#leatherbound!Dusky

[albobeati7]

Being a former Overlord, Dusky always gotta watch out for the haters that got beef with him. Poisoning attempts HAVE been made so he does NOT trust most bartenders.

[hazbmymhotel]

Handsome Dusky below the cut!

I don’t think I’ve drawn a hunk before!

He belongs to @albobeati7

[albobeati7]

BITSY'S FIRST FAN ART

Imma PERISH /pos

BITSYBITSYBITSY byyyyy @albobeati7

so sorry it took so long to get out sobbbsss

[vir-bellanaris]

Tendrils of green mist swirled around the two lone figures framed within ancient broken ruins. The smaller of the two reaching to find purchase amongst the furs the other wore upon his chest.

"I did not wish for you to see what I've been forced to become."

"Forced by whom? Yourself? You have real people here who care for you!"

"Stop. You cannot understand."

Stung, Lavellan drew in her chin. "Evidently neither can you." She continued to grasp his shoulders. She wanted to shake him, rattle his brain around a bit in that damnably hard head of his. "You said yourself I saw more than most. There has to still be some part of the man I fell in love with left."

"Vhenan." The word spoken like second nature still cuts deep. Both of them flinch involuntarily. His hands finally find her arms, holding a moment before firmly pressing them away. "You cannot dissuade me from this course."

"That's not why I'm here." Lavellan refuses to accept his rebuttal, she cups his face instead, trying to embrace him like grasping at smoke. "You call me 'your heart', even now, and yet you try to distance yourself as far from me as possible. Solas..." She tugs his face closer, their eyes seeking the depths of the other. "I refuse to give up on you."

He doesn't offer an answer.

His hands seek her wrists, gripping for a moment as though to push her away yet he stills and rests there, holding her to him. His lips part, wishing to speak, but they both know no words can do justice to the depths of emotion they've both waded through.

She takes in a slow lungful of air, feeling his warm breath mingle with her own. Her thumbs stroke over the sharp angle of his cheekbones, across the freckles smattered on fair skin like stars.

Her eyes fill with tears.

"Don't." His voice breaks on the pleading word, his arms encircling her body, holding her to him as she fights to remain poised.

"You're such an ass."

"I know."

"Why must you push me away only to linger in the periphery of my life?"

Solas presses his forehead against hers, his nose brushing against hers. "You know why." His hands grasp the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. "You are my weakness, my love. The one thing in this world that came close to toppling all my careful plans."

"Solas..."

"I thought I could rend the connection between us as surely as I will the Veil." His next breath is shuddering, his hands flex against her. "I've failed in that as well."

Her hands still cup his face, unable to school her desperation for some glimmer of hope for them. She pulls back enough to study his expression, the dark circles beneath eyes the color of a dusky eve. "I love you."

"I know, vhenan."

"But it isn't enough."

"No. It is not." He takes her hand, the one that bore the anchor, and kisses the palm. "Understand what I must do will never change how I love you."

She grasps his hand like a lifeline, her eyes growing wide with desperation. "Solas, please. Don't leave me."

He presses the leatherbound wolf jaw necklace into the palm he'd just kissed. "I will forever be with you, my heart."

It was always easier for him in the Fade.

[katgoesferal]

"Blue Magic" Leatherbound AU

Been obsessed with Albo's Leather Bound AU Huskerdust- the idea came into mind after listening to "Blue Magic" by Kelly Hogan

"And I will be your volunteer, if you can make this love disappear, like Magic"

A hurt/comfort scene came to mind, Angel taking care of Husk (Dusky) after he had a really bad night at work, Angel helps soothe him in his dressing room and gives him a dance 0#0

I was going to have Angel still have his clothes on- but after drawing his ass- I thought it would be a crime to cover it up

I may add the different lighting/ color variants- I was having a bit too much fun playing around with the everything--

[albobeati7]

OOOUUUGHHH LOVE THIS SMMMMM

Dusky! :3

I honestly looovvveee the "Leatherbound Lovers" AU and @albobeati7's Dusky!

I almost waited too long to draw this and idk why-

(Potentially offering hugs, or something else. Only one way to find out-)

[froststrix-fr-blog]

༻ into the wood ༺

@glowing-globe-fr @almaren-fr

Its fashion choices give off the air of someone who was once finely dressed, but has not had new clothes in a score of moons. A button-down shirt of white linen, dust-stained and untucked. Riding breeches, and bare blistered feet below them heavy with marsh mud. Anklets of wet red poppies, and delicate birds’ skulls strung on cord and tied around its sharp-edged wrists. A plague doctor’s mask covers its face, but its dark hair is twined with delicate strands of gold.

In the dusky light of the evening, it sits in the rushes down by the riverbank, watches the water roiling. It pushes up its death-crow mask just enough take bites of a green apple, juice running down its chin as it opens a leatherbound notebook and goes over its newest notes. The parchment is dark with closely packed notes and quick sketches slipped into the narrow margins. A good day’s work, thinks the Fain, and takes another bite of apple. It spits the arsenic seeds into the dark mud at the water’s edge.

The wind stirs the rushes, bearing with it a faint taste of salt. Behind it, in the distance, dark-needled lodgepole pines rise stark against the purple sky. In front, the rising moon turns the Sea to silver. After a few minutes, the Fain drops the apple core and rises to its feet, closing the notebook and slipping it into its bag. It smiles with a row of arrowhead teeth before drawing down the mask over its mouth and walking away, toward the long shadows of the trees.

In the valleys of the pine forest hides an old, malevolent force. The Fain knows this, but has not been able to make its way deep enough into the Wood to discover the source. Every time it draws near, the path twists beneath its feet, bearing it back into the moonlit shallows and away from the endless midnight down in the understory.

At the beginning of the winter, when the moon was only a low-hanging sliver in the western sky, two girls from the Wispwillow Grove wandered into the dark and were swallowed up. In the spring, when the snow melted and starlight water ran down into the lowlands, the girls returned tall and strange. Darkness festering in their eyes and hollow ribcages wound with blackthorn roses, roots tangled up in the softness of their bellies and dry lips heavy with the taste of wine-red pomegranate, they died soon after.

The Fain was called too late, and did not have the chance to speak with them. It is journeying now through the wood, to their clan. The chances of a true lead are slim, but the Fain is used to playing with chances as slender as a strand of spider’s web.

A night-blooming vine bathes in a shaft of moonlight spilling down through the canopy, blossoms stretching their silver throats into the dusky air. For a moment, the Fain halts and gazes at the flowers, white moths dancing pale as ghosts around it. One of the moths alights on its hand, and it extends its fingers and marvels at the delicate dusting of white scales that cover the insect’s wings like frost.

The moth touches the tip of an antenna to the pad of the finger it rests on, and then flutters away into the darkness. For a moment longer, the Fain drinks in the light, turning its blind mask up into the pale glow of the moon as though it were a blossom itself- and then it shifts its gaze to the forest, the sweet perfume of flowers still lingering in its dark hair as it fades into the shadows.

[salt-moon]

A Glimpse...

(At the suggestion of a friend, the transcript of Char’s poetry reading from The Gin Mill last week.  Not my poem, by the by.  It’s titled Threnody In Three Courses, and was written by Sonya Vatomsky.  This poem rings of Charlemont through and through, and I posted it ages ago here.)

The tall, broad Duskwight stepped onto the stage quietly, not only in his steps, but in his demeanor as well.  His dusky, navy blue hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, though despite the tension a lock still escaped here and there.  In his hand was held a small, soft, leatherbound booklet.  His thumb was tucked neatly inside the pages, and before ever looking at the crowd gathered, he bowed his head and opened the book.

A moment of silence passed, as if he were waiting for the din in the room to cease.  He waited for no voices, no coughing or clearing of throats, no shifting of chairs against the wooden floors.  And when the lack of noise eased into place, Charlemont lifted his head and bared his piercing golden eyes to the room.  While they brimmed with intensity, his countenance otherwise remained calm.

“The guests are clockwise around the table,” he began.  There was an odd quality to his voice, a warm depth, yes, but an all together disquieting cadence.  His timbre held a bit of a melody, a bit of otherworldliness, and when he spoke those eyes slowly held the gaze of one person after another.

“Mother… father… allthreebrothers,awitch,herlover…”  Char took his time with the first two words, letting them wrap around his tongue before dropping them into the air.  But the rest of the sentence was rushed, jammed all together, sounds flicking like a switch through his teeth.  He inhaled slowly and those golden eyes narrowed then, a corner of his lips tugging upward just a touch.  Just a touch.

“Multiple fat housecats…”   His tongue peeked out from between his lips, moistening them in the blink of an eye.  The next words were simple.  “And then me.”  He paused, and the barely there smirk was gone.  “Arriving late.” 

“Black wool,” he swore, punctuating each word with an almost threatening, knowing staccato, “soaked to the bone… and hair slick against my forehead like sand from the receding tide.”  Charlemont took a step to the side, beginning to pace, or perhaps prowl.  His eyes still flickered from person to person, still keen and cutting.  Absently, he placed the book on a nearby stool.

“Whenever we toast a death I raise my glass expectantly; the housecats have better manners, and they know how to be loved like I don’t.”  He shook his head then and held up one hand to the crowd, insisting and denying as he wandered the stage and his words began to roll downhill with a gentle, ranting cadence.

“It’s better when the sun sinks down, smoke snaking through my room like a priest’s incense as I tend to plants… to fingernails…”  Charlemont slowed and then stopped, closing his eyes and pulling his hand down into a fist by his heart.

“…keeping everything constrained in a corset laced by ritual,”  He frowned faintly and his brow furrowed.  That same hand lifted again and opened as he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.  He continued when the back of his fingers touched his own cheek.

“…and pulled taut with the gravity of tradition, moving me soft across the board like a footless ghost.”  And as he spoke his voice softened, quietened.  His speed slowed once more, and he let a silence hang in the air again.

He took a step forward, his eyes still closed.  “Forward,” he breathed, and then he took another step.  “Forward,” he breathed again.  This time though, he stopped and pulled his hand away from his face, shaking his head.  “Wait.  I could never play chess; I can only defend.”

“Fortify walls and spill salt on the perimeter,” he continued.  Char stood in the center of the stage again and long fingers swept over the wood of the stool he’d left his notebook on without so much as a sideways glance.  “Expect the worst and then what?”  His own response to the question was a dark, amused smirk.

He curled his hand into a fist and knocked slowly, three times,  as he spoke these words of power.  His power.  “It knocks three times or creeps in through the window like a secret lover…” he announced, his voice morphing back into that varied lull; and as if to punctuate his next words he licked his lips.  “…lips to your brow.”

“Roll the demon over and sit on his chest till the breath sputters out - a priest’s incense finding gods in the ceiling cracks.”  Charlemont’s eyes swept over the crowd with a pointed assertion; falcon-like and unforgiving.  His next words were gentler, winding downward.

“The moon is a dish of cream in the ink-black sky I dye my clothes with,” he recited slowly, and his hand captured his book off the nearby stool as his posture straightened.  “When I toast this death I clink my glass and no admonishment comes.”

One final time, eyelids closed and opened again with a certain deliberateness.  His voice was as grave and chilly as the Coerthan earth.  “I arrived late.”  The silence that then hung in the air breathed ominous with unknown potential.  “You will not arrive at all.”  Charlemont held onto the silence for a moment before taking a graceful step back and exiting the stage.

[albobeati7]

Had a dream that someone on Tumblr sent me an ask about what if Dusky ran an orphanage actually.

While disappointed upon waking that the ask was a figment of my imagination, I think it would be a funny crack AU if he DID have one.

Full of Hazbin Fankids.

[albobeati7]

THE BARK I BARK, THE HOWL I HOWLED, THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT!!

MYYYYMMMMMM!! AHH!

Wuv u 🥺🥺

Suggestive below the cut!

Dusky belongs to @albobeati7

Love you, Bestie!!!

[albobeati7]

Dusky can't stand Travis for a LOT of reasons. One of said reason is his CRAPPY SCRIPT writing. They will be work shopping this sucker for hours because Dusky ain't about sub par

Hehe, old man specs

More things from my Huskerdust AU, Leatherbound Lovers! Where Husk is the Porn star and Angel is the Bartender UuU

[albobeati7]

F O AMING AT THE MOUTH

H I m

Handsome Dusky below the cut!

I don’t think I’ve drawn a hunk before!

He belongs to @albobeati7