 

«Wanna know something fun, kitty?»

«Can you find another nickname, please?»

Ghost's eyes make a turn under the eyelids, as he repeats: «Wanna know something fun, gnome?»

You make a pout, and he goes on:

«you've been the only one with enough guts to yell at me since fucking forever»

«Well, you've been the only one to touch my panties since…fucking forever. We're fair»

«…you mean it?»

«What?»

«No boyfriend? No sex? Never?»

«Never. Don't make fun of me»

«Why should i?»

«Dunno. An almost thirty years old is suppose to have made something in her life»

«You're working. And living. That's enough»

You're about to grab a weight, but you leave it there, looking at Ghost through the mirror.

«…oh»

He raises an eyebrow.

«…oh? That's the most sensible thought you've got?»

«It's just…i've thought…well…»

«What? What was that little brain of your thinking?»

Your face blush like hell as he comes closer, every step of him is a skipped heartbeat for you.

«I-i've just…i've thought that someone like you may be more…demanding?»

«You don't know me» he towers you in all of his highs «little gnome. 'S dangerous making assumptions on your enemy without collecting intel, don't ya know?»

«You're not an enemy». You swallow, finding yourself hesitate. «…i believe»

«You don't seem so sure about it»

And then he gives you the most threatening, close up encounter with his mask, leaning on you like an eagle on a mouse.

«How come, little gnome?»

You swallow. Than you remember he's your fucking lieutenant, and you're in the base gym, and there shouldn't be nothing to worry about, really. And you feel like an idiot, blushing and lowering your eyes. You decide to use his weapons against him:

«…it's dangerous making assumptions on your allies without collecting intel»

And he stares at you, seeming happy with your answer.

«You do are a brat, don't you?»

«I'm the cutest rookie in the entire base»

«Someone's going to make ya eat that goddamn tongue of you»

«They're just jealous»

«'s not like that»

«…No? Than w-»

«You can't talk back to your superior. You'll end up getting in trouble»

You instantly blush, blowing your cheeks.

«I've never-»

«You're doing it right now»

You blush more, become as red as the goddamn Snow White's apple. Your mouth is finally shutted, and he seems proud of his work. You try to make a step back, gaining some distance between you and his massive body…but he follows you. He follows you and he gets closer, trapping you between him and the weights rack.

«I…don't think i like brats that much» 

Ghost is not touching you, but somehow you shiver under his voice as he's drilling your ears.  

«I like you more with your little mouth shut»

The last word is perfectly underlined by his voice; another shiver down your spine, and you try to fill the silence to not explode under his presence:

«I'm afraid i'm not that good at staying silent, sir»

And he grabs you by the cheeks, squeezing them in one hand without effort, leaning on you as his gaze catches your red face:

«You did a great job yesterday, kitty»

And you melt in your panties. You do it with a little bit of regret just 'cause you'd rather endure a little bit more. You're about to say something, even if you know that as soon as you open your mouth the only thing that'll come out is a moan, and…

He releases you, so suddenly you've to concentrate not to lose balance, stumbling on your feet. He grabs a weight, announcing dramatically:

«But i've seen you've got your mouth fucking open the 90% of the time. That's why you're not my type, little gnome»

«But…you've searched for me»

He stops, holding the weights silently; he's not looking at you, but you know he's waiting for you to keep on with the speech. You swallow again, your throat is almost dry now.

«I know you've heard me. That night. You've heard me…touching. And-»

«So what? You were loud»

«Not that much- anyway, you've come in the gym just for me, i know it»

«No way»

«None come to the gym that late»

«But you were there»

«I'd a busy day- but that's not the point! I wasn't even watching you!»

He hiss a: «liar» in the middle of a curl. You cross your arms.

«…ok. Ok, MAYBE i was, but just for one goddamn sec-»

«So you do like me»

«FOR GODDAMN-»

You shut your mouth, biting your lips before saying something that could cost you way worse than a scolding by your superior. Your feet stomp till the biggest weights you can lift, and you start your rdl sets, knowing you're gonna hurt your back.

But he's looking. He's looking through the mirrors (too many goddamn mirrors in this gym) and it hurts your pride how he's acting like he doesn't care that much. So you take a deep breath, and while resting after the first set you spit it out:

«So you've touched me just 'cause you've felt like discharging some frustration?»

His arms suddenly stop moving. He turns his gaze at you, watching you directly this time, as you keep on:

«'cause, you know, since i'm not your type i can't find other reasons why you should've come to do those things. My appearance doesn't turn you on, so you've just found the first random person to use»

You lift the weights again, ready to release your bomb:

«So childish. It's not that mature for someone in your position»

You have no time to get aware of him who's just thrown his weights on the floor, reached you in two big steps, and now he's taking your weights from your hands like they're light butterflies, also throwing them on the floor.

He's towering you again, fists clench and hazel eyes on you.

«…it's your fault»

Your eyes widen. You've expected something different.

«Uhm…what?»

«That's why my apologies were good enough for you. 'S just your fault»

«What the hell of a fault did i-»

«You did it on purpose. Those…those fucking sounds of yours, your bloody behave, everything. Goddamn. Everything»

«How?? How could-»

«I don't know, you bloody witch!»

«So learn to know yourself better!»

«Maybe you could behave like a normal human being!»

«I was!»

«Liar. Bloody liar, you've spent the most of the time jerking on every fucking chair you were touching»

«You're hallucinating»

«And you've walked with closed eyes if ya didn't even notice what the hell you were doing»

«I'm not some animal in heat!»

«You looked so!»

«You could've just asked me to stop instead of wetting your hands in my panties!»

«I-»

This is his time to bite his lips, choking words behind the mask. He stares at you, and you return the glare, arms crossed and ice cold eyes on him, pretending not to feel the wetness in your underwear.

He sighs.

«I could crush you with my bare hands»

You stay still, eyes wide open, hands buried in your sweatshirt, asking yourself why the hell does he seem so embarrassed out of nowhere. Ghost sighs again, louder, blowing hot air away as if he's trying to discharge his lungs from something heavy. 

«It's been days you walk everywhere with those goddamn swallowed eyes of yours, adjusting your panties under the uniform, trembling at the tiniest touch…what the hell did you expect? To not be noticed? You, a little whimpering knot tied on itself?»

Your mind gets blind for a second.

You listen with your eyelid twitching. It is…unreal. He's not describing you, that's what you try to get in your brain, convincing yourself that you've not behaved as he's saying. 

You start to mutter through your teeth: «…but…no, no way, i'm not that-»

«Shameless? Dunno, have you ever tried looking at your fucking face in a mirror?»

«I-»

«Look little one, if you don't believe me, just ask someone else. Everyone have noticed»

«But-»

«'s not that i'm scolding you 'cause of your hormones. I'm just explaining myself»

«You…you're not explaining shit!»

«I am»

And he leaves you like this, curled on yourself, insecure and embarrassed. He turn on his heels, sending you a few last words:

«Ask the others 'bout it. The answer will surprise you»

......................................

[queen-scribbles]

Potato Soup & Other Delicacies

First BG3 fic, let's gooo! \o/ ~1k, Tala and Gale talking about food, bc what better way to make friends? ---

"Turmeric? Really?!"

Tala laughed at the disbelieving tone. "That's what I said! But Lila was so insistent" --a small huff as she settled the lean-to frame together-- "I gave it a try, and damned if it wasn't delicious, even as the last thing you'd expect-"

"In a dessert," Gale finished with her, skepticism still plain on his face. He fussed with his own tent a moment longer. "I will admit, the thought wouldn't have occurred to me."

"Something about the way it interacts with the other flavors," she said, lashing the lean-to securely. The weather was pleasant; this would serve for tonight. "The earthiness enhances them, I suppose."

"No, I know how turmeric works," he said, settling his pack in his tent and kneeling to dig through the communal supplies for dinner ingredients. "I'd think it would be overpowering to everything else in a dish as small as a pie."

"I'm not saying chuck in a handful of it, Gale," Tala chuckled. She dipped her head toward the foodstuff he was gathering in silent inquiry if he wanted help, moved to do so when he nodded. "It's a tiny little pinch added to the filling before you even mix in the fruit."

"Next time I've the opportunity to make that particular pie, I'll give it a chance. Always good to be a bit adventurous, ey?"

"Almost always, at least." She glanced over at Wyll and Bottlen, still nursing some bruises from testing that adage earlier, then down at the growing pile of tubers between them. "What are we making for dinner?"

"Potato soup." Gale passed her a knife. "We have an abundance of the hearty fellows, and some are not much longer for the world. So rather than them go to waste, we have soup. Despite lacking some of the herbs I prefer to include, it will still be a filling--hopefully delicious--meal."

"I'm sure, all your cooking's been delicious so far." Tala hefted one of the larger potatoes, though in her hand it looked rather average. "Skin off or on after we wash them?"

"On, of course." He plunged several of the potatoes into the bucket of water someone had left while they were preoccupied discussing desserts. "Adds flavor."

"Oh, I'm of the same mind," she grinned following suit with the rest of the potatoes. "But I know some who peel them so it looks nicer, or they don't care for the texture. I didn't want to get halfway through cutting one up and find it should've been peeled first."

"A valid concern with all the cooking methods out there. Smart to check." Gale piled the clean potatoes on the rock between them. "D'you mind terribly if I work on the base while you cut these?" He swiveled one hand in a gesture at their companions. "We've a lot of mouths to feed, and some are less... patient about it than others."

Tala snickered. Is this where I make a joke about Halsin being a bear when he's hungry? "Not at all. Potato dicing happens to be my specialty."

That startled a laugh from Gale as he rummaged for other ingredients. "Do tell."

"Fastest and best at the orphanage," she said. She dragged over a smaller stewpot and set to work as she talked. "We took turn with the chores; rotating assignments by dormitories. Kitchen duty was always my favorite." Even if it had occasionally meant being pelted with eggshells or potato peels alongside muttered comments about her heritage. "The cook saw me watching him prep dinner and asked if I'd like to help so I could learn. No one else liked all the chopping so they let me have it whenever it was our turn there."

"And a chef was born?" Gale asked dryly, starting the base ingredients at a simmer.

"Hardly," Tala snorted. The potatoes were half-done, pile dwindling under her skilled hands even while she spoke. "I was in my teens before the cook took me as a more permanent helper, seeing as I enjoyed it so much, and even then... cooking for an orphanage and temple is usually simple fare that's easy to make in bulk. Potato soup, venison stew, roast boar on occasion. My travels haven't afforded much chance to learn fancier or more specialized dishes."

It was only sort-of untrue; the couple times she'd tried to get work at a tavern, they'd wanted her as muscle, not cook. She hadn't wanted to mire herself down for that.

Gale was watching her like he heard the part she hadn't explained. (Thanks to the tadpoles, maybe he had. She kept forgetting about the squirmy little buggers.) "Well, lucky for you," he began, giving the soup base a stir as the simmering picked up, "I happen to have a vast repertoire of recipes, and I'm more than happy to impart my wisdom to a willing mind."

"That part I knew," she teased. With the potatoes all cut, she hefted the stewpot. "And I would love to learn any you care to pass along." A pause. "Soon as we have a better selection of ingredients."

"Oh, pish." He stepped back to let her add the potatoes to the main pot. "There's at least four things I can show you with what we have."

"Alright, now I'm intrigued." She set the pot down and wiped her hand on her trousers. "Considering we didn't even have everything for the soup tonight."

"Adding a couple more herbs if I had my druthers is not to say our stocks are severely lacking," He waved away her droll words with a smile. "I'll show you tomorrow. Do you enjoy roast duck?"

"Who doesn't?" Tala rejoined, propping her chin on her palm to watch him with her job done.

"I knew there was a reason I got along with you." Gale's smile widened. "I'll show you how to prepare one that puts Audrine's to shame."

"Never eaten there, so I'll take your word both that it's an impressive feat and that you can do it."

"No?" He cocked his head. "But I thought you said you passed through..."

"Like most... upper-crust establishments, they weren't overly enthused about serving someone like me," she said with a shrug and sardonic--tusky--grin. "By which, of course, I mean a dusty, travel-stained cleric with more enthusiasm than coin."

Gale's brows twitched briefly toward furrowing before he--as she hoped--let it lie. "Well, you won't need to after I confer this knowledge upon you. For now, however, could you fetch some parsley, please?"

"Of course." Tala swiveled to root through pockets for the herb, tone completely innocent as she added, "Would you like some turmeric as well?"

"Very funny," he drawled. "And no, thank you. Just the parsley."

She handed it over and settled back in to resume watching. "What other sorts of things do you know how to make?"

Gale chuckled. "Do you want them alphabetically or categorized by course?"

Oh, that was promising. Tala grinned. "Surprise me."

[thisaccisgone]

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