#radegast

[sylenth-l]

We will gather those you trust. We will not wait for this to force our hand.

[felmire-echo]

Radegast x Saladin

Because my fiance is a simp and in rair pair hell and sad one of our favorite authors closed the request box. Merry Christmas, @princessehistoire 💜

The Peak was quiet, for once, though that quiet would inevitably end when patroles return, and even more likely with Radegast chewing Lord Felwinter out for breaking the decree.

Again.

But for now, there was peace.

Radegast finds Saladin sitting on one of the couches by the dying fire, a wolf in his lap. "Room for one more?" The deep rumble of his voice causes the smaller man to look up in surprise.

"Oh, 'Gast, I didn't hear you come in." Saladin shifts to the side, earning a disgruntled whuff from the wolf as he makes room for Radegast. He pets the beast comfortingly. "Hush, you're alright." It makes Radegast chuckle.

"Lord Felwinter spoils those wolves." He remarks, settling down and poking the fire back to life. "We've come a long way, together."

There's silence from Saladin for a moment, hands absent absently running through wolf fur. "We have." He says, finally, voice softer than one would expect from him. "Our work isn't done, yet, though. There's more who need our help."

"And we'll do it together." Radegast says, taking one of Saladin's hands and kissing it as he leans against him. "As we always have."

"Yes." Saladin agrees, settling against the man he trusts more than anything else in this world. "Together."

[beeroucek]

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[hop-and-malt]

[aki-o-mitovski-writer]

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[ohsosims]

I have had so many asks about my Pedro sim and I’m so glad you all love him and would like him in your game, because I’m unlikely to become active for a while I will no longer be answering anymore asks about it, because you can all download him on the most recent reblogged post! 

please enjoy him in you game, if you post him I would love to see what he gets up too! 

I love and miss you all! Thank you for the continued love!! 💕💕💕💕💕

@notoday-satan @vickylynchdee @giixo @dreamximpossiblexthings @julicassano @vromsie @heyyyy-yy @sabine-r @uqbvs @bucky-barnes-ended-me @radegasts 

[ailathemoodentity]

Scrunkly = muchláček

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

ahoj, autor Moravian-Silesian Gothic příspěvku, v tomhle případě se jedná o tzv. Regional Gothic meme (odkaz na Know Your Meme), ve zkratce jsou to příspěvky na tumblr kde jsou v bodech popsány různé strašidelné zvláštnosti specifické oblasti. Původně byly hlavně americké ale rozšířilo se to dál.

ale souhlasím že by bylo hrozně super mít příběhy točící se okolo nějakého fajného západoslovanského hororu

pred pár mesiacmi som na čumbleri videla poletovať posty o Moravsko-Sleskej gotike, zoznamy divných vecí v rôznych krajských mestách (ako ex-Brňák si primárne pamätám ten o Brne) a zaujimalo by ma či je to len ďalšia internetová estetika alebo viete o niečom v tomto žánri - knihy, komixy, filmy.... táto naaša "západoslovanská gotika" má skvelý potenciál na indie projekty

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

nezáleží jestli pijete nebo který druh alkoholu máte radši, a týká se to vyloženě takových těch chlastacích, tedy žádní Slavíci (jsou spíš o životě) nebo Bedna od Whisky (zas pro změnu víc o smrti)

[makoredeyes]

20, a kiss on a scar freckle. Gheleon/Colovance

LOOK we're all thinking of these guys as Sylenth draws them, and I'm only complying with your little twist on the prompt despite that sexy little scar she gives Gheleon because I know what you really want is smooches for Colovance. but it was hard dude. It was so, so hard not to turn it around. XD

#20 - a kiss on a scar*

Of course he heard the footsteps, pounding, pattering, echoing through the hall as someone made a frantic dash from point A to point B. No attempt was being made to muffle them, that was for sure. Lord Gheleon reckoned the folks down in the village below the Mountain probably heard them. That was no Hunter running his way, that was for sure. He'd bet at least two of his best knives it was a student though. It was that time of day for group classes, he thought, or just past it, and his older brethren were more dignified. Or at least louder about it if the Temple was getting knocked down around their ears again. Radegast had one hell of a set of lungs on him, and even Felwinter could call out like a clap of thunder when he wanted your attention.

The footsteps were getting closer, so Gheleon stopped and planted himself just before a corner and waited.

Sure enough, moments later, someone came barreling around the bend and, utterly failing to register the presence of someone else standing there at all, crashed right into him with a yelp and a spectacular cascade of books and bags and other paraphernalia Gheleon didn't care to try and identify.

He wasn't a very big guy, but poor Colovance bounced right off of him and fell hard on his ass, showering himself with heavy-looking objects as he went down. Gheleon cringed. How such a skinny kid could even carry that much was beyond him, but it looked like it all hurt. "Whoa! Easy there, Lad!" He crouched down at Colovance's shoulder, helping the groaning Warlock sit up while the redhead was busy rubbing his head with both hands, scrubbing away the pain with rough, frustrated gestures. He murmured his thanks, but somewhat belatedly seemed to focus as he sat up all the way, making eye-contact with Gheleon.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" He leapt to his feet, nearly toppling Gheleon in his rush. "I didn't see you there at all, I'm terribly sorry, I should have been paying more attention I know!" He stooped, scrambling to pick up the books that were scattered everywhere. He was frantic, dropping nearly as many as he scooped back up into his arms. "Do please forgive me Lord Gheleon, I promise to be more cautious next time-" "Yikes, wow, slow down kid," Gheleon waved his hands, fumbling to try and get in there to help the poor trainee. "You're not on fire." "I might as well be, I'm really late!" "You'll be forgiven, surely-" "Be that as it may, it's terribly rude-" "Shush and slow down already!" Gheleon gave him a firm jab in the ribs, making him squeak and drop all his books all over again. Colovance made a pitiful sound of distress, a hot, embarrassed blush coloring his fair features. Gheleon couldn't help but smile as the dense speckling of freckles across the young man's face seemed to stand out all the darker because of it.

"Deep breaths, and let me help ya," he said slowly, bending down and beginning to collect what Colovance had dropped. Colovance sucked in a deep breath and held it. "I said breaths! Plural!" Gheleon laughed, jabbing him again. Colovance gasped, hiccuped, and started to breathe more normally. By then, Gheleon had collected all of his things, and placed them into the student's arms carefully. "Now there," he said soothingly. "No more rushing or you'll get hurt again. You're a clever one, I've seen it, but you have to keep your head on." Colovance's blush deepened, and Gheleon couldn't resist leaning in to lay a playful little smooch right on the bridge of his nose, where the freckles were the most dense. Colovance squeaked and got even redder, his face and hair nearly the same color.

Adorable. "Now come on, I'll escort you to class so you're not scolded," Gheleon said, waving him along. "You were very helpful stopping to give me a hand when ya did, even with class about to start." "I wha- OH." Colovance caught on only a little slowly. "I appreciate that," he said, voice small. He had the books balanced in the crook of one arm so he could scratch at his nose where Gheleon had kissed him. "Really." "Eh, you're a good egg," Gheleon waved him down as they started off. "Y'deserve a break. And I like your boss a bit," he added wryly. Colovance coughed politely. So he'd heard.

[sylenth-l]

[🚧 WIP] "Please, we can't keep going like this. Saladin needs rest. I need rest. You need rest most of all."

[toxictaicho]

Radegast

pencils, marker

Zaraki as slavic pagan god

[beeroucek]

U Zívalů, Praha

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[stoshasaurus]

right. I need to add some fucking context to this.

My current pfp in one of my discord servers is one of my recent drawings of Felwinter. I was talking about my desire to go out and get donuts this morning, particularly a banana Bismarck (basically a banana-flavored Boston cream donut, if you asked me to sum it up) from this local donut shop. I expressed that I enjoy having characters as my pfp because I imagine that they are saying my words, and it made me wonder how Felwinter would feel about donuts for breakfast, and banana bismarcks. I promised that once I had returned from my expedition to acquire said donuts, that I would write a short snippet about Felwinter eating a banana Bismarck.

So, here it is. An extremely silly, probably HIGHLY inaccurate mini-fic about Shaxx bringing Felwinter donuts for breakfast.

Disgustingly sweet (both literally and figuratively) Felshaxx fluff ahead.

Felwinter only finds himself sleeping in when he is visiting Shaxx. The Iron Lord never sleeps at all; he doesn’t need to, and there is always work to be done. He often finds himself quite busy in the evenings, scouring submind data or organizing lessons for his new student, activities that he obsesses over long after dusk, when any ordinary man would retire for the night. But endless work and looming threats be damned, Shaxx has an absurdly comfortable bed, with far too many pillows and a mattress so soft that Felwinter’s frame sinks immediately into it like a stone in a pond. He’d never known he needed a soft bed with a mountain of pillows. It has become one of the millions of little things he looks forward to when it comes to visiting his beloved in the Last Safe City of Humanity

His infrequent holiday stays in the City have been growing in length recently. In the past, he was lucky to have a single evening to himself to spend, a few scant hours spent being shown all of the spectacular things Shaxx detailed to him in his letters. Now, he is allotted more time, sometimes a week or more, once or twice a month. There was never any announcement made; Felwinter highly suspects that Radegast had been pestered into lessening the burdens of his duties by those few nosy Lords who had deciphered his unspoken relationship with Shaxx. Absolute wretches, all of them. He cannot complain.

He sleeps in more frequently now; Shaxx wakes earlier than him, often unable to step away from his post for longer than a few hours. But he never leaves without soft murmurs goodbye and a few kisses pressed to his face. Felspring teases him relentlessly when he finds himself brushing his hand over where Shaxx’s had been. He swats at her before dozing off for the next hour or so, Arc energy buzzing across his frame long after the Warlord has gone, soft flickers of static mimicking well-known, well-loved fingertips.

When he does finally wake up, it is to a still-empty house. If he makes a small noise of disappointment, he will never admit to it. He makes the bed, dresses himself, and opens the windows to let the sun and the air in, admiring the cityscape in the distance. It truly is as marvelous as Shaxx had made it out to be. A place where flowers bloom and birds sing, and Lightless people sleep without guns in their hands. Shaxx had entrusted Felwinter (and Felwinter alone. Oh, isn’t that a precious thought?) with a small, messy manuscript of hand-written poetry. Felwinter had smiled as Shaxx asked for his aid in revising it, hiding his apprehension in his hands as he wrung them, his feet as he shuffled them, his eyes as he averted them from his face. The very same manuscript lay on the kitchen counter, pockmarked with notes and bookmarks, the pages marked with fresh ink in the margins where Felwinter had endlessly praised Shaxx’s prose (in a much more legible script). Where words often failed the Iron Lord, his writing never did. He confessed his love through paragraphs of detailed interpretation and literary analysis. Poetry of his own.

Felwinter is in the process of writing more notes in the manuscript when Shaxx finally returns to the house. Felwinter turns to greet him– there is a tray of twin coffee cups in one hand and a small box cradled in the other, another bag tucked in his elbow.

Shaxx’s Ghost graciously removes the man’s helmet in time for him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Morning,” he rumbles as he deposits his goodies on the counter.

Felwinter absorbs the matching icons printed on the bag and the box. Some kind of bakery, evidently. He shuts the manuscript and sets it aside, taking one of the cups when Shaxx hands it to him. “Good morning,” he replies. “How goes the Crucible?”

“Astoundingly boring. I have no exciting clips to share.” The man sounds almost wounded. Felwinter curses whichever Guardian neglected to throw enough grenades to elicit excitement in the Crucible Handler. “The new Lights tend to try their luck during the summer months. I almost feel bad watching them get decimated by some of our veteran fireteams.”

“One would think the loss would motivate them to try harder.”

Shaxx laughs as he opens the box and examines its contents, out of Felwinter’s line of sight. “It does! That’s the thing about the newly Risen. They haven’t learned what quitting is yet.”

Felwinter does not protest when Shaxx plucks something out of the box and presses it insistently into his hand. It is a soft pastry, glazed with a sweet white frosting and sprinkled with what looks like chunks of cookies. Shaxx grabs an identical item out of the box, but his eyes are on Felwinter rather than the thing in his hand.

The Iron Lord puzzles over it, tilting it carefully so as not to spill the toppings, and stares at Shaxx. “What is this?”

“It’s a donut.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s called a Bismarck. A banana Bismarck, to be exact.” He sounds overly proud of himself as he tilts his chin triumphantly. Felwinter huffs at the display.

Felspring hovers over his shoulder, studying the treat curiously. Felwinter wishes that she had a mouth so she could try it herself. In her stead, he slowly takes a bite, watching Shaxx mirror him with equal trepidation. He cranes his neck over the counter and cups his hand under the Bismarck, making sure no debris falls to the floor. The kitchen is flooded with an oddly pregnant silence as they chew thoughtfully in tandem with one another.

Felwinter signifies the end of his chewing and swallowing with “It’s good.”

“I concur,” Shaxx says. He is still chewing, and the words are muffled as he cleverly keeps his mouth as closed as possible. Crumbs speckle the corners of his lips. “Very sweet.”

“Obscenely,” he remarks. Shaxx barks a laugh.

Felwinter takes another bite. He feels like something, a loose screw, or a damaged cog, clicks back into place. He plucks a cookie off of the top of the thing and pops it into his mouth. It crunches loudly in the metal hollow of his mouth, and the sound drowns out every other thought in his head. Shaxx chuckles at him again, looking very strangely infatuated, and Felwinter cannot stop the lights that dot his chest and his neck from flickering in diffidence.

When his mouth dries up from consuming the pastry, Felwinter reaches for the coffee. It is strong, straight black just the way he likes it, and pleasantly hot rather than scalding. He drinks deeply and feels his plates thaw from the warmth of it, his mouth, his throat, his chest, and his stomach, each system absorbing it individually. The bitterness is a perfect complement to the sweetness of the Bismarck. Shaxx watches him overtly, an earnest tenderness visible in his eyes, unhurried anticipation visible in his open posture. Silently, he seeks appraisal.

“It’s very good,” Felwinter murmurs. All of the words he knows feel inadequate to describe his feelings, so he resorts to simplicity instead. “Thank you.”

Shaxx physically sags against the counter with what Felwinter assumes is relief. An uncharacteristically bashful grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

The Exo’s eyes sparkle with his version of a coy smile. “Do I not strike you as the type to enjoy banana-flavored sweets, Lord Shaxx?”

“No, Fel. Not at all.”

As if to prove him wrong, he takes another bite of the Bismarck. It is so sickeningly sweet that he is afraid it will somehow rot his metal mouth.

——

Playing Nice has ruined my fucking life. I’m so sorry.