fealty
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fealty

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doffing armour (OCs)
Donnick (my OC)
🎄
💕 For whoever you are feeling for this prompt!
drawing was easier for this idea 💕

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don n jacob drunk kissy 💙 ehehehehehe
Drunk kissy 🫵
(for context this setting is like like robin hood and maid marian if robin was an outlawed half-elf practitioner of magic and marian was a 6ft 4 armoured knight named Jacob)
"Wait until I tell them," Donnick titters into his cup. He knows the most comfortable thing in the world, sitting beside the charcoal kiln in the mild autumn air, would be to close his eyes and lie back on the soft leaf litter. But tears are crowding his eyes and when he looks over at the hunched man next to him, the urge to laugh just gets worse.
"There.." A rumble starts in his throat and Donnick tries desperately not to burp. "There's the Duke of Isern about to pass out in the woods."
The duke in question drags a broad hand over his face at a pace that could only generously be called sluggish. Donnick puts his cup down on the ground- fails to notice that it swiftly topples over- and reaches to pat Jacob firmly on the back.
❤️ Jacob and Don!!! To celebrate the return of the kings 💕
Realisation ❤️
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"So what do you say, my Lord Duke?"
Karo's voice wends its way through the music, the crowds and laughter and stamping feet, to reach his side. The half-elf thumps down onto the bench a moment later and Jacob moves swiftly to stop his cup from tumbling to the ground. There's colour on Karo's cheeks the same deep red as the punch they're all swigging like it'll never run dry.
There's no time to chide Karo for the formal address- the elf doesn't give chance. It used to be a slight but now he flings it at Jacob like a pat on the back.
"As fine a midwinter party as you've ever suffered through, isn't it?"
When Jacob doesn't turn to follow his happy gaze across the room, Karo leans in close. There's no formality observed as he chuckles next to the duke's shoulder. "Better than a night stuck in a hall with half a dozen hearths. It was surely awful trapped up there at a high table with no one telling you the look on your face is turning the wine sour."
Jacob's lips curl at the corner as he takes a sip of that wine. It's far from sour. He knows Karo spent the better part of the day mulling it over a fire with spices he'd been collecting all year. He knows it because Karo made sure to educate him after he simply said, it smells alright.
"Isenholm doesn't have six hearths in its hall," Jacob retorts weakly. He turns his head a little. "Only five."
getting more used to a procreate pencil brush. It's not bad