You know the more I realize that Camellia is just the female version of the unhinged male characters I like, the more I like her. She should be worse actually
I was trying to draw Zeklex, but it doesn't really look like him (or how I pictured him anyway), so I'm debating making this guy into a new oc because like... him pretty. And I don't want to start over.
My laptop is about to die and I don't feel like getting up to find the charger heheh let's see if I get this posted in time (I didn't proofread it oops)
(Eta that I did go back and proofread on my phone uwu)
Ship: Tristo (KC) x Sosiel
Words: 807
CW: None I think!
“I don’t know how to dance.”
“Even if you’ve danced poorly before, there’s always time to learn. They’re going to expect you to dance at the party.”
“I’ve never danced before.”
Sosiel’s eyes widen slightly at that, his gaze rising from his sketchbook to fall squarely on Tristo–for a longer moment than the brief glances he’s been casting his way while drawing him. His smiles slightly, politely, huffing a small laugh.
“You mean you’ve never danced with someone else before?”
“I haven’t danced at all before,” Tristo mumbles, lips drawing themselves into a thin, tight line, brow furrowing. His halo seems to blaze hotter for a moment, before dying back. That little habit scares some people away–not Sosiel.
Sosiel always manages to see past Tristo’s sharp edges. Behind every scowl, every cold glare, every snapped command, Sosiel catches glimpses of someone else–someone who’s had to put up wall after wall to protect himself.
Tristo stares back at Sosiel, not understanding what the other man actually sees in him. He’s softer with him than most–quiet, gentle–but Sosiel still sees how he is. Tristo is a damn good hellknight, and he makes no effort to hide it. He’s spoken at length with Sosiel about his association with the Order of the Gate, even, and as off-putting as he knows it is to the other man, Sosiel puts up with it, with him.
Tristo sits cross-legged on his bed in his chambers in Drezen, correspondence (work) spread out haphazardly on the silk sheets around him, a simple pewter cup of white wine perched precariously on one knee. Sosiel sits across from him, on a chair by his desk, sketching him. He’s made several drawings in the past hour that they’ve been here, discussing the upcoming party that Lady Konomi had very strongly suggested they hold for some visiting Mendevian nobles–a mix of thrill-seeking younger aristocrats and a variety of other nobility who have invested heavily in the crusade. Melies–whose advice Tristo takes more often than Lady Konomi’s–had also implied that it would be beneficial to host the party.
Here. In Drezen. Near the front lines of the assault on the demon-spewing worldwound. When Tristo can't dance.
Regill–one of the few sensible people in the entire keep–had been on Tristo’s side in voicing reservations about it. Eventually it came down to optics, and resources, two things the Crusade is in dire need of.
“You’re clenching your jaw,” Sosiel remarks. “Doesn’t it start to ache?”
He forces himself to relax, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling excruciatingly slowly. His eyes–dimly glowing, fiery in the low light of his bedroom–fall on Sosiel again. Calm Sosiel. Caring Sosiel. Helpful Sosiel.
Tristo drinks the last of his wine, setting the cup aside on his bedside table as he slips out of bed and closes the distance between himself and Sosiel. He stands in front of the cleric, a scarred hand resting gently on his shoulder, tracing his fingers up along his neck, his jaw, cupping his chin to raise his head so that their eyes meet again.
“Show me,” Tristo asks.
Sosiel laughs, blushing, flipping through papers to try to find the first sketch from earlier, but Tristo lowers his hand and pushes the sketchbook down.
“How to dance.”
“What?”
“I need to learn before the ball. I would ask Daeran, but–”
“No, no, I mean…” Sosiel trails off, thinking. “I mean, I can show you, I know how, kind of.”
Tristo wanders past Sosiel, shutting the door to his room quietly, before turning again to see Sosiel setting his sketches down on the desk. Sosiel wipes his hands on his hips slightly, and Tristo realizes that he’s nervous. Tristo grins. He loves eliciting that response in people–usually because it means they fear him, which is the easiest way to make people respect him–but in Sosiel it’s different. Sosiel isn’t afraid of him, he adores him–Tristo likes it like that. He doesn’t want Sosiel to fear him, he has no need to.
“Here, let me just–” Sosiel takes one of Tristo’s hands, and puts another on his waist. “We could try a waltz first?”
Tristo smiles, a warm, genuine little thing, like a flame nearing the end of a wick, and shifts his position slightly, releasing Sosiel’s hand and instead pulling him in closer to him, resting his arms around either of the man’s shoulders.
“Or that works too,” Sosiel says, voice a low, delicate whisper now. He lowers his other hand so both are resting on Tristo’s lower back.
Sosiel starts swaying, slowly, and Tristo’s wine-sweet lips press to his, the aasimar having to tilt his head down slightly to do so. It’s a fleeting little thing, as all moments like this with Tristo are, but Sosiel savors it, brown eyes closing as he leans into Tristo’s embrace.
For Aldis and Ulbrig: playing with their hair while they sleep on your chest :)
This is such a cute prompt heheh <333
Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous
Ships: Aldis (KC) x Ulbrig Olesk
CW: None! Just fluff
Words: 397
Summers in Drezen aren’t more than just ‘warm’ usually. This far north, things are never more than just warm. It’s more temperate than Aldis’s old home, and the fortress at Drezen is at least more comfortable than Frey Darkwine’s castle far to the west in the Land of the Linnorm Kings. Aldis doesn’t miss her old home. She had, for a long time, but days like today make her all but forget it. The window in her bedroom is open, warm summer breeze blowing in sweet, floral air. Clematis and honeysuckle and wisteria climb up the walls and their petals blow in past the gauzy curtains, drifting until they come to rest on her bed.
Ulbrig is with her. They have to travel back and forth–her to attend to matters in Drezen, and him to attend to matters in Gundrun–but today’s one of the calm, slow days where they’re able to relax together.
They’d taken a nap.
It had been a simple thing, an easy thing to do, Aldis lulled to sleep by the warmth of his large body, his arms wrapped around her, her body resting on his. She had been worried so often when their relationship had first begun that she’d accidentally gore him with her horns, but they’d thankfully never even come close to that. More than that, she’d worried that he wouldn’t have liked them, that they’d be a deterrent for the superstitious man.
It hadn’t been an issue. She’d been surprised by his tolerance, not just for her being a tiefling but for her being a witch. Maybe he’d been suspicious before, but those days were long behind them.
She’d awoken to the feeling of his fingers twining lazily in her silver hair, rough fingertips tracing small strokes down her horns as well. She draws in a long, slow breath as she awakens, stretching her legs and slowly shifting to gaze up at him.
His smile–warm and loving and familiar and good–is the best sight to wake up to. Aldis glances over to the open window. It’s not too late in the day yet. She turns, rolling onto her side, cheek pressed up against his muscular chest.
“Five more minutes,” she mumbles drowsily, his ensuing laugh a low rumble beneath her.
“Five more minutes,” he agrees, fingers fining through her long hair as she drifts back off to sleep in his arms.
🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them FOR TRISTO
oh GOD this is gonna kill me, I love Sosiel and I feel like he'd have such beautiful ways of s e e i n g people, so I hope I do this justice ;; <33
"His hair stands out first, ringed in light, bathed in the glow from the halo floating above him, glowing beneath the almost fiery light it gives off. There's a heat to it, some sort of heavenly warmth--I've heard whispers of it being infernal, he himself has said the angel he descends from is fallen, but that feels like it can't be. There's a softness to him. He's strong, but the gentle curves of his body belie a slight give to his flesh. His eyes are striking, twin stars set to burn in a face so easily both stern and kind. I draw those eyes more than any other aspect of him. He looks at me and I melt, from their intensity, from the heat of his body so close to mine, from the feeling of my heart racing in my chest when his hand has cradled my jaw, brushed against my cheek."
Trying to sleep but I'm thinking about the time between pathfinder and starfinder and The Gap and also how I kind of want to make a starfinder oc even though I'm never going to play it and a l s o imagining the WOTR companions but in starfinder times instead of pathfinder times and <333
