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sayoneee · 1 year ago

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☆ CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

“i want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, not because he owns me, but because he really knows me” - taylor swift (1.6k)

contains: luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader. secret relationship: the three times u guys were almost caught and the one time u were. pre-tlt.

kashaf’s note: working on requests as well so dw!! again. i just like this 1 lyric from this song <;/3

MORNINGS AT CAMP half-blood were both weird and normal — at a summer camp for kids with godlike abilities, you’d think that maybe they’d be cut some slack from all the monsters they’ve had to evade and maybe be allowed to sleep in some days, but no, life at camp half-blood was a regular survival of the fittest regime.

or: eat, or be eaten, as you liked to remind your cabin.

maybe that was why you were notorious among ares cabin, but to the rest of camp half-blood you simply embodied an other-worldly discipline, more of a tactician than anything, when compared to the rest of your half-siblings.

“hey,” clarisse says in an undertone, nudging you as you take your designated seat beside her, “where were you last night?”

your hand stilled as you picked up your goblet, shrugging your shoulders as the once-boisterous table came to a stand-still, eager to discover their shrewd head counselor’s indiscretions, hoping for something to loosen your high esteem for them: everyone remembered the time the entire cabin was put on cleaning detail for an entire month to repent for the mistakes of one.

your penchant for collective punishment wasn’t at all well-received among your half-siblings, but well, no one had really challenged you on your position yet, so.

“in bed,” you said, slowly, taking a sip, “why?”

clarisse shrugged, spearing a carrot from your plate, masking her annoyance with you — out of all of your half-siblings, camp half-blood, even, no one could boast of a relationship as close as yours and clarisse’s, yet no one could be more opposite. clarisse was chaotic, you were contained; clarisse was ruthless, you were just.

“i dunno, i just saw two people on the roof of hermes cabin.”

“and?” you drawled, ignoring the blood rushing in your ears, as the rest of your cabin looked on gleefully.

“one of them was castellan,” clarisse paused, searching your face for a reaction — you were grateful for all the nights spent in hermes cabin, because if not for the stolls persuading you to play poker with them almost every time, your expression would’ve never survived under clarisse’s scrutiny.

“the other one,” clarisse pauses as if thoughtful for once, then pointedly stares, pointing her fork at you, “looked like you.”

the other cabins are also looking in your direction as the dining pavilion is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop, before the table finally registers clarisse’s words, resulting in so much whooping and jeering, you’d think ares cabin won the lottery.

you snag a bite of clarisse’s pancakes, each word punctuated by a bite, “what would i be doing with castellan?” you pause, feeling the table pause with you. wrinkling your nose, you continued, “i swear, next you’re gonna say you saw us making out during capture the flag.”

you grinned as the table erupted into laughter once more, this time by your design. while everyone else went back to their original conversations, you’re summoning the memories of last night.

how luke had wrapped his arm around your shoulders and attempted to woo you with myths about the stars, how you had laughed and called him corny. how the moonlight had illuminated his face in the moment, when he laughed back, drawing you in closer, with his usual snarky response of, “you love it though.”

clarisse snapped her fingers in front of your face, bringing you out of your reverie. she frowned, whispering, “you’d tell me though, if that was you, right?”

“yeah,” you nodded, trying not to feel guilty about lying — clarisse deserved the truth. but it went against your agreement with luke. you tried not to think about how you’re essentially picking a boy over your sister.

like all things camp half-blood, if not careful, could result in death — like capture the flag, but did that stop you, or anyone else for that matter, in taking it upon yourself to make winning a matter of life or death.

this week, you orchestrated an alliance with hermes cabin, because of their numbers and ability to launch unforeseen tactics, and hephaestus cabin, for their resourcefulness. it also didn’t hurt that the head counselors were your boyfriend and his friend, respectively.

you’re standing by zeus’ fist, discussing strategy with luke and charlie, while your respective cabins go off doing whatever it is to prepare, when luke’s sloppily-tied breastplate catches your attention.

before you’re fully aware of what you’re doing, you’ve already reached forward to grab it, while charlie stares at you like you’ve been cursed by athena and turned into medusa.

“so,” charlie says, slowly, “anything you guys wanna tell me?”

luke is silent, watching you work, while you’re too busy focused on fixing the breastplate to notice the knowing expression on charlie’s face, one you would’ve been irritated by if you had.

“nothing,” you say, nonchalantly, whirling back around to face charlie when you’re finished, while luke gets swarmed by the stolls, “these things just bother me.”

“in general, or luke specifically?” charlie grins, that annoying, all-knowing look is back, and although reluctantly, you can see what it is about him that has silena beauregard so hung over.

“in general,” you say as if it were obvious, as if you’re trying to convince a child that storks are the ones to deliver babies, and no, you’re not lying, (both statements hold the same level of ridiculousness), “it’s the adhd — makes it distracting.”

“uh huh,” he says skeptically, “i’ll take your word for it.”

you resist the urge to shake him and question him more, but before you can toughen up and just ask, “what do you mean?” he’s already turned away, and capture the flag is about to begin.

“what’s that?” annabeth points at the tiny “L” on your necklace as it swings to and fro, finally set loose from the captivity of your neon orange camp half-blood tee, hidden under your armor.

“what?” you glance down, dropping the sword in your hand to hastily tuck it away, all the while cursing both yourself and luke for being stupidly sentimental. (it was his idea after all, though, you’re not sure how or where he got the necklace from, but you didn’t really care if it was stolen — you wouldn’t put it past him, especially since he was a son of hermes.)

“was that for luke? are you dating him?” annabeth persists, eyes widening with question after question — nothing can satiate the curiosity of athena kids, especially not annabeth, not when luke castellan, her brother, is in the equation.

“no,” you say, trying to catch your breath from the sword technique you had just shown her, and the gaggle of younger campers who have now caught on, looking at you eagerly.

“no to what? no to the initial on your necklace being for luke, or no to you dating him?” another camper chimes in with a bright grin, probably a child of apollo, and you’re so close to shooting yourself on the spot.

“no to all of the above,” you grit out, really regretting being nice for one of the few times in your life, because no one had asked you, in particular, to demonstrate sword-fighting to these kids, luke could’ve done it, but where your boyfriend was concerned, you were too.

“then, how come you have an “L” necklace?” annabeth asks again.

“it’s my mom’s,” you lie, “i’m a year-rounder, so it reminds me of her — before all this,” you waved in the general direction of camp half-blood.

the campers ohh’ed in unison, but you knew annabeth wasn’t convinced.

you sighed, it could’ve been worse.

+4.

you’re not sure when or where the whispers that your boyfriend had returned originated, but after what seemed like eons of not seeing him, you couldn’t find it in yourself to verify the rumors before dropping your sword in the middle of training and sprinting toward half-blood hill to see him for yourself.

you ignore the calls of your name from your half-siblings, as you were kind of in the middle of demonstrating a technique, instead choosing to focus on more important things, like if your boyfriend was even alive.

when you finally do make it to half-blood hill, and catch sight of your boyfriend, with chris and charlie in tow, you don’t stop sprinting, uncaring for all of the whispers from the other campers as they look on.

when you finally do come in contact with luke, you nearly tackle him into the ground, as he drops his backpack behind the two of you, arms coming to wrap around you to secure you, as you mumbled, “i missed you, asshole,” into the crook of his neck.

luke laughed, the sound reverberating against your skin, and you get off him, taking a step back. he starts to say something, “i —” but is cut off by you grabbing his wrist, and tugging him over your shoulder, his back slamming into the dirt ground. distantly, you can hear the rest of campers gasp, before buzzing with excitement. ignoring them all, you put your knee on his chest, bringing your forearm under his neck.

“i swear to everyone, if you disappear like that again—” you begin, as luke cuts you off.

“i won’t,” he promises, grinning as you pull him up. luke slings an arm around your shoulder, and you finally notice the jagged scar running down his cheek.

he catches your gaze and stares at the ground instead, avoiding you.

“you look kinda hot now with the scar,” you settle for, you know you’ll get the chance to properly speak about it later, but for now, this’ll have to do.

a light pink dusts his cheeks, and luke, looking up at the campers gathered behind chiron, then glances back at you, smirking, “looks like you gave them quite a show.”

you glared at him, shoving him, “i’m going to kill you.”

luke shrugged, wrapping the arm around you tighter, “the damage’s done, now i’ll finally be able to hang out with my girl in peace.”

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thisfeelslike-iykyk · 4 months ago

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diary of a leo valdez ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

leo valdez x female!reader backtrack: "pretty u", seventeen inspiration: my desire to have someone love me like this 🥺

day one: the introduction

today I saw the most perfect girl!

okay, I know I say that every time I see a girl, but I think this time is for real. she’s perfect--beautiful and completely out of my league, like usual. I was just walking around camp when she walked by. it was like the actual grass parted to make way for her. she had a golden aura and flower petals were flying around her, illuminating her beauty. I wanted to ask for her number, but then I remembered that demigods aren’t supposed to have phones.

percy noticed me staring at her, I guess. he said something about me taking my shot, that she was single and I might as well try. I don’t know if he was joking or not, but I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I saw her this afternoon. at dinner my fork missed my mouth because I was watching her laugh with her friends. I was sitting on the other side of the pavilion, but I still heard her laugh. it was like twinkling bells.

I asked percy for her name: [name]. the word sounds like magic on my tongue. I’ve gotta talk to her soon. maybe she can drop something and I’ll pick it up for her and she’ll fall in love with me. maybe she’ll trip and I’ll dramatically catch her before she falls. I’ll say something nice--maybe “hey angel, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”--and we’ll fall in love.

okay, I’m getting ahead of myself. the first step to making [name] love me? I’d have to talk to her first.

day two: the failed meeting

leave it to percy to mess up what could’ve been a fairytale romance.

it was better than I could’ve imagined: we were at the arts and crafts station during afternoon free time. I sat as close to [name] as I could, which wasn’t really close because she was sitting with her friends and siblings. a gust of wind blew by--aeolus must’ve liked me today--and a bunch of feathers that [name]’s group was using blew off the table. I jumped out of my seat to pick up a stray feather that had blown to my side of the table. then I tripped over percy’s outstretched foot right in front of everyone.

he swore it wasn’t on purpose. maybe it really wasn’t--percy’s not that big of a jerk--but I was still mad. that was the perfect opportunity to get [name] to notice me. now it’s gone.

day seven: the beginning of something magical

[name] talked to me today!

she didn’t say much--just “excuse me”, because I was blocking her way to the bathroom. but she looked at me! and she smiled a little when she said it!

percy made fun of me relentlessly after that. apparently I had a “dopey smile” on my face. I didn’t even care that he was laughing at me.

this is a new development. she’s finally noticed me.

day twenty: the realization

I think this is serious.

usually after I see a pretty girl, I think about her for a few hours. maybe even a few days if she’s really hot. but now it’s been almost three weeks since I first saw [name], and I still can’t stop thinking about her. she’s talked to me a couple times now, but she still hasn’t paid much attention to me outside of these two-second conversations. she knows my name now--I made sure to tell her--and I’ve made her laugh a few times though, so that’s progress.

I caught myself tapping out her name in morse code today. I do it a lot now, almost as much as I tinker around with my bolts.

day twenty-five: the first big move

I can’t take it anymore.

she’s always on my mind. I can’t think straight when I’m around her. I get this huge smile on my face whenever I think of her. percy’s stopped teasing me; I think he might actually be kind of concerned.

I wrote her a love letter. cheesy, I know, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was originally planning on just going up to her all confident and smoothly ask her out. but when I opened my mouth to hit her with one of my deadly pickup lines, nothing came out. I got more jumpy than usual, and my chest was all warm and fluttery. I was looking at her--gods, her eyes are so pretty--but then it got really hard to keep looking at her, so I looked away. I was painfully aware of myself tinkering with little bolts. she was looking at me with this little smile on her face, as if waiting for me to say something--I had stopped her to talk to her in the first place--but I couldn’t think of what to say. I said something real smart, like “are you the square root of negative one, because you can’t be real.” she looked at me, kinda confused, and I awkwardly slunk away. I’m used to rejection, but this was so much worse.

then I remembered that we’re demigods. [name] probably hadn’t progressed in school to the point where she learned about radicals.

so now here I am with this stupid love letter. I included a little apology for the confusing pickup line. I don’t know how I’ll give it to her. maybe I actually won’t. yeah, that’s probably for the best. this letter is the most serious, most straightforward I’ve been in the last millennia. even though I’m sure by now that she’s a literal angel and probably won’t laugh at me, I don’t want to take any chances. I know what I want to say to her, now it’s just a matter of how I’ll tell her.

day twenty-six: the betrayal (and the win)

I don’t know what in hades’s underpants happened. but [name] got ahold of the letter.

it was percy. it had to have been percy. percy was the only one who knew about my crush.

well, okay, maybe not the only one--apparently everyone in camp knew, even though I hid it really well-- but he’s the only one who’s ever talked to me about it. it had to have been him, there’s no other option.

I’ll have to get him back. but that’ll wait. because [name]--drumroll, please!

she stopped me before breakfast today and asked to talk somewhere in private. I said I’d follow her to the bottom of tartarus. she laughed and led me to the pegasi stables--kind of an odd place, but definitely private.

she was holding the letter in her hands. she said she was really flattered, that my gesture was “really sweet” and nobody had ever done something like this for her. most importantly, she said she liked me too.

now, even though I can be pretty good at talking to girls, I actually don’t have much experience in a relationship--shocking, I know. I’ve had a lot of potential girlfriends before, but nothing’s ever been this serious or gotten this far.

in that moment, I said what might have been the smartest or the dumbest thing in my life: “so are we official now, or do you want me to yell it out to the whole camp?”

she laughed. and next thing I knew, her lips were on my cheek. she pulled away--my face felt hot, and I took a few seconds to make sure I wasn’t actually on fire--and grinned at me. her face was pink too, and she didn’t have makeup on, but she was just about the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“you’re a dork, leo,” she said. “but you don’t have to tell everyone. I’m pretty sure they already know anyway.”

no idea how that could’ve happened. but it seems like I owe percy jackson a thank you now.

divider by @cafekitsune

taglist: @loveinalocket

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hopefulceladon · 5 months ago

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a battered light (can only burn so bright) | sunday x reader

summary: it truly was only a matter of time before he burnt himself out, wasn't it? pairing: sunday x reader word count: 4.5k (help me) notes: the self-indulgent brain worms influenced me i am so sorry. you give sunday a wing massage and he clearly has Mixed Feelings about it all. is he yearning? is he just stubborn? the world may never know.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A blanket of starlight had wrapped itself around the Dewlight Pavilion, the ethereal glow illuminated ever brighter by the governing moon.

On such peaceful nights like this, solace for the fatigued was all too simple to acquire for those who sought it, yet even still, there remained those who did not yet allow themselves the luxury of rest whenever daylight grew dim.

It was just such a terrible pity that the Head of the Oak Family was one of them—a conclusion strengthened by the restless, focused, and very much still awake Halovian displayed before you.

“Mr. Sunday,” you called for him as you balanced a silver tray in your arms, hoping to garner his attention.

Your hopes were soon drowned out by the clatter of footsteps as they treaded to-and-fro against wooden floorboards, a pace that hardly ever changed in stride and never once dared to cease.

The sight laid before your eyes was a troubling one; Sunday was in the midst of sizing up his miniscule-scale model of the Golden Hour, his weary eyes roaming over the elaborate diorama as he muttered words that fell upon your ears like muddled verses of a foreign poem.

It was also a sight that you, unfortunately, were growing all too familiar with.

When the two birds of a feather had been reunited by the scarred hands of dormancy days prior, you quite naturally—and quite foolishly—had believed they had snatched away the tension that rested upon Sunday's shoulders in exchange.

It hadn't.

The scattered plumes of both deep purple and white, the likes of which were now haphazardly skirting themselves beneath the premises of the table Sunday paced around, had already given that away, after all.

Wordlessly, you avoided trampling any of the fallen feathers by the grace of your careful footing, and you settled the tray that carried both a cup of tea and a small plate of freshly cut strawberries—Robin had let it slip that he was fond of them once before—upon his desk in the room above, before descending the stairs and continuing to observe the madness before you.

Once you decided you could no longer bear the burden of playing a helpless bystander for much longer, you took a step forward and gently tapped Sunday upon his shoulder.

Sunday's feathers bristled in reaction to the abrupt touch, but his gaze softened once he turned around to face the source.

“Ah, do forgive me, please,” he began with a cordial, apologetic smile, his eyes tearing away from the model to glance at the tray. “I must've forgotten about this evening's tea.”

“If it clears your conscience any, I nearly forgot to start brewing it.” you admitted.

“Is that so?” Sunday hummed in response, nearly bewildered by your confession. “Hm, perhaps I should allow for a bit more leniency in the schedule...”

You frowned at the self-deprecating chuckle that left his lips, but you resisted making a remark. Without a further word spoken, you sat down in the chair that he had graciously pulled out for you, planted right next to his desk.

Peeking over at the files he was so adamantly focused upon, a small smile graced your lips at the underlined and emboldened heading, proudly declaring the parchment's title of ’Charmony Festival Preparations’.

“I can see why your memory slipped,” you mused, hoping to stave off any suffocating silence. “It’s an exciting thing to be in charge of something so memorable, isn’t it?”

Sunday tensed, a flicker of something unreadable dimming the usual poised gleam of his golden eyes.

“It... most certainly will be a festival one shall never forget.” Sunday finally replied.

You decided against inquiring as to why his wings had betrayed him, a subtle twitch disrupting their perfectly mundane flutter.

You also decided against dwelling upon the pitiful sight of gaps between his feathers.

As Sunday picked up his pen to scribble something upon the documents, a frown crossed your lips as you noted the way his eyes, with their appearance already marred by the evidence of lack of proper rest, had their corners crinkled from overexertion.

The remnants of a dying flame lingered upon the nearby candelabra’s wick, before extinguishing itself with a forlorn puff of smoke. As the light diminished further within the room, Sunday’s eyes squinted.

With a frown creasing your lips, you finally decided to speak up.

“Sir, if you’d like, I could relight the candle?”

Sunday paused to look up at you, shaking his head in light of your concern. “You really needn’t go through the trouble.” As your unwavering gaze met his, the visible extent of your worry piercing through his obstinate resolve, Sunday promptly faltered. “...but, of course, if you’re so insistent, I won't stop you.”

You nodded before getting up to scour his office for a matchstick, acquiring one with relative ease. As you struck the match against the igniter, you waited for the head to mingle with the worn-down wick with a steady hand.

Your focus soon fell upon Sunday’s weary countenance.

He was much akin to his candle, you reckoned—meant to burn bright for all to see, yet the burdens of his extensive obligations had weighed his benevolent, ever-giving wick down to a charred stub; whenever he had wavered, so, too, did his light.

And, much like a moth enraptured by a kindled flame, you, like most any other Dreamscape denizen, had clung to the luster he meticulously weaved from the luminance of his candle. Nonetheless, his elevated status hadn’t hidden that he was as helplessly human as those he served, and that even he, too, needed a lamppost to sturdy himself upon.

You wondered if he ever allowed himself to acknowledge such logic.

Once the match finally ignited the wick, you silenced your internal musing with a sigh, snuffing the lingering embers upon the wooden stick with a flick of your wrist.

As you set the candelabra back down onto his desk, it was then that you noted the still untouched cup of tea.

“Your tea must be getting cold by now...”

Sunday’s attention drifted away from his paperwork, and he glanced over at the cup. “Ah, right...” he hummed in acknowledgment, studying it carefully. “It’s chamomile, I presume?”

“As evident by the pigment, yes.”

“And the bitter leaves have been amplified by a squeezed lemon, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Thoroughly stirred, though not too harshly?”

“Only the gentlest of stirrings for you, sir.”

“That’s my wonderful assistant,” Sunday mused with a tired smile, lifting the drink up to his lips and taking a small sip from it, before setting it back down. “Life is quite more convenient when everything is coordinated as it should be, isn’t it?”

You nodded at his observation, all too familiar with the principles he's uttered before in the past. “It does have its perks.”

Sunday stirred the spoon in his cup around in slow circles, his expression growing unreadable.

“So, it truly is a shame whenever something disrupts how things ought to be...”

“You’ve... mentioned that before, yes.” you replied, hesitantly clinging onto his every word.

Sunday hummed as he took another sip. As he refreshed the tea against his palate, his eyebrows narrowed in concentration, prompting his lips to form a frown.

“I’ve noticed the sugar you've been sprinkling in.”

“And I’ve noticed that you've begun to molt.” you quickly retorted without much thought. It was childish, yes, you knew, but perhaps your hasty tongue had a point.

The Halovian stiffened at your remark.

“I beg your pardon?”

Your confidence wavered as Sunday’s eyebrows furrowed, yet your shame was outweighed by your concern.

“The floor is littered with proof, and as pristine as you keep your appearance, it’s hard to cover up unevenness caused by fallen feathers," you paused, your focus drifting from the wings near his temples to fall upon his paperwork. “And, given the stress that normally accompanies festival preparations...”

Sunday’s tongue clicked in frustration at the implication.

“Whether or not I was stressed—or even molting, for that matter—my feathers should hardly be any of your concern,” he replied, his voice trailing off as he eyed your approaching hands.

In a swift motion, he pinned your wrists down against the desk, a counteraction made in desperation to prevent them from reaching their destination.

“...and I would appreciate it if you kindly refrained from touching them.”

You tried your best to recoil one of your hands away, but they wouldn't move—how could they, when they now sought the mercy of his restrictive grasp?

Even as Sunday’s palms cordially arranged for your wrists to be wed to the wooden surface, however, you didn't budge. “Were this over anything else, I would gladly listen, but given the fact that you’ll need someone to help you safely-”

Sunday’s eyes squeezed themselves shut in frustration.

“Beloved assistant of mine, please do not be so obstinate.”

As the Halovian's hold upon your wrists gradually softened, you snatched them back to your sides.

“I learn from the worst.” you murmured.

Sunday let out a soft sigh in response before returning to his paperwork. A part of you wondered why you even dared to bother vocalizing your concern.

Nonetheless, in the ever-growing silence, it was only then that you realized how truly worn out the Halovian had appeared. The dark circles underneath his eyes and the missing feathers had been telltale signs, but even his countenance had changed; beneath his layers of practiced, superficial perfection, you could sense that he was exhausted beyond both your unwavering understanding and his intentional ignorance.

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach as your eyes caught themselves on the sight of dried blood in the center of one of the gaps in his feathers, before they reluctantly tore themselves away. It was hardly like him to ignore his appearance to such an extent.

A sigh crossed your lips as you focused upon a droplet of heated wax, witnessing it roll off the surface of the pitiful candle and onto the table.

You couldn’t hold your tongue for much longer.

“Sir, you really should examine your wings.”

“I hardly have the luxury of time on my side,” Sunday countered swiftly. “Were it not for the preparations, I would've already-”

“Then, please, at least let me try?” you interjected without second thought.

Sunday’s gaze tore away from his desk to stare at you, unblinking, as if you had just uttered the most irrational thing possible, and perhaps you indeed had—an offer made in haste could surely be considered as such, couldn't it?

“Did I not already beg you not to do so?”

“You did, but as your assistant, I’ve known you long enough to be certain you’ll just prioritize perfecting the festival over your own well-being, so...” you stared at the spot once more before glancing back at him. “Please.”

Sunday shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he pondered your offer, his wings twitching from what you assumed was contemplation. He parted his lips to speak, only to draw out a mere reluctant sigh.

Slowly, Sunday opened one of the drawers to his desk, pulling out a cloth and a spray bottle, before holding out his hand with the two items bundled together within his grasp. As he motioned for you to take the items with a nudge of his hand, you noted that his eyes never once met yours.

“Thank you.” you said with a soft smile.

Recalling the multiple occasions you had witnessed him clean his wings, as well as the knowledge you secretly procured from handbooks on Halovian biology, you spritzed the water upon the cloth and held it a few inches away from Sunday’s wing, all memories of the least intrusive methods coming to mind.

As you pressed the cloth against the surface, a sharp breath had made you halt.

“Forgive me.” Sunday muttered. “As you can tell, it’s... been a while.”

You nodded, all questions dying upon your tongue for the sake of his comfort, before gently dabbing the cloth against the spot, wiping away the bloody inequity and restoring his pristine visage.

Setting the cloth down on the desk, you smiled. “And... done.”

“Ah, thank you kindly.”

A small portion of your worry had ebbed away at in light of the relief in his voice, but returned with a vengeance once you remembered the sight of the disastrous floor from moments prior. As your gaze trailed away from him and towards the dark purple feathers that dotted the floor right next to those of cloudy white, Sunday’s gaze had soon followed.

Inquiries regarding their condition formulated themselves without much prompting within your mind, but you couldn’t dare speak them out loud.

Not when he had already been so stubborn over his first set of wings.

Not when he had already faltered so strongly in his breathing, a pattern you associated with immense discomfort.

In the absence of all conversation, you both tirelessly danced around the inevitable before something finally had to give.

“The festival has been, admittedly, more of a... project than I could’ve ever expected,” Sunday began, droning off with an awkward, tensed chuckle. “...and I suppose that, perhaps, amidst the madness of it all, the matter of my wings’ upkeep must’ve slipped my mind...”

“I... I see.” you acknowledged his words with a soft hum, accepting his unlikely-to-be-true excuse without further prompting.

Sunday sighed as his hands absentmindedly fidgeted with his gloves to smooth out an invisible crease, before he finally continued.

“The upkeep of a Halovian’s wings just hardly isn’t a thing to entrust so lightly to another being, you see, and I just, I...” his voice trailed off.

The eyes that were once so keenly intent on scrutinizing the floor beneath his feet soon met yours.

Had you of been anyone else, you would've surely melted under his weary gaze, but no, quite frankly you couldn't and most definitely shouldn't, for you were merely his assistant, and such feelings must not be stoked by any such foolish thing-

“If I absolutely must trust another soul with such a hefty responsibility, I suppose it would indeed be you.” Sunday finally murmured.

You were startled, to say the least. Hurriedly, you gleaned for any signs of hesitance upon his features, finding nothing except a softness in his eyes that you prayed was not drawn from reverence.

“And you're sure of this, sir?”

Sunday hesitated, his expression unreadable before finally, he nodded.

As Sunday arose from his chair to stretch his stagnant muscles, intent on ridding himself of his white coat, he had reached for his shoulder with a barely-suppressed wince. Without thinking, you rushed over to his side, cupping the top of his shoulder with your palm, attempting to gently work off the sleeveless coat for him.

Seemingly frightened by the abrupt touch, Sunday breathed in sharply, hastily brushing your hand off of his shoulder before his picture-perfect poise could shatter.

“Please,” he murmured tersely, his hand still protectively grasping his clothing. “I believe I can handle doing this part myself.”

You nodded as you slowly stepped back, resting your treacherous hands at your sides.

As Sunday worked the snow-colored coat off of his shoulders, he grabbed the discarded garment and folded it into a neat square before putting it up on his desk, then focused on the silvery blazer that had laid beneath.

After a few moments spent fumbling with his multiple layers, Sunday was now stripped down to his dark turtleneck.

Your eyes fell upon the sight of the dark blue, wing-like vest that wrapped itself around his waist, and just as you were about to ask if they were yet another layer he had to remove, you froze once the ‘vest’ had shifted and twitched.

“Are those...?”

Sunday noted your confusion and shook his head, his fingers working diligently to unwrap the clinging, restrictive article of clothing.

What had twitched underneath the vest was a pair of deep purple wings, their plumes matching the pigments of what was strewn beneath you. As beautiful as the appendages were, the difference between their standard of upkeep compared the likes of which rested above his temples were like night and day.

A part of you wondered if, for whatever unspoken reason, he was ashamed of them.

The Halovian tensed under the weight of your prying gaze, trying to relax to force the dormant plumage awake as he averted his sight. “I know what you must be thinking,” he whispered, his voice taut from the effort. “...but I beg of you, please do not pry.”

Your heart ached at the way he struggled with the furled appendages.

“Do you... require assistance?”

“I...” Sunday fussed with the tight wrap once more, before reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.”

Your hands were quick to approach the wings, intent on massaging the tension out of their pinions so that they'd might unfurl.

The very moment a disgruntled, screechy craw from a raven rung from above, however, Sunday had faltered and hastily smoothened his garments back down, urging your hands to shy away.

You turned to face the direction of the sudden disruption, before tilting your head at Sunday, wondering why he seemed so distraught by the avian's call.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Yes, there is something wrong!” Sunday snapped, before his tone softened. “This... this is improper ! To have convinced myself to allow you to touch my primary wings was one thing, but this...” his voice broke off as he glanced down at his unsightly feathers. “...this... I truly never should've...”

A frown etched itself upon your lips at his sudden change of heart.

“I’m sorry, sir. I know a Halovian's wings are...” you hesitated, vividly recalling the multiple times he had recoiled at your touch. “...sensitive. I’ve studied handbooks once before, and-”

Surprise briefly flashed in his eyes at your admission, before his face hardened into a disapproving scowl the moment he interrupted you.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve studied handbooks upon such a topic, and yet still, you allow yourself to willingly fall victim to the whims of compliance over my foolish fallacies?” he sputtered, his tone abrasive. “You should've stopped me, for heaven’s sake!”

Irked by the criticism, you, too, began to bristle.

“If this truly is so wrong in your eyes, then did you really ever wish for my assistance?”

Startled by the bite in your words, Sunday bit back any further protests, swallowing down his anxious ire. Loneliness had been his home for so long, and your touch was nearly a dangerous siren's call—he couldn't truly bear the thought of losing such a privilege.

The puffed up, bristling feathers of Sunday’s higher wings smoothened themselves back down as he steadied himself, flexing his fingers against his palms.

“Please, just get on with it.”

“Thank you.” you whispered before leaning forward, your hands delicately palming the fragile cartilage of his wings as you tried to help them unbind themselves. Reluctantly, Sunday flexed them against your touch, trying to encourage them to spread.

“Still, this is all so... terribly insolent,” Sunday muttered through gritted teeth.

You stilled your efforts, desperately wishing you knew why he was so resistant to your assistance.

“Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Sunday winced from the loss of motion, the loss of blissful touch against the very surface that yearned for it, no less, and he was far too quick to nod his head.

“Yes, of course. Loathe as I am to confess such a thing, this... truly is a process that must be done,” he replied, his breath wavering. “It’s hardly your fault that I’ve been so... neglectful.”

As your hands tenderly helped work the cartilage to awaken, massaging the spots you figured must’ve been sore, it only took moments later for them to finally loosen from their protective stance.

Dark, raven-like wings, pigmented like the glimmering skies of midnight, had blossomed forth from Sunday’s sides and splayed themselves before you. Battered and bristled as they were, they were nonetheless a breathtaking view.

As the deep purple plumages fanned themselves out like curtains, you gaped with pity at the sight of the clipped plumes, the multiple defects marring an otherwise symmetrical pair of wings. A remark formulated itself upon your tongue, but died upon your lips once Sunday acknowledged your staring with a slight grimace, as if he could guess what you were nearly about to say.

You continued to stare at his fragile feathers with unwavering wonder.

“Your wings are truly beautiful, sir.” you whispered adoringly.

Sunday turned around to bare his back before you instead, swift enough to conceal the rush of both shame and bashfulness that had abruptly invaded his features.

Gently, you reached your hand forth and tentatively brushed against his plumage.

“Careful.” Sunday reminded you with a slight wince.

You nodded at his warning and reached for the cloth with your other hand, dabbing the damp material against any dried spots of blood where his plumes had fallen out, before placing it back down after you finished tending to them.

Your touch was light, delicate, as your fingertips mapped a path forged by concern against the surface of his wings, seeking out any broken feathers as you sought to soothe as many of his aches as you could.

Unbeknownst to you, your very touch was both a soothing balm for Sunday’s miseries and a temptatious instigator for a stirring within his very core.

Brushing past a sore spot located at the starting muscles of his wings had ripped a soft gasp from Sunday’s throat, and quickly, you stopped.

“Does it hurt?” you asked quietly.

“No, no, just...” he breathed out, distracting himself by how heavenly your hands had felt. “If you would just kindly massage them, that'd be-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you worked your thumbs carefully against the cartilage's base, inadvertently rendering him silent, save for a few tender, wavering breaths.

Your hands worked practical miracles against the bothersome likes of his tension, snuffing them out by the source as they brushed up and down the entirety of his wingspan, your body pressed close to his for better grounds.

As your breath cascaded upon the back of his neck, your fingers delved deeper against his muscles. “I hope this is enough...”

Sunday swallowed thickly at your closeness. “Oh, dearest assistant, you...” he paused, clearing his throat. “You haven’t the faintest idea how much of a blessing this is to me.”

Slowly but surely, Sunday’s ever faithful front of ‘perfection’ had bared its frayed threads before you and unraveled itself by its fragile seams, leaving the fate of his precious, oft-concealed vulnerability within your tender hands.

Every trembling breath at each pass of your hands, along with every visible tremor of his bones in wake of your care, had clawed further at your heart, constricting its cage with concern.

Weathered down by his responsibilities and blemished by the expectations placed upon his shoulders as he was, it was clear that he was blind to how thin he had worn down the wick of his perseverance—the very structure of his charitable soul.

Finally satisfied with the sight of relaxed feathers displayed before your very eyes, your hands had retreated back to your sides, and as sudden awareness of your close proximity washed over you like a rebuking flood, you hastily moved yourself away.

Sunday had turned around to face you, his pale skin flushed as he shifted his weight from side to side. The moonlight that filtered through the Pavilion's windows seemed to enhance his ethereal beauty, the glow of the evening catching upon his halo and permitting it to shimmer like an ever-glittering star.

“I must ask,” Sunday began quietly, his gaze fleeting about the room, from the candle, to the barely-sipped cup of tea, even to the untouched plate of strawberries. “Why did you do this all for me? Surely, there must be something you need in exchange...”

You shook your head and frowned at his words. Why did he believe an act of goodwill had such a price to pay?

With so many words you wanted to say and a plethora of woes over his wellbeing you wanted to profess, you held your tongue and swallowed down the bitter medley of trepidation, fearful of shattering the tenderness that graced this rare moment of solitude.

Surely, one day, there would come an opportunity where you could properly formulate all of your thoughts, but this night was far from being that night.

“It’s just that you’ve been working tirelessly these past few days in preparation for the Charmony Festival,” you began, eying the stack of paperwork that laid in a neat pile upon his desk, before turning back to him. “...and it seems to be my obligation to at least try to remind you to take a break.”

“I’m sure I would’ve remembered to take one eventually...” Sunday protested weakly, as if he himself hadn't believed his words.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Perhaps, once you’ve finally burnt yourself out.”

Sunday’s head wings lowered themselves with a meek display of shame upon being put under such conviction.

As his eyes flitted away from yours, far too sheepish to meet your perceptive gaze, you took a step forward and, without much thought behind your all too forward actions, you wrapped your arms delicately around his waist.

Feeling your familiar touch snake around his sides as it enveloped him into a warm, blissful embrace, Sunday stiffened.

You gulped as he tensed against your grasp.

“Forgive me,” you whispered an apology against his chest, careful to not overwhelm him with any further skin contact. “...you just looked as if you needed one.”

Sunday took a few moments to steady his breathing before responding. “I... suppose I did.”

You watched as, with trembling footsteps, Sunday dragged you both backwards, before stopping to allow himself to sit back down in his chair.

His gloved hands clenched at his sides before finding purchase on the tops of your shoulders, pushing you down so that you'd settle against his lap—adjusting you accordingly so it wouldn't look conspicuous—before finally reciprocating the hug.

Completely unsure of what to do with his hands, Sunday had freed one of them to lift your head up with a shaky palm, his cold glove a soothing touch against your chin.

With ever-softening glances being exchanged, the weight of so many unspoken confessions had hung in the balance of the room's silence, but to your surprise, you hardly minded at all. Sunday’s eyes were briefly drawn to your lips before he forced himself out of his stupor, resisting the deafening call of the tender temptation with a soft clearance of his throat.

It was for the best, however—you really weren't sure if you could've resisted the notion of leaning forward yourself.

You were startled as the top of Sunday's head brushed against the underside of your chin, leaning his face down so he could rest the side of his cheek against your chest, breathing softly as he melded himself close to you, cocooning you both together within the vast expanse of his wings.

“I... I truly thank the heavens upon every moment I remember that you're in my life,” Sunday murmured fondly.

Ignoring the abrupt, intrusive flutter in your chest, your arms strengthened the secure hold they possessed against his form.

“I feel much the same, Sunday.”

In the silence of the night, you held each other close, the beat of your own synchronized hearts as you clung to one another the only melody worth dwelling upon.

Even if you couldn't outright plead for him to be more mindful of his limits and capabilities—that his singular light was not enough to shoulder the burdens he subjected himself to, let alone be strong enough illuminate the entire sky—you were grateful that in your arms, he could find his ever-fleeting, redeeming solace.

In that moment, it was enough.

It had to be enough.

#imagines #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #hsr sunday #sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday hsr

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eternalstarlitwonderland · 2 months ago

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The Sylph Of The Starlight

As the clock strikes midnight, the enchanting hour of starlight begins

The dancefloor is bathed in a delicate glimmer, emanating from the diamond-coated chandeliers above

The chamber is adorned with a subtle, silvery glitter

The smooth marble floor echoes with the rhythmic clicking of high heels, the constant cadence shatters the silence

The starlight cascaded down onto a stunning, statuesque figure gracing the scene

The stellar effulgence canticle provides the background music for this extravagant ballet performance

She assumes a graceful balletic pose as if frozen in time

With a silvery flourish, her evening attire transitions to a sparkly silvery-white balletic ensemble

She elegantly executes a series of arabesques and exquisitely performed pirouettes around the pavilion, each movement as mesmerizing as the next

As the starlit hour unfolds, the stars crooned delicately with a silvery flicker

She danced the night away and continued to enchant the audience with her exquisite, sylphlike movements,

She moves with an almost otherworldly lightness and grace, exuding an ethereal aura of the belle of the starlight, leaving everyone in rapturous admiration

The starlight assists her through the performance with its brightness, the stars illuminating her path with a gentle brilliance that dances in the darkness, the soft gleam bathes her in a silvery radiance, accompanying her steps with a warmth that envelops her forward through the serene stillness of the night

The ethereal sylph has ascended to her pinnacle, where the crescendo of the night reaches its most exhilarating height

Effortlessly embodying grace as the climax reaches its fullest intensity, unfolds in all its brilliant glory

With graceful movements reminiscent of a lively frisk, She dances with spirited opulence, her movements a flurry of joyful allégros and twirls gracefully among the celestial bodies, a delicate interplay of light and shadow

Her brilliance radiates like the finest diamonds against the vast, inky canvas of the night sky

Her figure gradually diminishes, mirroring the soft dimming of the brilliant glitter that surrounds her, her presence a fleeting whisper of light, shimmering like a distant comet

As the enchanting starlit hour gently begins to wane into the soft embrace of dawn,

merging softly with the gentle twilight and retreating into the cosmic backdrop, drawing the celestial performance toward its bittersweet conclusion

#my writting #written by me #astronomy #stars #my words #words #starry writes #original poem #poem #poetry #the sylph of the starlight

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abstracteddistractions · 7 months ago

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"Paired Cubes," Busan, South Korea,

Standing 2.5m tall, the pavilion is built using 10mm thick panels that are assembled without any fittings or glue, ensuring complete recyclability.

This innovative design allows for easy transport and assembly in various public spaces, enhancing these areas while offering an immersive experience for passersby.

The structure comprises over 3,500 panels in opaque white, translucent orange, and clear, forming a composition of eight outer facades and two inner walls.

The pavilion’s fragmented appearance, particularly when illuminated, evokes a sense of floating panels, attracting those who observe it from various angles.

Courtesy: A + U Lab

#art #abstract #abstraction #forms #abstractart #minimal #cubeinstallation #pavilion #optical illusion #sustainability #A+Ulab #south korea #temporary #busan

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ancientrome · 9 months ago

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This ambiguous and sophisticated decoration is a masterpiece of the so-called third style of Roman wall painting, which flourished during the reign of Augustus. The theme is a playful rendition of architectural motif. A low red dado serves as the base from which a skeleton of thin white columns appears to rise against a black background. There almost weightless columns support pavilions, candelabra, tripods, and a narrow cornice that runs around the room. They were embellished with jewel-like decorations. On the back wall tiny swans, the bird of Apollo, patron god of Augustus, perch improbably on threadlike spirals, and yellow panels with Egyptianizing motifs must have brought to mind the recent annexation of Egypt after the death of Cleopatra in 30 B.C. This architectural scheme creates almost no sense of depth or volume. The black walls behind appear at once to be flat and to dissolve into limitless space. Tiny landscape vignettes float like islands in the middle of this blackness. Burnished to a high polish, these walls must have appeared magical indeed when illuminated by lamps at night. x

#ancient rome #rome #roman #fresco

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theink-stainedfolk · 1 month ago

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Friday Kiss Tag

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet

Here is a snippet from The General's Bride

---

The quiet of the night settled over the Jade Blossom Pavilion, its usual stillness interrupted only by the faint flicker of lanterns swaying in the breeze. Jian sat by the window, gazing out at the moonlit garden, the light casting delicate patterns on his veil.

Luo Xingchen approached silently, his footsteps soft against the polished wood. "You’ve been up too long," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

Jian didn’t turn. "The moon is too beautiful to waste behind closed eyes."

Xingchen stepped closer, his presence grounding. "And yet you hide your face from it."

Jian chuckled softly, his fingers grazing the edge of his veil. "Perhaps the moon isn’t the only thing worth hiding from."

The weight of Xingchen’s gaze pressed against his back, protective but unyielding. “Do you think me a wolf, waiting to pounce? Or the moon itself, casting light where it is not welcome?”

Jian’s voice softened, his words gentle. “You are neither. You are the warrior who guards me from both.”

Xingchen’s hand moved, hesitating briefly before lifting the edge of Jian’s veil. “And who guards you from me?”

Jian met his eyes, his expression unreadable but unafraid. “I don’t need protection from you, Xingchen.”

The veil slipped away, fluttering to the floor like a ribbon freed. Jian’s face, illuminated by the moonlight, was a sight Xingchen had not allowed himself to imagine fully. For a moment, neither spoke, the unspoken tension between them filling the silence.

Xingchen cupped Jian’s cheek gently, his thumb brushing over the smooth curve of his jaw. “You are the most dangerous person in this palace,” he murmured, his tone almost playful. “Do you know that?”

Jian’s lips parted slightly, a quiet inhale, before he responded. “And you are the only one foolish enough to stand so close to me.”

Xingchen leaned in, the space between them vanishing in a heartbeat. Their lips met in a kiss that began slow, tentative, as though testing the fragile boundaries of their world. But it deepened quickly, the weight of unspoken truths and unshed fears driving them closer. Jian’s hands clutched the fabric of Xingchen’s robe, grounding himself as the kiss consumed them both.

When they finally pulled away, breathless but unbroken, Xingchen rested his forehead against Jian’s, his voice low. “The moon can wait. Tonight, the stars are ours.”

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @frostedlemonwriter @vesanal

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #writers #writblr #writers of tumblr #my writing #creative writing #writers and poets

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karpowskaja · 5 months ago

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Lamb & Peas

The sun had set behind the battlements and the air grew cold, her breath coming out in small puffs as the Inquisitor walked hand in hand with Cullen across the courtyard. "I'm really not in the mood..." he began again, but her blue eyes met his, uncompromising.

"Just give it a try, and then you can go back to your desk." Her voice was light, almost teasing, and he could hear the smile behind it. "You don’t have a birthday every day, Vhenan!" He shot her a warning look for speaking too loudly, but she ignored it, just as she had ignored his plea to do nothing out of the ordinary today.

She dragged him towards the tavern, and he tensed visibly, like a horse straining at the reins, but she was relentless, her smaller frame pulling him along with surprising strength. As they approached the open door, where voices and the sound of a lute poured out into the cold night, he felt a surge of unease, his mouth already open to tell her once again that he was in no mood to celebrate his birthday, not with the mission ahead. But then, to his surprise, she walked past the open door. He glanced at her in confusion, his defiance giving way to curiosity as she led him past the noise to a smaller door that led into the garden and the small chantry.

"Close your eyes," she ordered quietly. He sighed but obeyed, knowing he could never deny her anything - a fact she knew well and used to her advantage. She opened the door and led him through, her hand warm in his, the gravel crunching under their boots. He noticed the silence around them - the fact that there was only the sound of her footsteps and the rustling of the trees.

"You can look now." Her voice rang out, no longer so excited, softer. His grip around her hand tightened, his heart pounding, fearing the kind of surprise he loathed. But when he opened his eyes, he found something quite different.

The garden was empty, the gravel paths and corridors around it deserted. Even the door to the sanctuary was closed and there was no Sister or Mother in sight. The usually bustling garden was peaceful. He assumed she'd used her title to clear the garden just for them.

In the pavilion to his right, usually occupied by Morrigan, stood a table and two chairs, a single candle flickering, illuminating plates and glasses.

He blinked twice before turning to face her.

She smiled at him. "You said you didn't want a big party. So it's just you and me," she explained, her voice clearly more nervous than before, her free hand stroking a lock of hair behind one pointed ear.

For a moment he was speechless, only able to look at her. He cleared his throat, trying to hide how nervous he felt. "I didn't expect... I mean, this isn't..." He stopped, catching the light in her blue eyes, the affection there. "Thank you." What more could he say? He felt a pang of guilt, a reminder that he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her.

She rose to her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips warm and his heart quickened slightly. "Come, the food's getting cold and I know you haven't eaten properly all day."

He smiled, a reluctant pucker of his lips, admitting she was right as he followed her to the pavilion, not letting go of her hand.

They sat down facing each other. She lifted the lid and steam rose, filling the air between them with the rich scent of spices, vegetables and meat. The smell was surprisingly familiar, not like the stew they usually ate. Something in the scent tugged at his heart.

He looked at her delicate hands, steady as they served the stew and filled the glasses. There was something reassuring about the way she moved, a quiet confidence that made him feel... at ease. Cullen realized he was grateful, not just for the food, but for her insistence on taking him away from his work, if only for dinner. They barely had time for each other these days, caught between their duties and preparing for what was to come. Perhaps his birthday gave them at least a little more of an excuse than anything else.

She raised her own glass and made a gentle toast, and he hated and loved it in equal measure, the way she smiled and said sweet things about how happy she was to be with him. That she hoped they could be somewhere else next year, words spoken with the knowledge that logically it would not be so, but she hoped anyway. She was always like that.

He could feel her eyes on him after they had clinked glasses, clearly waiting for him to taste the food, waiting for his reaction. He looked down at the plate in front of him. A typical Ferelden stew - lamb and peas. The simplicity of it, the familiarity, struck him, and he felt a pang of guilt for assuming that she, of all people, would drag him into a party he clearly didn't want. Instead, here they were, in the quiet of the abandoned Skyhold garden, just the two of them, with a meal from his country, simple and unassuming.

He took the first bite and felt the familiar tug at the back of his mind. This dish was often on the menu here in Skyhold - warm, hearty, easy to make in large quantities - but this... this was different. It tasted of warm hands and soft kisses on his head, the spices evoking memories of an old wooden table in the small hut where he had grown up. He could almost see his mother's smile, feel her fingers brush against his as she slipped him an extra portion before he left them to begin his Templar training. The last day he had seen his parents, or his family for that matter.

He swallowed, the taste bringing back the bittersweet image of his last day in Honnleath. His fingers tightened around the spoon, caught in the vortex of memory.

He blinked and looked back at the woman across from him.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" she asked, her voice uncertain, her eyebrows knitted together, making the black lines of her Vallaslin curve. He blinked, her words sinking in, and suddenly he realized - this wasn't just any stew from the Skyhold kitchens. She had made it herself.

A wave of warmth spread through him at the thought. How had she found the time, with all the burdens she carried day and night? His chest tightened with affection, the corners of his mouth lifting into a softer smile.

"Maker, no!" he finally replied, realizing she thought he didn't like it, his hand reaching across the table to take hers, feeling the contrast of her soft skin against his rough calluses as he brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "It tastes of Honnleath... of my childhood," he continued, his voice thick with nostalgia and gratitude.

She exhaled, her shoulders visibly relaxing, and a small, relieved smile broke across her face.

"I'm so glad," she said quietly. Then, almost as if she needed to explain, she added, "I wrote to Mia." She looked down and finally started to eat. "I asked her what your favorite food was and if she knew the recipe... She was really helpful." She took another spoonful of stew. "I wanted to make something that would remind you of home," she added, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her plate.

Cullen was silent for a moment, the realization that she had even bothered to write to his sister sinking in. He almost couldn't believe it - she had gone out of her way to make him feel at home. She always told him she cared, always showed it in countless little ways. But sometimes it still felt like a dream, like something he shouldn't have after all he'd done. Something he didn't deserve - didn't deserve her, or the chance to be so happy. Not when the world around them was about to collapse.

"I know that look..." Her voice cut through his thoughts, soft but edged with the sharpness that told him she had guessed what he was thinking - again. She was far too good at it, but it helped bring him back to the situation, back to the moment. His hazel eyes met hers, her blue gaze steady, searching. She reached out, her hand closing over his, her grip strong, her fingers threading through his. "You're starting to think again..." she added gently, her eyes filled with compassion.

"I can't deny it..." he admitted, shaking his head slightly, fighting the urge to apologize. He paused, searching her face, then finally added, his voice soft, "Thank you... for this. For everything."

She simply squeezed his hand again, her touch comforting and reassuring, not pushing him to say more. They continued to eat in comfortable silence, the candle flickering softly between them, and after a while she told him how she'd spent her afternoon in the kitchens, how the staff had been confused and how she'd had to order them to stop whispering, knowing full well it wouldn't work. He told her about those last days in Honnleath so many years ago, and about his parents, talking about them more than ever for the first time. He realized how much he wished he could introduce this woman to them, to show them that despite everything, he had found something good in his life…

#dragon age #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #cullen rutherford #inquisitor lavellan #date night #first post #first time posting something I have written #dragon age fanfiction #dai #i don't know how tumblr works #english is not my first language #First time writing in 15 years #cullen x inquisitor

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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Holy Shit House. New category for insane no-expense-spared homes. This is the 1926 H. Stanley Bent House, a Spanish Revival style, in San Marino, California. 6bds, 7ba, $16.8M.

You have to go thru gates and a series of arches to get to the front door.

The entrance hall has a beautiful lacy iron railing going up the grand staircase.

Sitting room off the main hall has access to the patio. Looks like they put in new flooring and painted the coffered ceiling white.

An arch opens to the magnificent kitchen with 2 islands, a wine rack, pantry, and even room for a table and chairs.

The rec room has a whole wall that opens to the pool, plus a bar.

Very sophisticated primary bedroom with fireplace.

In the closet room are enclosed closets, which is unusual.

Check out the media room. There's a choice of seating, even a nook. Note the illuminated stairs, just like in a theater.

Plus, it's got a full bar and kitchenette, next to a bubble wall. How cool is this.

Because it's California, there's a lot of outdoor living.

There's a conversational island with a fire pit in the middle of the biggest koi pond I've ever seen.

Then there's a pool with a patio.

Covered seating pavilion next to pool is as fancy as a living room. It even has a fireplace.

Then, there's this pergola with a big dining table, seating, a patio and another fireplace.

Check out the koi pond from above.

1.89 acres of beautifully landscaped property.

#spanish revival home #spanish revival architecture #mansions #houses #house tours #home tour

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chaos-vulpix · 2 months ago

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Legacyverse: Jamie - Harmony in Rift

Andromeda Sunsets - Starjunk 95

BLUE - Billie Eilish

Constellation - Far Out & KARRA

Did I tell u that I miss u - Adore

Dream Brother - Zedd & Jeff Buckley

Dreams - Anamanaguchi & Flux Pavilion

Find That Someone - Televisor

Full Moon Full Life - Azumi Takahashi & Lotus Juice | Persona 3 Reload (Opening Theme)

Good Thing - Tritonal ft. Laurell

Had I Not Seen The Sun - Chevy | Honkai: Star Rail (Farewell, Penacony)

Halo - Adore

Heartbeat Song - Kelly Clarkson

If You Had My Love - Jennifer Lopez

Illuminate - Moana Avvenenti & Julie Elven | Arknights (EP: Viviana)

In My Blood - Shawn Mendes

Innocence - Madeon ft. Aquilo

Love Song - Sara Bareilles

Passing Memories - Faouzia | Genshin Impact (4th Anniversary - English Theme)

Remember Me - d4vd | Arcane: League of Legends (Season 2)

Routines In The Night - Twenty One Pilots

#the ninja legacy whip #legacyverse #oc: jamie myers #legacyverse playlists #december 2024 playlist hotdrop

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scotianostra · 9 months ago

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On May 2nd May 1901 The Glasgow International Exhibition in Kelvingrove opened.

The second of 4 international exhibitions held in Glasgow was opened on 2 May and ran until 9 November, covering roughly 73 acres of ground in Kelvingrove Park. Among the multitude of temporary buildings was this concert hall on the banks of the River Kelvin, with seating for 3,000 people. A full programme of concerts was organised for the duration of the exhibition, featuring performers from all over Europe.

Its centrepiece was the new Art Galley and Museum which appropriately housed the Fine Art section, including work by the “Glasgow boys” who were by now acknowledged as internationally important artists. But the exhibition’s main building was the temporary Eastern Palace; its architect was James Millar who won an open competition with his design which satisfied the extravagance demanded by the public. This Oriental fantasy, with its strong suggestions of 16th century Spanish Renaissance architecture, was topped by a grand dome adorned by an electric-torch wielding golden angel of light. There were also separate buildings for industrial and machinery displays, concert halls, foreign pavilions, numerous restaurants and cafes, as well as many minor buildings covering subjects such as agriculture and heating and lighting. Some idea of the sheer scale and grandeur of the enterprise can be realised in examining the exhibition plan in the first picture.

It’ hard to imagine the planning that went into this and the scale of the whole thing, for example, a whole Russian village of 7 buildings, there was a model farm complete with working dairy, windmill and grieve’s house, a Grand concert hall with seating for more than 3,000, and a new sports ground at Gilmorehill with a four-lap cement cycle track, cinder pedestrian course, football pitch and stand accommodation for 25,000 spectators. The suggestion of limitless resources was enhanced by the breathtaking electrical illuminations which lit up many of the attractions by night.

Although it lacked the novelty of 1888, Glasgow’s second major exhibition was still enormously popular, resulting in attendance figures of over a staggering 11,000,000.

Thanks to the railways, journeys were now relatively easy and inexpensive, and tourism was growing. Visitors from afar were encouraged to explore further, and the beauty of the surrounding countryside was heavily promoted in the publicity literature.

The Palace of Fine Arts at the exhibition remained as a permanent legacy, now known as Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum

#scotland #scottish #history #Glasgow #Kelvingrove

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niki-phoria · 2 years ago

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can i request a highschool au w jay and m/n giving him lunch everyday until jay fell inlove w him ><

-🐢

pairing: jay x male!reader (he/him pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 876

includes: school au (could be high school or uni), breaks are meant to be timeskips

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :)) feedback is appreciated <33

requests open !! read my rules first

jay nervously scans through the lunchroom, searching for a place to sit. his hands feel clammy as he brushes them against the thin fabric of his uniform dress pants. the backpack perched on his shoulders almost feels like it’s weighing him down.

“hey,” he startles when a soft voice interrupts his anxiety-induced overthinking. you’re wearing the same school uniform he is, though jay can’t help the passing thought that it looks much nicer on you. “you’re new here, right?”

“yeah,” jay nods. he nervously clears his throat, hoping you don’t notice the light flush spreading across his cheeks. “i just moved. this is my first day.”

“why don’t i buy you some lunch and show you around? you look like you could use the help.”

jay chuckles before nodding. “that sounds nice. thank you.”

“don’t mention it.”

“jay!” you call, rushing over to his side. you playfully knock your shoulder into his as you walk through the crowded hallways alongside him.

“y/n,” he smiles. “isn’t your class that way?”

“it is but i want to spend some time with you. i only ever see you at lunch.”

jay does his best to ignore the way your words make his heart rate speed up and butterflies swarm throughout his stomach. he looks away from you in an attempt to hide his flushed cheeks. he steps to the side closer to one of the lockers so he’s standing in front of you. “why don’t i make you a deal, then?”

you playfully raise an eyebrow. “i’m interested.”

“you go to class on time and pay attention and i’ll eat lunch with you again.”

your laugh makes the butterflies swarm even faster. jay’s lips quirk upwards into a small smile of his own at the sound. “fine,” you say through chuckles. “i’ll meet you in the lunchroom?”

“i’ll be there.”

“shit,” jay mumbles under his breath.

you look over at him with a concerned glance. “what’s wrong?”

“i forgot to bring some cash with me this morning. I don’t have enough to buy anything.”

“why don’t i get you something?”

jay furrows his eyebrows when he looks over at you. “no, it’s okay. i could never ask for money.”

“jay, i’ve been buying you lunch for weeks,” you chuckle. you reach over, slipping your hand into his. “come on. let me do this for you.”

jay does his best to ignore the way your hand holding his ignites fires against his skin. butterflies swarm throughout his stomach - begging for him to finally make a move to ask you out. but instead he pushes it down, nodding in agreement. “okay.”

“glad you came to your senses,” you tease, tugging him along with you. “let’s go.”

you furrow your eyebrows when you phone begins violently vibrating against your desk. you pull your attention away from your studies just long enough to pick it up and turn it over. you turn it on, illuminating a new text from jay.

jay <3

meet me at the park behind your house in 20 minutes

you turn back to your still-open computer, debating for a few seconds before closing it. you tug your t-shirt and sweatpants off, instead changing into a pair of jeans and a hoodie jay had bought for you. the thick fabric feels comforting against your skin.

you shove your phone into your pocket before putting on an old pair of sneakers. “i’m going out!” you yell, not bothering to wait for a reply as you exit out the front door. the walk to the park behind your house is a familiar one. the sun slowly begins to set, creating a vibrant collage of pink and purple hues decorating the sky above you.

“jay?” you call as you walk towards a small clearing in the trees. a small metal table sits under a metal pavilion. the usual rusted metal has been covered by a white sheet, complete with two plates of food set out and a few candles sitting by the edge of the table and string lights hanging around the edges.

“y/n,” jay smiles as he walks towards you. his usual oversized shirt and baggy jeans have been traded out for a fancy button down and a pair of dress pants. “i’m glad you came.”

you smile at him as you walk closer. “is this a date?”

“i hope so.” for once, you’ve run out of snarky remarks and teasing comments. your eyes widen as jay steps closer to you. his hand ghosts against your waist as he moves closer to stand in front of you. “y/n, you are the most handsome boy i’ve ever met. you’re smart, and funny, and kind. i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he pauses, nervously chuckling. he raises a hand up to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb against your skin. “i like you. a lot. and i’m hoping you feel the same.”

you can’t help the way your lips quirk into a flustered smile. “i like you too, jay,” you chuckle. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to tell you that.”

“guess i beat you to it this time,” he chuckles. he pulls you in a little closer until your lips finally meet in a sweet kiss.

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