#This is a younger version of him so he still has most of his ears

[rieldraws]

Tapetum Lucidum is a layer of tissue in the eye of many vertebrates and some other animals.

It reflects visible light back through the retina, increasing the light available to the photoreceptors (although slightly blurring the image)

[gojoed]

"oh my god satoru you look so cute here!"

"wait wait wait, don't look at those!"

you were currently holding a picture of satoru in your hands. it's nothing you haven't done before, going to the corner store and flipping through recently printed pictures of you and your friends after waiting a week for them to develop.

but this time you weren't holding snapshots of suguru having permanent marker on his face while sleeping or ridiculous photos of satoru and shoko grabbing onto each others hair, fighting over who gets to get the last snack from their stash. this time you held a photo of satoru, except younger. exponentially younger. as in, you just got your hands on a photo of satoru the moment he was born. literally.

like every other newborn he had that faint pink shade on his soft skin, button nose, and little hands that had the chubbiest of fingers. you swore you fell in love all over again with him.

the grown up version of the baby however did not feel the same. he didn't think a visit to his family's prestigious estate would lead to you seeing the one photo he would rather die than having any one of his friends see. he'd rather have you take a photo of him falling flat on his face on a pile of garbage actually.

how you came across that photo of him, he has no idea. you both were currently residing in his old bedroom, laid down on the old tatami mats that still smelled new. all he remembers is you getting up to look for something within the old cabinets of his room before you exclaimed about your recent discovery.

"oh there's more, lemme see."

"nononononono, no! you've already seen enough!"

satoru tried desperately to snatch the small box of photos that was now on the floor. seriously who put this here?? — maybe his mother heard of how he was bringing you along for the weekend and planted a little surprise for you to find. he was unsuccessful, again, as you seemed to be faster than the strongest now since the box was now sitting on your lap — the stack of photos now in your hands as you flipped through them one by one.

"you used to wear such cute things too! look at that, it's a little onesie with a duck pattern!"

satoru was now internally screaming, his ears blowing out steam now from embarrassment. they must be, since he could feel his face rise in temperature faster than ever, he might even be a new shade of scarlet now. he's resorted now to lying face first on the floor, burying his face in his arms trying to shield himself from your commentary.

he didn't budge when you poked him with your fingers, trying to show him photos of his even younger self. satoru won't deny it, he was cute as a baby. the cutest even (his ego was whispering that) — but to have you witness him in all his newborn glory? that was too much for him. now his image was shattered (the one he created in his head), you won't look at him the same anymore. you'll only think the words cute and adorable, and so on after this. no more comments on how hot he was, how undeniably attractive his smile was.

satoru gojo, was indefinitely, ruined.

that was at least his way of thinking. you were internally dying on the inside.

to think that at such a young age, satoru still held the most striking pair of eyes you've ever seen. even as a baby you could see that he held the heavens and even the depths of hell in them. you can see why many people whispered how his birth had changed everything in the jujutsu world.

but even so, you couldn't bring yourself to care about those old rumors. right now, you were focusing on just how cute he used to look, back when he was just a couple of pounds and was drowning in innocence that any baby had.

"hey satoru?"

"..mm?", well at least you got a reaction.

"who took these photos anyway?"

you had to wait a few seconds until you heard him shuffle, moving on all fours before sitting up and placing himself right next to you. the embarrassment had died down, just a bit. there was still evident pink on his neck, ears, and cheeks.

"it was mostly just my mom and the maids. they were the ones who always dressed me up too."

that made you smile, the image of a fussy satoru not wanting to put baby gloves on with a matching outfit — it was too good not to imagine. a few moments passed before satoru carefully snatched a handful of photos from you. you were about to protest when he began telling you the story behind each of them, or well, the ones he could remember.

maybe you seeing him like that wasn't so bad after all.

p.s., now he's totally gonna send some of these to the group chat. bet he was a cuter looking baby than suguru and shoko anyway.

[blairxbear]

Stranger Things Preferences

Their Pet Name for you.

(Featuring: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove, Jonathan Byers, Dmitri Antonov, Jim Hopper, Alexei, Murray Bauman, Robin Buckley, Argyle, Henry/001)

Warnings: Mentions of sex. This blog is 18+ Minors do not interact.

A/N: My first preference! There will be quite a few of these across quite a few fandoms so if you'd like to be tagged in future preferences or future stranger things posts please let me know in the comments! :) Also any Russian is taken straight from google translate so pre-apologies if I have butchered it! Enjoy!

Steve Harrington

Steve keeps his pet names quite generic, baby, babe, sweetheart. It's not so much the names he uses but how he says them. Most of the time he's most comfortable using the shortened version of your name or nickname he has for you, but the amount of affection he would put into it would make you melt. If he's being especially flirtatious you'd even occasionally get doll. He doesn't miss the effect it has on you when he calls you that.

Eddie Munson

Eddie is as theatrical with his pet names as he is with anything else in life. He loves to call you princess, especially during Hellfire meetings when he can incorporate you into his campaign. I think Eddie would switch between a few pet names to try to keep it interesting, baby, sunshine, sweetheart. It doesn't matter what he calls you it never fails to give you butterflies. Let's not pretend that if you two are hanging out in his trailer while you joke around and play air guitar together that he doesn't call you his little Rockstar.

Billy Hargrove

Billy's pet names for you depend on two things; his mood, and who you are around. In public you're only getting the less heartfelt pet names, he refers to you as his girl a lot in front of other people. Not only does he love the small smile it brings to your face but it also feeds into his possessive side, knowing that everyone knows you are his. When you two are alone and have been together for a while, Billy finally shoes a softer side of himself. He will compliment you a lot and attach all sort of pet names to those compliments, baby, sugar, sweet thing, still loving to resort to calling you his girl. You're mad at him and he's trying to make it up to you? Get ready for him to bargain his way back into your arms, wrapping his arms around you as he whispers in your ear, "Come on sweetheart, you know you can't stay mad at me."

Jonathan Byers

This soft, shy, adorable baby will probably be hesitant to use pet names for a long time. I honestly doubt you would hear them until you two begin to get intimate and he's too lost in the moment to think about what he's saying. He's pussy drunk and rambling into your neck, pet names would all be soft and sweet while he's chasing his high, beautiful and sweetheart would be at the top of his list. Getting high in his room? This sweet man would be telling you how you're his sunshine, rambling on in his delirium about how you light up his life.

Dmitri Antonov

While this man's English is very good, he still prefers to use pet names in Russian. There's something about the way he looks at you with his intense gaze as he slips back into his native tongue that just turns you into an absolute puddle. His favourites include котенок (kitten) and моя любовь (my love). The thought of this man holding you while you curl up in bed for the night, arms wrapped around you while he whispers endearing words in Russian into your ear is enough to bring butterflies to your stomach.

Jim Hopper

Let's not pretend like for a goooooooood while this man affectionately refers to you as kid even if you are barely a few years younger than him. He's a tough shell of a man that will refuse to open up or show his feelings for a long time, but when he does you realise its worth the wait. He doesn't throw around pet names and words of endearment a lot as he prefers to save them for moments when he feels it's right. When it's just the two of you and you're sharing a soft moment, sometimes referring to you as darling in his softer moments. Occasionally you might even get a cheeky baby.

Alexei

Another Russian baby, this adorable man will always call you pet names in Russian, it doesn't matter how much his English has improved. It just means more to him coming from his native tongue. His regular go to include голубь (Dove) and милый (Darling). Although, Murray taught him how Americans us Pumpkin as a term of endearment as a way to screw with you both and now it's one of Alexei's favourite things to call you. Jokes on Murray because seeing Alexei's face light up as he reaches for you and calls you pumpkin is enough to fall even more in love with him.

Murray Bauman

I feel like Murray cannot find it in himself to call you soft names to start off with. He's still confused by the fact that you even want to be with him, he's not going to possibly embarrass himself further using some pet names that might cross some invisible line he's set up for himself. He refers to as lady a lot, or another unique name that fits your looks of personality. Once this man is comfortable and more secure in your relationship I think the names would still stay light and not too sensitive. You would definitely get honey a lot, I don't think Murray would be able to resist yelling through the house when he gets home, "Honey, I'm home!"

Robin Buckley

Robin would also keep her pet names generic just like her bestie Steve, but less out of originality and more just to play it safe. Robin would have some insecurities going into a relationship after all the careful steps she took just to get to where you two are now. She is hesitant at first to say the wrong thing so she sticks to a lot of sweetheart and babe. One day you were spending time together and she slipped up and called you buttercup. She panicked for a second worrying what you would think of the nickname, but seeing your smile wiped all of those worries away and it became one of her favourite pet names so far.

Argyle

Okay so we all know this cutie is not going to call you any conventional pet names unless he's sober which is not very often. You're going to get a lot of my dude and bro but he does really mean it affectionately with you. Other than that you're definitely going to get a lot of made up names that mean absolutely nothing but to him they mean a lot; wicked lady, cream puff, anything. He would totally refer to you as "my queen" when he lets you into the van which he refers to as your chariot. Your favourite pet name would be the time he said, "My pretty girl is gonna get all the pizza she wants" he couldn't understand your reaction as you couldn't think of what to say next after hearing Argyle call you his pretty girl.

Henry/001

I whole heartedly believe this man would refer to you as pet. He does mean it endearingly but he also can't resist how you scrunch your nose up at hearing the teasing term. He also uses a lot of "My little..." whether it be bird, bunny, dove. He constantly feels the need to protect you and he shows that in his terms of endearment by referring to you as small and innocent. I know this man would call you his good girl, and you will have to pry that thought out of my cold dead hands.

A/N: Hope you guys like this! Reminder that if you want to be tagged in future Stranger things posts or other preferences to let me know in the comments and ill create a tags list :)

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Springtime Caresses

III. Angsty Dadstarion, but it's quite alright.

“Here, papa, here! You have to lie down right here! Don’t move!” 

Warm grass tickles the back of Astarion’s neck. With his eyes closed to the bright sun above him, he listens to his surroundings, takes in the bird song and wind dancing through the trees. The static buzz of honey bees. Children’s play. 

Life. 

He’s not asleep but pretends to be. It’s part of the game, or so he’s been told. 

“Sweet dreams, papa!” 

Most of his dreams are sweet these days, but he doesn’t mention that, just complies. 

The scents of sun-warmed soil and perfectly ripened strawberries carry a promise of summer to his nose, lulling Astarion into a twilight state of content drowsiness. Maybe he will allow himself to fall into reverie, after all. He’s tranced in worse places, and with worse company, too. 

But that was a long time ago.

Now, he enjoys ruining his silken shirts with grass stains. Fresh air filling his lungs all day long. The feeling of tiny hands weaving wildflowers into his silver curls. 

Even after all these years, this experience will never cease feeling novel to him—the warmth, the tranquillity. This deep sense of belonging.

Peace.

It’s not a sweet dream, but reality. It’s as real as the wild shrieks and laughter sweeping across the meadow. Children jumping over and around him, eager to slay this or that imaginary fiend. The hem of a skirt he mended only last night brushing against his legs. A young boy humming a song his mother sang over breakfast close to his ear. 

Astarion smiles, or tries not to, since he’s promised to be fast asleep—even when there’s a sudden tug at his hair. 

The humming stops; the laughter fades into displeased groans all around him. Astarion doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that the face eclipsing the sun above him is a much younger version of his own. 

“Careful, Miri, that hurts papa!” The boy scolds as he gently untangles his little sister’s hand from their father’s locks.

“Uh-oh!” the toddler mumbles before she helps the boy pick stray sticks from Astarion’s hair. “Bad!”  

“Yes, Miri—bad.” 

Astarion suppresses the urge to take his daughter’s clumsy hand in his and press a soothing kiss to her small fingers, telling her it’s quite alright. That no harm was done. There never is. Not here. Not with them. 

But all he has to do today is feign sleep, so he will reassure the child later when it’s his turn to braid her hair in time for bed.

“Sorry, papa,” another girl calls from near the treeline. “Miri didn’t mean to hurt you! But don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the true beast!” 

This time, Astarion cannot help the faint smile tugging at his lips. 

It’s a lovely promise, lisped through missing front teeth. And it’s true—most of the time, at least. 

These children, this family he helped create with nothing but love and devotion, distract him from the beast prowling the everlasting darkness far in the back of his mind.

Yet, sometimes, distraction alone isn’t enough… 

Astarion doesn’t like to dwell on the rare occasions when the beast eventually does find its way to him. It’s tamer now, the years have made it lazy enough, but every now and then, it will probe him. It can still sniff out the weakness he’ll never be able to shed, knows whenever he’s at his lowest. 

The beast only lunges at easy prey—it always has.

So, sometimes, when Astarion’s nights are tense with endless whining, misplaced toys and sharp words, the beast breathes down his neck, whispers in his ear.

On your back, boy, right here. Do not move. It will not hurt unless you let it. Your screams have always sounded the sweetest. Are you hurting, yet? Good, it’s because I want you to. It’s what you deserve, you insolent fool. Have you no respect for yourself? That’s why they hate you so, that’s why you’re but a pathetic little boy who’s never amounted to anything that’s why you’re nothing that’s why—

Once the older children perform their duty to scold the youngest among them, the laughter returns. Their faceless fiend is fair game again and all Astarion has to do is sleep, trust in his family’s sweet promise that holds his cure. 

Because, as exhausting as it is, he has learned to ignore the beast, become numb to its poison. It’s a thing of the past and he won’t let it taint his future. 

Astarion lets out a deep breath. He can feel himself grow tired under the little hands stroking his hair.

“No worry, papa.”

No worry, no. Not here. Not with them. Never with them…

There’s a gust of wind coming from up north. It carries the scents of sickly sweet strawberries and petrichor and, ever so slowly, Astarion can feel his mind slipping. 

He doesn’t sleep; he hasn’t in a very long time. Sleep, true sleep, is vulgar and reminds him of death. Instead, Astarion drowns in memories, but even there he’s buried six feet under today. 

There are no strawberries in this freshly dug grave, only the stink of decay. The damp wood of his coffin presses uncomfortably into his back while worms and maggots tickle his neck. Eating at him. Consuming him. 

His broken fingernails hurt as he claws at the darkness surrounding him—this deep in the ground, all shades of grey are tainted black. Sometimes he wonders if his eyes are even open, but they must be because they burn with tears and blood and dust.

There’s laughter coming from somewhere above. It’s rumbling like far-away thunder; it hasn’t reached him, yet, but the threat of it is already stunning him with fear.

He cannot speak he cannot see he cannot be he cannot—

The laughter isn’t coming from above, nor is it coming from anywhere, really. It’s residing inside his head, this vile laughter that won’t let him in on the joke. And why would it? He is nothing, is he not? All he is is blood and screams and death. Bodies piled atop his aching shoulders, weighing him down.

So why is he moving? Why is he digging through wet soil until he can see moonlight illuminating his path to…

The beast eclipses the moon and the stars shining down on him. It has stopped laughing, though its maw is stretched into an unnatural grin, revealing a pair of sharp fangs—the key to the wounds on his neck. A promise of endless misery.

He cannot stop moving towards the beast. It holds its claws out to him, stroking his hair, scratching his scalp raw. There you are, boy, always crawling back to me. My good, prodigal son—look at you! Do you know why you’re here? With me? It’s because, after all these years, you’re still mine. And you will always be.

“Astarion?”

There’s a light drizzle soaking his skin. 

Astarion opens his eyes to a sun that’s crawled past its zenith, taking the music of children’s play with it. The silence feels oppressive, just like the calm before a great storm, and all he can feel are the small, warm bodies Astarion helped create press against him. They’re curled up against his side, lying draped over his legs, clutching his arm. Weighing him down.

No.

Grounding him, always ever grounding him. 

He needs to shield his sleeping children from the rain, he thinks, but his arms are still caged somewhere between nightmare and reality. 

Fuck, how long had he been out?

Astarion inhales deeply. He just needs a moment to come to his senses.

He can smell rain-soaked cotton, crisp air and that faint scent of magic he would recognise even if he were buried deep in the ground.

Oh, of course…

“Astarion.”

He allows himself a relieved half-smile as the rain above him is coming to a sudden halt a moment later. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, my heart,” Tav says as she steps into the meadow, one eyebrow raised at the sight in front of her. “But what in the nine hells are you doing out here?”

Astarion can only watch as little droplets of rain run down the magic dome enclosing him and the children, tear drops that can never reach them now. 

“I’m a sleeping princess, or so I’ve been told. But I’m rather afraid my knights in shining armour fell asleep before they got to wake me…” 

Tav joins her family under her shield of magic, strokes the head of the child closest to her as she smiles at her husband.

“I see. May I kiss you awake instead, then?” 

“You already have, darling,” Astarion whispers. “But do it again, yes? Just to be on the safe side…?” 

His hand brushes the swell of Tav’s stomach as she’s trying to settle comfortably against him. It’s getting rather crowded—the house, life, moments like this—but there’s always room for one more, Astarion thinks.

Tav grins as she sweetly kisses her way from his cheek to his mouth, where she finally lingers. 

To Astarion, Tav’s lips taste of freedom, of nightmares swiftly broken. Of home—the best distraction he never dared to hope for. One he never wants to end.

In the distance, there’s a gentle thunder rolling towards the meadow, but that’s quite alright. Astarion knows that it can’t do any harm. Not here. Not with them.

Never with his family around him.

@seaofdaydreams , my dear, I hope you do not mind me borrowing Miri's name for this one ♡

more Dadstarion content

tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan @darlingxdragon @herautumnmorningelegance

[love-that-we-were-in]

Let All Your Damage Damage Me

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader Summary: There's something to be said for patching up Camp Half-Blood, especially when you end up seeing more of Luke Castellan than you thought you ever would. Or 3 times Luke starts a fight and 1 time he doesn't. Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: smoking, mentions of low-grade drugs and underage drinking, implied sexual content and more teenage dirtbag luke because @initialchains was kind enough to let me steal him for evil!

a/n: this is the most brainrot i've ever brainrotted and again, all credit for this version of luke to noli. enjoy!!!

There’s this weight that carries the name Luke Castellan across Camp Half-Blood. Once, it was a new camper - years on the run with a young daughter of Athena and a fatality at the borders that drew interest. In the time since, it’s become something different, reshaped and frayed. A promising young demigod lingering on the outskirts where possible, creating his own tethers to the mortal world like it’ll detach itself from him if he doesn’t. 

It confuses new campers at first, the dichotomy between how Luke is spoken of and who he is. The best swordsman in almost three centuries, a once favorite son of Hermes. To look at him then, take in his scuffed shoes and the cigarette tucked behind his ear - it makes them wonder what it took for him to fall so far out of alignment. 

No one ever asks. 

1.

The conch sounds from your left and the rest of your campmates spread out across the land with a battle cry. You know how this evening goes, too many of them spent alone in the quiet of the med-bay. There’s three of you as it stands, all waiting for someone to show up with a cut to tend to as the game gets underway. Will stands outside, eyes wandering over the edges of the forest as if he can see through the trees to what’s happening within them. It’s his first summer, the thrill of camp yet to be lost on him, and you’re glad he can find excitement in being on the sidelines. Lee has already tucked himself into a corner, technically a part of the medical team but mostly waiting to tag into the game. A back-up player. 

You know that within the hour, you’ll likely lose both of them to the game. It’s not something you mind, dealing with the minor injuries alone. There’s an element of peace to it, tending to everyone else’s wounds and sending them on their way. It’s what you’re best at, a healed knife wound last year the reason you were claimed. Still, it makes capture the flag last for eons - every hint of action happening further than you can see, often too far away for you to even register until someone pushes their way through your door in need of help.

So you settle in, let the peace of the evening wash over you. When one of the younger Demeter kids rushes into the room, you observe Will treating the deep cut on her arm. Disinfectant, gauze, a small bandage. When he’s done, he looks at you and you’re all too familiar with it. The longing to be part of the action. At your nod, he takes off, hot on the heels of the young girl and into the thick of battle. 

Eventually one of Clarisse’s siblings bursts into the room, fire in his eyes and you can hardly blink before Lee is standing to attention. It’s the way of the game and you wave him off lightly, lowering yourself back into a chair and letting your head fall against the cool surface of the wall. 

Another hour. 

If you had to guess, you would say there’s less violence on the field today. It’s Annabeth’s first time leading a team, you know that, and you’re aware of the way her mind works - lower injuries, higher soldiers. There’s little doubt that she’s ran the numbers, with backup plans for her backup plans to find and steal the flag. You know you should be rooting against her, Apollo partnered with Ares this time around, but you want this victory for her. 

There’s a flurry of movement from outside moments later, a groan followed by a muttered “I’m fine, Annabeth” before the girl is in front of you, frown pulling across her features. 

Beside her, or rather resting his weight on her, is Luke Castellan, eyebrows scrunched together and arms covered in thin cuts. 

You don’t really have much of an opinion on Luke if you’re being honest. You know the basics - a crash course given to you by Silena when you arrived at camp, actual information littered between rumors. Son of Hermes, incredible swordsman. Snuck out of camp two years ago to get a tattoo because he was drunk. Bribed Katie to start growing weed in one of the rarely used greenhouses.

Now, faced with him in a bloodied camp t-shirt and lacking his usual cigarette, you sort of want to know what’s true. 

“What happened to him?” There should be more urgency to your actions, you know, but you help Annabeth guide him into one of the beds at the side of the room slowly. 

“He decided to pick a fight with a bunch of kids near the lake,” Annabeth says, rolling her eyes. Even as she does, there’s this adoration that seeps out of her, the same one you’ve always known her to carry where Luke is concerned. “Three on one.”

Luke groans as you shift his position, glaring at the girl in front of him. “They deserved it. The shit they were saying.” 

Part of you wants to ask, desperately. Annabeth chuckles, nudging his shoulder and says, “Yeah, I know. I already thanked you so stop fishing for compliments.” 

He laughs lowly and you almost forget that there’s a real reason Annabeth would’ve brought him here. You’ve only seen Luke in this room once, late last winter, so it’s odd that he’d be here now. He tilts his chin at her, and then at the door. “Go win that flag.”

She starts to protest, talking about having faith in her team and how making sure he’s safe is more important. Still, she glances towards the door. 

“He’s in good hands with me, Annabeth,” You say when she stops to breathe for a moment. She bites her lip. “I promise.”

“She promises,” Luke repeats from behind you and apparently, that’s all Annabeth needed. With a final glance between you, she retreats, working her way back into the game. “Just me and you now, Angel.” 

There’s some sort of shift with Annabeth’s absence, thicker in the air and not completely unwelcome. Maybe it’s the nickname, too familiar for people having their second conversation, but there’s this way Luke says it, no intention twisting around the letters but settling warmly into your system anyway. You ignore it. “Where are you hurt, Castellan?” 

He grimaces and it’s the first time you notice his hand clasped at his side. It drops and you take in the darker color of his camp t-shirt there, the way it sticks to the area damp with blood and probably a lot of sweat. 

“Holy shit.” 

“It’s not that bad,” he jokes and you raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

You shake your head. “Come on then, let’s see it.” 

It’s something you don’t do often, this informality with a patient. Bedside manner means something in healing but right now, you can’t think of the right way to channel it. To be gentle with Luke would feel awkward, restrictive almost, and to be too formal would just be rude at this point. What you’re doing now seems to work, if the way he grins is any indication, and you excuse yourself to the supply cabinet as he does as requested.

When you turn back around, Luke has his shirt off, legs still hanging off the side of the bed. You almost want to tell him to lay down, for your own peace of mind. Make it so you can simply treat the wound without having to look at him properly. Because Luke is…

Luke is really fucking pretty. 

You’ve known he was attractive - everyone knew that. It wasn’t something openly spoken about, not with how he exists on the outskirts of camp most of the time, but it was mutually understood. For all his faults, Luke was incredibly attractive. 

Now, though, even with blood covering half of his torso, he’s really fucking pretty. 

“I’m just going to clean it first,” you say when you reach him and it comes out quieter than you intended. You stand in front of him and his head tilts back slightly to look at your face properly. “Do you mind if you just- I need to get a little closer to look at it.”

You expect him to turn to the side, let the wound face you a bit better. Instead, the space between Luke’s legs widens enough for you to take a step closer, almost like a challenge, and you take it anyway. 

You work on instinct, wiping the blood away, pressing gentle fingertips into the skin. Habits formed over months, usually steady hands shaking just slightly as you wipe the cloth against Luke’s torso, his even breaths hitting the side of your neck at this angle. 

It’s not as deep as you expected, the skin still open, completely raw but not as ugly as it could be. As what you expected it to be. Gently, you press the gauze to it, lifting your head to be met with Luke’s eyes. They’re brown. They’re brown and completely relaxed and you kind of really want to find out how wide they could get in the right situation. 

“I told you it wasn’t that bad,” Luke says and you feel it more than you hear it. It shoots through your veins and you distantly remember Silena telling you that she once caught him with a line of coke. They rattle together before falling silent and you can hear your own breathing again. Luke’s too, slower than yours but close enough that you can count the length of each one. 

“You still should’ve come to me when you got injured.” 

“I’ll remember that next time.” It drifts across your cheeks, warming the skin there and you look back down at your hand pressed against Luke’s side. Pulling the gauze away, you quickly replace it with a clean square, sticking it in place carefully.

You run a finger across the edges before muttering, “All done.” 

There’s a right thing to do. Take a step back, give Luke the privacy to redress and send him on his way with instructions for looking after the dressing. That’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s what your brain is screaming at you to do, actually, but Luke’s skin is still so warm under your palm and each breath makes you more aware of the dip in his collarbones and you can’t think of a single good reason to move away.

When his lips part, you think he’s going to give you one. Instead, he whispers, “Tell me no,” and it just makes more sense to meet him halfway than say yes. 

Turns out, Luke Castellan is a really good kisser. It matches him, the blase way he leans into the action, tilts his head and adjusts the pressure to match whatever you do. Distantly, you remember to move your hand, dropping it from the gauze and resting it on his thigh instead and there’s this noise Luke makes in the back of his throat as you do so that makes you want to do it again.

He breaks off in the end, drawing in deep breaths. To see him disheveled isn’t entirely new, not with the lack of care he puts into maintaining his camp uniform, but to see him like this - dark curls run through, cheeks flushed red and lips swollen - is something else entirely. Without thinking too hard, you dip your head and place a kiss to the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. He shivers and you take it as an invitation, pressing another to his shoulder and then one to his right collarbone. 

His loose grip on your hip tightens and you wonder how far you could take this before you would have to stop. Based on the low curse Luke lets out when you repeat the motions on the other side of his neck, it’ll probably take until another camper comes to find you. 

Dragging your gaze down Luke’s frame, you come to the reasonable conclusion that it’s a risk you’re just going to have to take. 

2.

You expect it to happen sooner, staring at the door each evening willing it to open. A week of counting the hours, locking the med bay every night and still no sign of Luke. He’s back from his quest - Will had rushed in with the news when he’d crossed the border back into camp - but you’re yet to see him at all. Silena tried to tell you about his quest, about his failure really, and you’d shut her down before she could give you anything more than that he’d been badly injured. 

Lee had been on duty the day he’d returned. Written the notes and left them filed away. 

Deep scarring on the face. Nectar and ambrosia required on arrival. Patient refused monitoring. 

He doesn’t offer any further insight when he catches you reading over them the next morning, just shrugs like he expected Luke to refuse his help. Like he’s surprised the other boy even showed up for treatment at all. It’s moments like that, where there’s this judgement surrounding Luke’s mere existence, that remind you of the weeks before his quest. The five hectic weeks of bruised knuckles and how soft they could be against your skin. Of how nice cigarette smoke could be coming from Luke’s lips instead of just lingering in the air. 

So it catches you off guard when the knock sounds on your door, the same familiar quick raps of knuckles on the wood that you grew accustomed to hearing late into the night. He’s there, when you pry the door open, and he’s nothing like you expected. 

He’s still Luke, from the ragged tee to staggered breathing, but there’s blood covering half of his face, dripping from the stretch of open skin running down his left cheek and a dip in his spine he never had before. 

“Do you want to berate me first or can I just come in?” 

Stepping out of the way, you gesture into the empty room. There’s a familiar routine to this now, despite the week without it, and Luke takes his usual path to the bed near the cabinets. It’s wrong, the way you attach yourself to the casualness of it, to the comfort of having him back in this space with you, instead of rushing to do your job. 

But it’s Luke, a little broken maybe, but still Luke. 

“Who’d you fight this time?” You ask as you dig through drawers for everything you might need. You tell yourself it’s to be prepared - you both know what it really is. “Don’t tell me the foxes are back.”

“If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.” 

It’s a running joke, borne of concern the first time Luke showed up here after curfew with a cut on jaw and nose a little more crooked than before. Something to reassure you, to stop you shifting yourself into professional mode. A way of assuring you that there was no rush. 

“You didn’t have a healing scar before,” you mutter regardless, slotting yourself into the space between his legs like normal. There’s an overhead light and, from directly in front of him, you can make out the length of it, the shape of the raised skin. It’s still raw, a little puffy, but on the right track. “Or did you forget?” 

“It’s not exactly easy to ignore, is it?” He shrugs, sitting straighter. “Besides, Ares kids are never all that.”

Finally, you think, lifting your hand to touch the taut skin there, there’s the bitterness you’ve heard in his voice so many times before. It’s one of those things you’ve come to recognise in Luke’s tone, the cadence of it when he actually cares, pitching lower than usual, burying itself under nonchalance. 

He watches as your thumb swipes across his cheek, pulling back to observe the way it stains red. You’re used to seeing him a little damaged, easily put back together by your hand. This is something else, a reflection of how everyone else sees him - bloodied and broken and damn near unapproachable for fear of spilled blood - and you want to capture it in your brain for the future, maybe forever. 

“I’m starting to think you might like me,” Luke says, hands moving from where they sit on the bed to rest on your waist. Your eyes stay locked on the pad of your thumb, watching the blood begin to seep into your skin. A beat, the brush of his warm thumb against the skin on your waist, and then, “It doesn’t hurt that much.” 

It goes against so much of who you’ve always sworn to be, finding him so pretty in this moment. Taking in the red of his cheek, the way it stretches down his neck and drips onto his t-shirt. Short of taking a medical oath, you’ve promised yourself to heal. To mend. To treating the injured, regardless of your own feelings on the matter.

Of course it would only take Luke Castellan, dark eyes and tender hands, to challenge that. 

“Tell me if it does,” You whisper and he licks his lower lip as he nods, wiping away some of the blood staining it as he does. The end of his quiet “promise” catches itself between your lips, mingling with the metal on your tongue and making it sweeter than you could’ve ever anticipated. 

This part of Luke is all too familiar, the taste of him to the comfortable weight of yourself on him. You’d learnt on that first night what made him tick, what made its way through him and he would return to you tenfold. In the weeks since, you’ve studied them, picking them apart until there’s been nothing to do but follow them into freefall. 

Now, you use them to guide you. Those small hitches in his breathing, the clearing of his throat, the slip of his palm when you press your lips to the skin above his pulse on the left and let them stain the right to match. It’ll all fade when you come back to yourself, cleaning the wound and stitching him back up, but it’s there when you lean back to look at him again, the undeniable mark of you on Luke Castellan’s skin. 

“You’re really fucking pretty, you know that.”

Luke tilts his head, squinting a little to focus his gaze. It’s this thing he does whenever you get like this, observant and a tad shy, waiting for the ball to drop. You keep silent, arms still wrapped around his shoulders and knees digging into the mattress either side of his hips. It’ll pass, always. 

When it does, the air changes. Not quite the same heated urgency as before, less hazy and with Luke realising the inch he’s been given, taking the mile you’ve offered in the inbetween. He’s still broken, still stained despite your best efforts to remove it, and he settles a hand in the hair at the nape of your neck as you push closer to him. 

3.

Silena told you once that it only takes twenty-one days to form a habit. She was talking about finding cigarette ends scattered around the training centre, a sure sign of Luke’s presence there each day, and how his habits had become too ingrained in him after years for them to be broken. It wasn’t true, you’d known that much, but it stayed in the back of your mind with every new one you attempted to build - daily runs, the correct amount of sleep, offering help to someone you didn’t know too well at camp. None of them ever stuck, lasting a few days at most, but it strikes you again now, Luke pushing his way through your door.

Eight weeks. More than enough time to form an alleged habit. You think, observing the flex of his arm, the thin section of ink peeking out from under his camp tee when he does, that you’ve fallen into a habit with Luke Castellan. Possibly even the habit of Luke Castellan. 

It’s different this time, however. The lack of visible bruising on his own skin, for one. There’s hints of it, smatterings of black and purple stretching across his knuckles, the skin peeling slightly, but his face is unmarred save for his usual scar. You don’t often see Luke mean. Based on the clench of his fists, so tight you’re sure it must hurt, you’re not entirely sure you want to.

“Did you know that he was summoned?” He says through gritted teeth. Sometimes, you wonder if Luke knows how to start a conversation properly. It’s not something you’ve known him to do, never a hello or goodbye, just a topic spoken into the space around you both. Neverending. “Claimed while I was away getting my ass handed to me by a dragon and then summoned for a discussion with Hermes.” 

You understand, then, why his entire body is tense. A carefully curated reputation tumbling down around him after years. The fallen son of Hermes finally getting some comeuppance for his impudence. Being replaced, in spite of dedication given to people who couldn’t stand to be around him. It’s not the first time you’ve been upset for him, but it is the first time it’s made you ache for justice. 

“I heard he got back this morning.” 

Luke hums and you watch as his cheek hollows, knowing how his teeth are indenting on the skin inside. “Came to find me first thing. To tell me all about it.”

“He came to rub it in.”

“Good girl,” he smiles, the first since walking in, and the combination burns low in your gut. A habit takes twenty-one days to form and it took Luke seventeen to understand the effect those words had on you. “I swung for him before I even realised I was doing it.” 

You perch yourself on the edge of one of the beds, keeping careful track of his movements across the room. “This might be the first time you’ve come here and the other guy is actually going to look worse.” 

It does what you wanted it to, drags a chuckle out of him and releases the tension from his shoulders. “I bumped into Will on my way here. Sent him to patch him up and keep him far away from me.” 

“Are you telling me you planned to get me alone in the med bay, Castellan?”

His nose scrunches, stealing the last of his rage from the air and twisting it into something different. “You were already alone in the med bay. I just planned to take advantage of it.”

The change in dynamic isn’t lost on you, so unused to starting in these positions, but you let it linger for a moment anyway. Ground yourself in the knowledge that Luke knows you, knows your breathing and your movements and your heartbeat. It doesn’t take twenty-one days to build a habit, and you’re far from breaking this one.

“Tell me no,” Luke says and it echoes in a way it hasn’t before. Joins the dust in the air and settles in the sunlight from the high windows. You take a breath. He releases one. “Tell me yes.” 

It’s something you should think about more, letting him ingrain himself in your space the way you have been. Patching him up is one thing, borne from consideration and oath and demanded by a higher power than yourself. In the dark nights of camp, you can pretend the time you spend with him doesn’t count for much - that it barely exists if you want to. That’s how you’ve navigated it so far, pretending not to know the calluses on his hands during demonstrations, brushing it off when Silena points out how he’s been getting into more fights these past few months. 

You should leave Luke Castellan in the shadows, a boy mended in dim lighting and known through hushed conversations. 

But you know the taste of smoke from his lungs, the press of his lips on your skin. You know his blood and his sweat and his mumbled curses. You know more about him than anyone in this camp, maybe in this world, and you’re the only one who cares to trace it over again and again until you can recite him line by line. 

“Yes, Luke,” It comes out louder than intended, completely defined. “Please.” 

Whatever it is about it, the assuredness or the plea, it’s what he needs, crashing into you like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. There’s an easy confidence to the way he touches you now, swallows the sounds you make to keep them for himself, keeps you half-hidden from the daylight peering in like it’ll protect you both. You bury yourself under his skin, nails and teeth and take parts of him with you when you let go. 

It’s risky, slightly too hurried for how important it feels, but it makes sense with each breath you share. Fits itself to the bitterness that frays your edges, hems them into something more palatable. Luke’s mumbles are half-formed against your skin and yours are incomplete in air and they stick together as something no one else could translate. 

You can’t define this, not with a theory or a diagnosis, but you think it could fall neatly into your notes as a categorised addiction. 

With Luke’s soft curls between your fingers, you kind of forget how to care.

+1

“You know, I could probably beat you in a fight.” 

Luke chuckles, flicking the ash from his cigarette to the ground behind your cabin. It’s a new thing, hiding yourselves away in new locations, and you’re sort of fascinated with the way he chooses where to go. No rhyme or reason. “You think?”

“I would bet so much money on it if we actually got paid here,” You nod, rocking back on your heels. He’s nicer like this, bathed in moonlight and at peace with his surroundings. It’s something you’ve become accustomed to, the casual dichotomy of Luke at night, unburdened by rumours. “I would bet your chain on it.” 

You’re not serious, he knows that - the silver necklace is one of the few things he actually treasures - but it’s funny to see his face lift in disbelief as you say it. He presses the end of his cigarette out under his shoe and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the smile threatening to come out. 

“You really think you could beat me in a fight?” 

You take a step back with each one he takes forward, only to find yourself pressed against your cabin seconds later. Luke’s smile changes, twists a little more into a smirk, and you let yourself relax into it. Instead of an answer, you hum lightly. His hands land either side of your head and you feel yourself smile before you remember to stop it. 

“Take it back,” he whispers and it drifts across your cheekbones. You drop your gaze to the peek of silver above his camp shirt, curling a finger underneath the metal so the charm dangling from it drops into full view. You glance back at him, his gaze dropping from your face to hand on his chest. “Please.” 

Wrapping your hand around the cool metal, you tug him the short distance between you and it feels like the better response when Luke smiles against your lips.

[baby-tini]

All timeline Mikeys easily manhandling their gf/wife. How often and why they'd do that👀

Manila!Mikey would do it the most often, this version of Mikey loves the physical control aspect of your relationship, and given just how easily he exercises control over people, and just how easy it is for him too put people down physically, it's extremely likely that, that would be relatively abundant in the dynamic that you two share. One of the things that he's notorious for doing is grabbing at your hair when you have an attitude and try too walk away from him, he really doesn't like that. So he'll fist at your hair and bring you back towards him, pulling your head back as asks you too repeat yourself for him, and when you don't, he'd tell you that it'd be best if you drop your little attitude now, before something worse happens. He'd also be very into pinning you down and taunting you, you must not when him too get off you because you're not even trying too push him off... oh, you are? Well you're not very good at it, and he knows that's not the case, Manila!Mikey or just Mikey in general is insanely strong and you not being able too push him off, is no big surprise and he thrives off you struggling under him.

With Bonten!Mikey though, it's not often and he doesn't really. Now don't get me wrong, he's still got a bit of strength but.. he's very malnourished and under-weight. So, manhandling you isn't super common with him, mainly because he kinda can't. That's why he sticks to guns now, because he's not able too exercise the same strength he used too when he was younger and more up to par with his martial arts. Now, if he's pissed with you, he tends too grab at you, mostly grabbing at your shoulders or arms and holding you their, but even then, it's still not that hard, it only hurts because his hands are relatively big and he squeezes tight, so the spot that he's squeezing will start too become sore and it'll start too hurt you.

Kanto!Mikey though, he's a force and he's insanely strong and he's also in relatively good health so he's very physical with you, and I rarely mean in the affectionate way. He's very big about exercising just how much stronger then you he is. Now, he's intimidating enough, so he doesn't have too physically handle you often but it's not rare either. He's pretty big on forced submission, as in, he'll make you sit at his feet and he'll pet you.. like you were a prized pet for him. He's very big in making it known that you are beneath him and that he's stronger and obviously you know this but he likes too keep you on a rather tight leash, not literally, and he wants too keep that in your head that you can't stop him. He's also really into grabbing you up, like if you're throwing, as he calls them, a temper tantrum. He'll grab you up by the arm as he leans into your ear, in a scarily calm voice, he tells you that you need too, "behave or you'll find yourself crying on the floor."

But with Street Racer!Mikey it's only in a playful aspect, he likes too play-fight with you it's actually really fun, because while yes, he is stronger then you, he still lets you pin him down and get on top of him as he pretends too struggle with you, and while you know he's pretending, it's still fun as you guys giggle about and there's a struggle with each other while he pins you down and tickles you. Sometimes that leads too quite intense sessions as he has your hands pinned above your head and you're breathing heavily as he stares you down, his eyes starring you down as they're lidded and he's grinning your face as you squirm under him.

Toman!Mikey really likes manhandling you, he gets quite the thrill from it and you makes it even better when you lean into and playfully provoke him. It's more affectionate with him in a way as he'll hold you to him and keep you their, right against his chest. He's very big in physically leading you, as in he'll grab you by the hands and pull you with because when he has you, and when he's able too be with you, when he's not working, he likes too touch you as much as he can. With this version of Mikey, he's also still pretty strong and pinning you down or picking you up is rather quite easy for him. He likes too grab you by the face and get your face as he squeezes your cheeks together as gives you a peck to your lips.

[lovewithmary]

(not) moving on — a max verstappen x stark!oc x charles leclerc series

★ fc: madison beer ☆ summary: evangeline "evie" stark is in love with her best friend, max verstappen, but he tries his best to keep her at arm's length. but what happens when she starts to get close to his fellow drivers in the paddock? ★ notes: charles and evie's relationship does seem fast but at the same time this is fiction and i want to get into the good stuff asap

previous next series masterlist

eviestark’s instagram story

"Do you think you're ever going to talk to Max again?"

Evie looked at Charles incredulously and said, "We're on a yacht, isolated from the rest of the world, meaning we can do whatever we want, and you decide you want to talk about Max?"

"Trust me, amor, I intend to do whatever you let me do, but I was just curious," Charles told her, caressing her sides as a way to appease her.

"Isn't it weird for you to ask considering I had feelings for him yet we're... What are we, exactly?" Evie asked.

"I don't think you need to try and cover up the fact that you're still in love with Max, amor, I already know," Charles told her.

"And we're whatever you want to be. However, I'd like to ask you to be my girlfriend one of these days," he added.

Evie looked at him very confused. He was the most confusing person she'd ever met, and one of her uncles was Thor. She'd never felt so exposed ever, and he was someone she met not too long ago. "How are you so okay about all of this? Anyone in your place would've run away screaming by now if they knew," Evie told him.

"Max was and will continue to be a big constant in your life, I can't deny that or pretend it never happened. Yes, you two aren't talking but sooner or later you guys will talk—"

"He has to apologize first," Evie interrupted him, and Charles nodded in agreement and also understanding.

While Evie told Charles the abridged version of what happened on the very day she swore to stop talking to Max, she didn't tell him the exact words Max had said. That was because he was already getting mad at Max and was ready to defend Evie when he had heard the short version, so if she were to tell Charles the full story? All hell will might break loose.

"He apologizes and makes it up to you, then you guys talk again. But, amor, can you honestly say that the minute Max says he wants to be with you, you aren't going to jump at the chance?"

"He could say he would give me everything in the world if it meant being with him and I'd say no," Evie confidently told him, shocking the Ferrari driver.

At the sight of his shocked expression, she explained, "While I can't deny that I still have feelings for Max, I don't think I would be able to be with him, a simple sorry isn't enough for me. He has to grovel. But also, I'd be stupid to not realize what's in front of me,"

"Also, I can get everything in the world by myself. I don't need his help,"

"Did you attend any of Max's karting races when we were all younger?" Charles asked.

"I feel like you like Max more than me," Evie teased, wrapping her arms around Charles' neck while he placed his hands on her waist.

Charles ignored her comment but Evie could tell that he was flustered, as the tip of his ears were red, but she was wise not to comment. "I was just wondering, since you attending the races would've meant that I could've met you and not known at all," he told her.

She hummed, finding herself caressing the back of his head, messing with his hair. "I did attend some of the races, but I was practically attached to Jos whenever I did," she informed him.

Charles wrinkled his nose at the mention of the older Verstappen. "Jos? You had to hang around Jos when we were younger and you're still alive to tell the tale?" He asked in disbelief, remembering how the man was during his and Max's karting days but also when he visits the paddock.

"Jos thought I was going to be a distraction for Max because god forbid he has one friend. But, he kept me around because he knew my dad and also I wasn't that big of a distraction like he thought. So, per my dad's request, he would make sure I didn't get ambushed by crazy fans,"

"Why couldn't your dad go with you?"

"He's Iron Man. And if Iron Man were to go to a karting race when he's only known to go to Formula One races, don't you think that's a bit suspicious? Papa didn't want people who were there for him, he wanted the karting event to be all about the drivers,"

"So there's a small chance I could've met you?"

"Probably, but at the same time, I would've remembered someone if they said inchident," Evie replied, bursting into giggles at seeing Charles' reaction.

"How do you know about the inchident?" He asked, smiling at her giggling.

"Come on, amore, ever since I was seen with you, everyone has been tagging me and I see it on my timeline more than any other post," Evie told him.

"Amore?"

"Well, I figured that since you called me amor, I'll call you amore,"

"I like it,"

"Well, it was either that or Lightning McQueen. And you never like it whenever I say ka-chow," she pouted.

"It's not like I don't mind it when you say ka-chow, but I preferred if you didn't say it after we have sex,"

[https-furina]

— i love you endlessly ! ★ | edition: siblings, version 1.0

ft. lyney + lynette, kaeya + diluc, aether + lumine & albedo + klee. content. heavy angst, all family/platonic love, character death, mentions of blood, injury, light cursing. references to lyney’s vision story + lyney and lynette's story, hints at kaeya + lyney with ptsd & lyney with separation anxiety. aether + lumine is purely headcanon and is not representative of the future of genshin.

notes. my first time writing anything ever with klee and this is how it’s going… i’m so sorry klee omfg. this actually used to have ayato+ayaka and jean+barbara in it !! but i cut them out so i could post it since it’s been in my drafts for a LONG time and they weren’t finished yet. i’ll do a part two with them. taglist — open. @ryuryuryuyurboat @soleillunne @rainswept

✉️ mail received! sender: lyney & lynette

lyney lacks to admit the pure fear that sends shocks and shivers down his body when lynette is not within immediate sight of him. she likes to chime that he says some weird things; perhaps he does on late nights when lynette is accompanying freminet without him - father had assigned him to a different mission and he'd finished much earlier than her. thoughts rush through his mind quicker than he can process them, his aching legs pacing the floor of his bedroom.

are they okay? did something go wrong? lyney's mind is restless at all times, he needs to know lynette is safe. in a few moments of silence, he'll see a younger lynette in the dark, her ears flattened to her head and tail tucked in antagonising fear - the night that father had saved her life, mere moments from the potential loss of her life. lyney's throat will always tighten, breathing rapidly until his lungs burn.

he knows exactly how he got his vision, in the twilight of a cold night, surrounded by danger. he knows that he had begged father so recklessly for a delusion simply to fill the gap that the lack of a vision had given him but he didn't care, he wanted to accompany his sister. he couldn't let her out of his sight again.

one attachment added!

there's a painful silence that's filling the orphanage. on most days, it would be bustling - after all, father had acquired many orphans in light of their dire situations being unable to refuse such kind help as she offers. lyney catches himself frowning, feet pacing the worn floorboards of his bedroom floor. if lynette was here, she'd have already quipped about how the floor will 'disappear beneath him if he keeps pacing.'

the reminder of his twin sister should make him smile. it should draw a crack of a smile to his face and curl the corners of his lips upwards but it doesn't. she still hasn't returned from her mission and while lyney refuses to admit that he's been counting the hours since he was separated from lynette, he most definitely has.

an oil lamp burns by his bedside, painting the room in an orange hue as it glows and yet casting shadows across the walls. lyney can't help but catch sight of the shadows that night, painted on the walls in the glow of roaring flames that crackled from where they burned. he's painfully reminded of the fragile young girl lynette was, vulnerable and almost caught in a life threatening situation. he contemplates what would have happened to her if father hadn't interrupted in time but he's quick to shake his head. he's seen many what if scenarios in his nightmares, waking him as his body trembles and his lungs burn for oxygen.

the pained reminders stain his mind, torturing him when there's a burst of noise from the orphanage's entry hall; multiple voices screaming his name repeatedly, he can hear them calling for him and begging to know where he is. lyney whips his head towards his bedroom door, storming forth as he hurriedly opens it. he catches eyes with one of the orphans who'd been calling his name so painfully. they're wide, fearful and their face is void of colour.

"lyney! it's lynette-" need they say more? the boy rushes forward, skipping steps as he runs down the spiral staircases dressed in lavish red carpets that father had installed for a sense of aesthetic - she had claimed she couldn't work nor focus in a place so bland. - there's a sense of dread that fuels every inch of lyney's body, tearing him apart when he bursts into the entry hall.

beneath a dazzling chandelier with a warm amber glow, arlecchino herself has nestled beside the form of someone on the checker tiled floor, surrounded by orphans that she's trying desperately to shoo away, demanding for space in all of her authority. she's seem awry, not her typical self and lyney's lilac eyes fall to the familiar shoes of his twin sister, poking from the crowd.

his heart sinks, colour leaving his face as he hesitantly approaches; she's just injured, he convinces himself when he sees the stain of red on her usually pristine white shirt, something she was devoted to keeping that way for their shows. the orphans part at the sight of him, the dark eyes of arlecchino raising to him before she trails back down to lynette.

the girl is propped onto her lap, head rested against arlecchino's thighs. lynette has always been a pale girl, lyney knows this well enough whenever he glimpses his own shade of skin colour but she's even paler than usual, her eyelashes fluttered shut. the silence between himself and father is almost deafening.

"she's alright, isn't she?" he barely manages to croak out, seeing how arlecchino has pressed a lanky hand to where lynette's blood has seeped from. she almost grimaces, it's the most emotion lyney has seen from her for a while.

"she's already gone, lyney," was that a crack in her voice? lyney doesn't have the time to ponder it when his vision goes dark, he's dizzy and there's static in the corners of his eyes when he struggles to get air into his lungs, "freminet is in the infirmary."

the infirmary, yes - that means he's getting medical help but the same can't be said for his twin, who he had lacked to part with since they were born. the twin he would tell everything to, who he trusted with every fibre of his being as much as she did with him too.

there's a stinging in his eyes when tears prick at them, threatening to spill the longer he stares at lynette's body. he falls to his knees, not caring for the pain it causes when the floor is less than comfortable, pressing his face into lynette's clothing. she smells the same as she always does, the faint smell of the sugary desserts he'd reprimand her for, lumidouce bells and the ocean.

he lets out a cry into the fabric of her clothing, his hands gripping at it until his knuckles turn white. his cheek presses to her neck, she's cold to the touch already and arlecchino can't help but turn her head away at the sight of her most useful child reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess on the entry hall floor, gripping his dead sister for dear life.

✉️ mail received! sender: kaeya & diluc

despite going down two very different paths of life and perhaps saying things they shouldn’t have, they cannot deny the invisible ties of brotherly love. no matter how much diluc may throw sharp words at the cryo vision, they see their younger selves sometimes like reflections of the past in a shattered mirror’s shards.

on dreary nights where the rain storms against glass windows, when one brother remains consumed by a sweet yet bitter liquid on his tongue and the other brandishes a claymore in the night, they recognise their indifferences. they recognise the unshakeable bond that their pasts have tested to its limit. those around them too acknowledge that the past cannot truly deter emotions.

kaeya frequents the dawn winery much at the expense of his brother, who grumbles and snatches bottles of (almost stolen) wine from his tanned hands. it could be a misfortune he carries to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and this scene… feels so familiar to him.

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a crack of lightning decorates the dark sky looming over mondstadt. it’s been like this for a few hours now, trapping the two brothers in an awkward silence as they linger around the manor. diluc has made the effort to avoid his brother and yet tresses of blue hair keep getting in his peripheral vision.

“there’s been fatui sightings not far north from the winery,” kaeya’s icy gaze flickers towards the office door that isn’t completely shut, “perhaps we should tell master kaeya—”

“he doesn’t need to know, i’ll deal with it personally.” the deep voice of diluc booms, full of authority and the slightest attitude at the mention of his brother that makes kaeya click his tongue, pocketing the small, circular mora he’d been tossing with his thumb as diluc emerges from the office, the winery worker not far behind.

the brothers exchange a look, perhaps this scenario is all too familiar for them both to let it play out. diluc bites his tongue when he prepares for those words he knows kaeya will say.

“he doesn’t need to know?” kaeya mocks lowkey, a coy smile on his face as he dusts his hands together and approaches the redhead, “i’ll be accompanying you.”

and somehow the fiery red male cannot argue back, his eyes narrowing at his brother in distaste when he accepts his fate - it is raining after all, maybe kaeya’s vision could come in more useful than the cavalry captain typically tends to be, his breath laced with wine.

the brothers set off immediately, heads hanging low as they follow the muddy paths out of the winery; ones they’d followed many times before. something about this reminds them of how accustomed to each other’s presence they are. the reports from various workers at the winery are indeed correct and whilst diluc storms into the fight, vision ablaze with an anger that cannot be sated at the cost of a few mere fatui deaths, kaeya cannot help but ponder if there’s too many of them to take on by themselves.

rain impairs his vision, trickling down his face and soaking his hair to his skin. brandishing a blade in his hand, the young man can't help but think he's seen this before. another crack of lightning brightens the sky as a weapon is plunged into diluc's abdomen, his face pales as ruby eyes meet kaeya's panicked gaze.

the realisation hits when suddenly kaeya sees crepus' face over his brother's. he sees that evening when he arrived a little too late, the air struggling to get to his lungs no matter how he gasps for breath, clouds of breath quick to disperse in front of cold lips. kaeya is quick to finish the remaining enemies off before he's forced to look at diluc's slumped body in the mud.

"diluc?" he whispers, kneeling beside the bleeding man. diluc's gloved hands are pressed to his wound, a grimace on his face, "brother?"

"i heard you the first time," he grumbles, not wanting to admit the warmth that consumes his adrenaline filled heart at the sentiment behind hearing kaeya say brother once again, "..say it again."

kaeya takes a moment, his shaking hands dropping his faithful sword as he presses them over diluc's. he no longer feels the warmth emitting from his brother's pyro vision, his eyes stinging painfully - he blames the rain, of course, it's getting in his eyes.

"brother," it falls from his mouth hurriedly, followed by a quiet curse under his breath, "now isn't the time for this! w-we'll get you to adelinde..."

for the first time in years, a glimpse of a grin crosses the redhead's stoic face. in between shallow breaths and blurry sight, he gazes over the familiarity of his brother's face; blood or not. a final breath escapes his chapped lips in the cold of the night, his last thought going over how he wishes he had fixed things with kaeya sooner.

the cryo vision yells out into the night, quick to pull diluc against his chest as the rain continues to ruthlessly batter down on them. it happened again, he curses, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears blend with the raindrops on his cheeks. it won't happen again.

✉️ mail received! sender: aether & lumine

bound by blood, they have always been as thick as thieves together. no ends of time could stop them, no ends of trials and challenges that cross their paths on the journey to find each other. their determination is honourable across teyvat, seeking each other out as if there is no other person in the universe.

without each other they do not know what to do. after all, what do you do when the person you've travelled long and far with disappears without a trace and you're left with nothing but your wit to find them again?

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"brother!" her voice calls out, excitement coursing through her veins as she hurriedly drops the dull blade she'd sported her whole journey these past few years, traversing nations and fighting gods and others alike in search for her brother. aether does not budge, slumped against a rock overlooking the devastation left of khaerni'ah.

lumine's eyes trail to it, the smoke that rises in shades of grey and black, revealing that the flames still burnt at buildings and civilisation. the ashes still smoulder, hot to the touch as the embers glow and flicker through the air. this is not the khaenri'ah she remembers nor is it most likely the khaenri'ah that dainsleif remembers too - dainsleif.. where is he?

the blonde whips her head around in confusion at the sudden disappearance of the male who'd assisted her journey against the abyss order, solemnly appearing out of nowhere with new information to support her journey. a frown decorates her face before she turns her attention back to aether, her smile replacing her former expression.

"aether?" lumine calls out when her brother is unresponsive - was he mad at her for taking so long? why wasn't he sharing the same excitement as her? she stumbles over, breaking into a sprint towards the boulder her twin brother sat beside her. finally, after all this time, she could hold her brother again. her arms envelope the shoulders of her brother, breathing in that familiar scent mixed with the cursed remnants of smoke and ash that fill the air.

but aether doesn't respond to the hug nor the death tight grip lumine is succumbing him to in all of her excitement. slowly, she raises her head. aether's golden eyes are glazed over, his pupils gone and replaced with white. lumine's smile begins to fade, pulling away from the hug when she realises her brother's warm skin that she craved to touch is instead cold and pale.

the blood that has trickled from the corner of his mouth and seeps from his neck has darkened as it oxidises, speckled with the black ash from the flames that have torched khaenri'ah. the breath hitches in lumine's throat and it's suddenly harder to breathe than it was a few moments ago.

a wail escapes her, screaming into the eerie silence left in the aftermath of death and destruction. there's no one to comfort her, to answer her cries. was it all for nothing? had she journeyed this whole time, endlessly fulfilling everyone else's requests just for a snippet of information attaining to her brother, just to be too late?

✉️ mail received! sender: albedo & klee

klee is too young to remember where albedo comes from or even possibly his master, at least this is what he tells himself. klee merely does not care for the trivial matters revolving around where people come from or where they go - despite missing her mother alice dearly sometimes. no, instead the small girl cares for every face surrounding her in light of her mother’s absence; this is particularly albedo.

the people of mondstadt recognise that potentially the small girl is attached to him, referring to him as her big brother as if rhinedottir had made him specifically for her. and on cold nights atop dragonspine’s summit, dressed from head to toe for warmth, the chalk prince considers it.

with a bubbly personality and bright smile that sends everyone into gasps of awe, klee tends to get what she wants and albedo, as her designated big brother, is also victim to these schemes.

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“klee, don’t stray too far,” albedo chimes, concerned for her safety when sky blue eyes follow the brightly coloured girl’s attire through the bleak backdrop of snow, “it’s not safe.”

stars twinkle endlessly above the pair, shining like gold now that the snowstorm had cleared up and dark grey clouds had rolled away to reveal the night sky. klee stares in awe, the stars seem much clearer out here.

“big brother! look at that star!” klee points a gloved finger up at a particular star and whilst albedo gazes upon it, he’s reminded of the very diamond engraved to his throat. his breath hitches and he pulls his gaze away from the stars, approaching the small girl as to stop her leaving his side for too long.

he’d fell so hopelessly for that innocent grin and sparkling eyes when she begged him to let her stay the night with him on dragonspine - he knows he shouldn’t fear for her life entirely, there was a reason acting grand master jean kept klee tucked away in solitary confinement so much but he still couldn’t help the tense of his muscles when he watches her tread through thick layers of snow.

the silence on dragonspine after snowfall was usually albedo’s favourite thing about being stationed up here alone with his experiments but he found himself holding his breath, gloved hands ready to reach for the small girl every time she steps an inch too far. something seemed off but he denoted it down to him being anxious about klee’s presence on dragonspine.

amidst silence there’s a whistle, almost resembling that of an arrow soaring through air. in confusion, the blond whips his head around - nobody dares to step foot on dragonspine so recklessly, not without confiding in himself and the adventurer’s guild first, so where was that whistling coming from? that’s when klee lets out a piercing squeal into the night.

albedo is quick to turn his head back in klee’s direction, had he been so careless to take his attention from her for mere seconds only for her to end up injured? yet as his lips part to call her name, he catches sight of the young girl pierced in the neck but none other than an arrow.

the chilling air of dragonspine hitches in his throat, burning his lungs when he can’t seem to get oxygen into his body, his eyes burning holes into the sight before him when he falls to his knees beside her. she’s terrified, rasping for breath so heavily that the small clouds of warm breath dispersing at her lips are consistently appearing with sharp intakes.

the usual sparkle of ruby red eyes has been demoted to a glitter of wet liquid spilling from the corners of her eyes, her eyes set on the face of her faithful big brother she adored so heavily. she wants to speak, to call his name despite him being right in front of her but it hurts so much, why isn’t he doing something about it?

albedo only has himself to blame, he thinks when he notices the hillichurls disappearing from the cliffside when they think the threat has dissipated - the exact reason his attire was the colour scheme it was, to blend him in so effortlessly. a scowl crosses his face, tears threatening to spill but he remains strong; he has to for klee’s sake.

“i-i’m sorry,” he croaks out, filled to the brim with a guilt he wishes klee could understand when she lets out a strangled whimper, “i’m so sorry klee.”

he pleads that celestia is kind enough to give him the time to take her to the base of dragonspine, across the river to mondstadt so he can get her help. her blood stains the whites and greys of his clothes, blonde hair spilled over his shoulder as he carries her like she’s shattered porcelain.

by the time he makes it to the adventurer’s guild’s camp, out of the sheer cold that turns his limbs numb in an oddly comforting manner now, klee’s breath has ceased to exist despite all the panicked screams around her lifeless body.

he refuses to leave her body’s side, buried neck deep in a suffocating guilt that none of these people will understand. he blames himself for the death of his own little sister, one of the only people he had after his master left.

© https-furina 2023.

[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the challenge)

- Summary: During Rhaenyra's wedding, Tyland and Princess Y/N issues a challenge to each-other.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: This is a scraped and more explicit version of the story how Y/N and Tyland ended up thoghter.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Story: To Win a Princess

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Tyland Lannister blinked against the first rays of dawn streaming through his chambers, wincing as a dull ache throbbed in his temples. He was tangled in the warmth of another’s body—no, not just any body. To his alarm, he could feel the soft skin, a silken tumble of silver-gold hair spilling across his chest, and then he caught sight of a slender, pale arm draped over him, glinting with an unmistakable Targaryen shimmer.

Memories began to unravel in his mind, lurching him into wakefulness. He was in his own chambers, yes, and yet they were in utter disarray—robes cast aside in a haphazard trail from the door to the bed, a goblet tipped over on the table, and his desk, gods help him, completely upturned, scattered with ink-stained papers, toppled candle holders, and half-finished scrolls. And then, the most unsettling of all—the sleeping form beside him, none other than Princess Y/N Targaryen, the younger sister of the bride, Rhaenyra.

He shifted slightly, half-praying he might somehow slip away without disturbing her, but she stirred, murmuring softly in her sleep before stretching, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. She didn’t yet open her eyes, and he couldn’t help but stare, struck by her beauty, her cheek resting against his shoulder, her silvery lashes casting soft shadows against her skin.

The wine, he thought. The feast. The sounds of the harp and lute, the cups refilled far too many times to count. The heated exchange they’d shared across the table, her sharp wit matching his with equal fervor. There had been laughter, he remembered, laughter and something more—a daring spark he’d rarely seen in any noblewoman, let alone the daughter of King Viserys.

And then, that whispered challenge.

“You speak much of lions, Lord Tyland,” she had teased, her gaze a smoldering flame across the table. “But I wonder if the Lannister lion has any bite left in him.”

He remembered the reckless, cocky grin that had tugged at his lips. “Perhaps you’d like to find out, princess,” he’d retorted, raising his goblet to her. “Or do dragons flee from a little danger?”

She hadn’t looked away. “Only if the lion can roar loud enough to be heard in Dragonstone.”

The challenge had been thrown. He remembered her laughing, that warm sound still lingering in his ears even now. And yet, as he now lay there, staring at the ruin of his chambers, he could hardly believe they’d both followed through. That he had taken Princess Y/N Targaryen to his bed—and, judging by the mess around him, more than just the bed.

She shifted again, this time blinking up at him, her violet eyes holding no trace of regret, only a sleepy amusement. “Good morning, lion,” she murmured, lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smile. “I see you’ve awakened.”

He struggled to keep his composure. “Princess…last night…” He cleared his throat, caught off guard by the raspiness of his own voice. “I…we…” His hand moved, as if to gesture to the chaos around them, but he quickly stilled it, unsure how to proceed.

“Ah, so the lion remembers after all.” Her voice was soft, teasing, as she propped herself up on her elbow, letting the sheet slip ever so slightly, and Tyland felt his cheeks grow warm despite himself. “Do not worry, my lord. I am not here to demand apologies.”

“Forgive me, princess,” he replied, managing a shaky laugh. “But my memory is clouded by wine. I… hardly recall how I…” He hesitated, feeling an uncharacteristic uncertainty. “How I managed to charm you into…this.”

She raised a delicate brow, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Oh, did you charm me, Tyland Lannister?” She leaned closer, tracing a finger down his chest, making him shiver. “Or did I charm you?” Her words were a gentle taunt, each syllable laced with the playful challenge she had thrown at him the night before. “After all, you did insist you’d be the first lion to sire a cub on a dragon.”

He swallowed, memories flooding back—the kiss they’d shared, fierce and unrestrained, how he’d backed her against the wall, how they’d moved from one part of the room to another, all decorum and restraint shattered as they gave in to the heat between them. He remembered her laugh as he’d made that boast, his hands gripping her waist as he dared her to prove him wrong.

“You…” He looked at her, half-awed, half-confounded. “You were the one who dared me to try.”

She smiled, serene and untroubled, and nestled back against him, her fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. “Yes, and it seems you rose to the occasion rather admirably, Lord Tyland. I daresay I have no complaints.”

He bit back a groan, resting his hand over his eyes, feeling both exhilarated and horrified. “Princess Y/N, do you understand what this…what this means?”

She tilted her head, looking at him with a surprising calmness. “It means that last night, you and I both threw caution to the wind. That we were bold, foolish perhaps, but alive.” She shifted to meet his gaze, her expression suddenly serious. “Are you regretting it, Tyland?”

He blinked, genuinely uncertain. “I…do not know,” he admitted honestly, feeling an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I only know that this is…dangerous. Foolish.”

“Then let it be our foolishness,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his shoulder. “For one night, let us forget duty and expectation. If you must, you may blame the wine.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement, and she pulled him closer, a reminder of the heat they had shared mere hours ago.

But even as she whispered these words, there was a weight to them, an understanding of what might come after this night ended. They had dared to cross a line, one that neither of them could easily step back over.

“Y/N,” he murmured, tasting the forbidden name as he held her close, his own thoughts racing with the implications. “You and I…we can’t…”

She pressed her finger against his lips, silencing him, and leaned in, her voice soft but insistent. “Last night, my lord, you promised to sire a lion on a dragon. You told me you’d be the first.” She smiled, playful yet wistful. “Perhaps you ought to live up to that promise, before you begin worrying about what happens after.”

Tyland's breath hitched as she leaned closer, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both soft and full of promise, rekindling the fire they had stoked just hours ago. He returned her kiss, slow at first, but soon it deepened, reigniting the passion that had burned through them the night before. Her fingers trailed along his jaw, her touch light, but it sent a shiver down his spine, as if her hands themselves carried the magic of her bloodline.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted her onto him, feeling her soft sigh turn into a breathy moan as she settled atop him. She met his gaze with a knowing, mischievous glint, and he felt his own restraint slipping further, surrendering to the sensation of her body moving in sync with his. Each movement, each sigh, brought him back to flashes of the night before, memories he had thought hazy, but which now returned with a shocking clarity.

He recalled her laughter as he’d issued his bold challenge, remembered how she had responded, unafraid, unrestrained, meeting his hunger with her own. The wine had loosened their tongues, yes, but it was something deeper that had made him dare to speak those words aloud, to claim he would sire a lion on a dragon. And the way she looked at him now, a small, satisfied smile gracing her lips, made him feel emboldened all over again.

“Princess,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his hands finding her waist to steady her as she moved with him. “I wonder what your father would say…if he could see us now.”

A soft laugh escaped her as she leaned forward, her hands resting on his chest as she continued to find their rhythm together, each movement drawing them closer, making him lose himself in the sensation. “And yet,” she replied, her voice soft yet teasing, “last night, propriety seemed the farthest thing from your mind, Lord Tyland.”

He grinned, an ironic twist to his lips as he looked up at her. “And what of you, Princess? I don’t recall you expressing many concerns about decency when you dared me to prove myself.” He brushed a strand of silver hair from her face, his thumb grazing her cheek as he held her gaze. “No…you looked rather…pleased with the challenge.”

She laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained, her eyes flashing with a spark of mischief. “Perhaps because I didn’t think a lion would dare. But it seems I was mistaken.” She leaned down, her lips grazing his ear. “You were rather convincing, as I recall.”

He let out a breathless chuckle, his hands gliding down her back as he pulled her closer, feeling her body press against his with an intensity that made him ache. “Convincing, was I?” he murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “And yet, you were the one who returned each of my boasts, who dared me not just to whisper promises, but to follow through.”

Her smile widened as she met his gaze, her violet eyes glowing with a satisfaction that was almost predatory. “I would expect nothing less from a Lannister…or from you.”

He felt his breath catch as she moved against him, their rhythm growing stronger, a shared, primal understanding passing between them. The soft light of dawn cast her in a warm glow, and he was momentarily struck by the thought of what it would mean if someone were to discover them—if the King himself, her father, were to learn of this secret, of the passion they had shared, and the way she now held him, unafraid, unashamed.

As if sensing his thoughts, she leaned forward, her lips brushing his in a whisper. “Have you lost your courage, lion?”

A smile broke through his momentary hesitation, and he held her tighter, feeling his pulse quicken. “Courage?” he replied, a hint of challenge lacing his words. “If it’s courage you question, perhaps you need another reminder, princess.”

She laughed again, low and breathless, her movements growing more fervent as she leaned into him, her hands tangling in his hair. “Last night, you spoke of being the first to sire a lion on a dragon,” she whispered, her voice thick with amusement and desire. “If you truly believe in your own words, Tyland Lannister, then perhaps you should prove it.”

And with that, he felt whatever restraint he had left slip away. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, an unspoken rhythm that felt as natural as breathing, and he found himself lost in her—her laughter, her touch, the way she looked down at him, completely unafraid.

He captured her mouth in another kiss, fierce and consuming, and she melted against him, matching him with every ounce of fire she possessed. The world beyond his chambers faded, leaving only the two of them tangled together, sharing a passion neither of them had expected but both knew they could no longer deny.

Tyland’s hands found her hips, steadying her, guiding her movements as they both chased the growing crescendo between them. His fingers pressed firmly into her skin, keeping her pace steady, deliberate, even as his own control began to fray. He watched her face, enraptured by the way her lips parted, her breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps as they moved together.

“Is this what you expected, Princess?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, even as he struggled to keep his composure. “I seem to remember you boasting that no lion could match a dragon’s fire.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to maintain her own air of defiance even as she shivered beneath his touch. “I remember you boasting,” she replied, breathless. “And I remember challenging you to prove it.”

He chuckled, the sound rough and dark. “And have I?”

Her response was little more than a soft gasp, and he felt his own heart quicken, a thrill rushing through him at the sight of her losing herself, of the way her regal composure slipped with each movement. He couldn’t help himself; he tightened his grip, guiding her even more firmly, pushing them both closer to that edge.

“I must say, Princess,” he continued, his tone soft and laced with a teasing lilt, “you didn’t seem to care much for decorum last night. The way you pulled me close, daring me…begging me…”

She let out a soft laugh, though it was shaky, her hands braced against his chest. “And you…you kept challenging me,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper as their movements grew more intense, their breaths mingling. “So perhaps it is you who…who ignored decorum first.”

Tyland smirked, guiding her hips faster now, feeling the tension coil tighter and tighter within him. “Is that so?” he murmured, his hands moving in a gentle rhythm, coaxing her, supporting her, bringing them both closer. “Well then, let us see if you can keep up with your own challenge, Princess.”

The last of his restraint broke as he watched her, his own breath ragged as they both surged forward, lost in each other, in the heat, in the shared fervor they had both ignited the night before. And at that moment, as she tipped over the edge, her body shivering against his, he followed her, his hands steadying her in place, holding her as they reached that dizzying high together.

When the tremors began to fade, he held her in place, his hands keeping her close. “Enjoyed yourself, did you?” he teased, voice low, rough with the satisfaction that still hummed through him. He felt a rush of triumph at the sight of her flushed cheeks, the way her breath came in soft, uneven gasps. There was something thrilling in knowing that he’d been the one to unravel her, that he’d coaxed this fierce, proud dragon to abandon herself in his arms.

She let out a breathy laugh, her face turning red as she tried to compose herself. “You are insufferable, Tyland Lannister,” she murmured, nudging him, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. But before she could pull away, he caught her hands, holding them firmly as he shifted, rolling her beneath him.

“You call me insufferable,” he replied, his voice playful as he leaned over her, his gaze intense. “And yet, you seem perfectly content to let me be.” He raised a brow, watching the way she squirmed, the way her blush deepened. “Tell me, Princess, shall we call this a one-time lapse in judgment…or are you willing to embrace the risk once more?”

Her gaze met his, and for a moment, her expression softened, though her lips curved in a slight smirk. “And if I told you that dragons rarely hesitate once they set their minds to something?”

He felt his own lips curve into a grin. “Then I suppose I’d be a fool to refuse,” he replied, his fingers tracing gentle lines along her arms, down to her wrists, where he held her pinned beneath him. “But perhaps we should lay some ground rules, lest we find ourselves in far more dangerous waters.”

She laughed, the sound low, her eyes dancing with mischief. “The lion speaks of rules? How very uncharacteristic.”

He chuckled, his fingers tightening around her wrists. “Perhaps I am willing to bend a few rules, for you.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper as he continued, “But I believe we’d do well to keep this… discreet.”

Her expression grew thoughtful, but she nodded. “Discreet it shall be. A secret shared between a lion and a dragon.” Her gaze held his, unyielding, challenging. “Do you think you’re up to it, Tyland?”

He smirked, a glint of challenge lighting his own eyes. “For you, Princess, I’d manage anything.” He leaned down, capturing her lips in another searing kiss, sealing the pact they’d made—one that was equal parts dangerous and exhilarating, one that left him already anticipating the next time they’d indulge in their newfound passion.

Tyland Lannister entered the council chamber that morning with a determined expression, though each step felt like it reverberated painfully through his skull. The remnants of last night’s wine still clung to him, dulling his senses and fraying his patience. He could feel the weight of his hangover pressing down, a constant reminder of the night’s indulgences—and of the passionate encounter that had left his chambers in utter disarray.

As he took his seat, Tyland’s gaze swept across the room, trying not to linger too long on any one face, particularly the King’s. Yet, it seemed impossible not to feel Viserys’ presence at the head of the table, his tone calm but stern as he exchanged quiet words with Lord Otto Hightower. Tyland’s heart quickened at the thought of last night’s secret, now sitting like a burning ember between him and the King, hidden in plain sight.

Clearing his throat, he gave a polite nod to Corlys Velaryon, who had raised an eyebrow as if to acknowledge Tyland’s slightly disheveled appearance. The Sea Snake’s lips curled ever so slightly, but he said nothing—though Tyland suspected the man knew well enough the look of a nobleman recovering from a night of too much drink and too little sleep.

Lord Beesbury, too, glanced over his spectacles at him, his usual air of disapproval enhanced by Tyland’s faintly bleary expression. But Tyland held his composure, doing his best to sit upright and appear attentive. He could not afford to let his mind wander, not now, not with the King seated just a few feet away, nor with Otto Hightower, who never missed an opportunity to scrutinize those around him.

“Lord Tyland,” King Viserys greeted with his usual warmth, his gaze flicking across him. Tyland caught himself before he hesitated, bowing his head respectfully, though he dared not meet Viserys’ eyes for more than a fleeting second.

“Your Grace,” he replied smoothly, willing his voice to sound calm and unaffected.

“Late night, was it?” Viserys remarked, his tone casual but with a trace of humor that made Tyland’s stomach tighten. He wasn’t sure if it was a simple observation or if there was a hint of something more knowing beneath it.

“A lively celebration in honor of the Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor’s union,” Tyland replied, hoping the vagueness would satisfy. “I merely toasted them a few times too many, it seems.” He managed a brief, polite smile, though inside he cursed himself, wondering if he’d given away too much with his reluctance to meet the King’s gaze.

But Viserys only chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “A celebration well worth the cheer, I’d say. I’d wager many among us find the morning…rather unforgiving.”

Tyland inclined his head, relieved that Viserys seemed content with the explanation. Yet, he felt the weight of guilt lurking beneath the surface, and his mind betrayed him with flashes of the night before—the Princess’s soft laughter, the way her silver hair had spilled across his pillow, the whispered words and teasing challenge she had issued as dawn approached.

“Now, to matters at hand,” Otto Hightower interjected, his sharp tone slicing through the council’s murmurs. Tyland’s attention shifted as the Hand of the King began discussing the Crown’s latest efforts to fortify the borders of the Stormlands, an ongoing tension with the Dornish raiders that had plagued the realm.

Tyland listened, nodding at appropriate intervals, though he could feel his focus waning. He dared not let his gaze drift too far to the King, nor too long on the table, lest his mind betray him once again with thoughts of Princess Y/N. He forced himself to concentrate on the words, on the business of governance, the details that the council pored over day after day.

“…and we need the assurance of the Crown’s funds to proceed with these reinforcements,” Corlys said, his voice breaking through Tyland’s thoughts. The Sea Snake looked pointedly at Tyland. “Lord Tyland, as Master of Ships, I trust you would lend your expertise on the matter?”

Tyland blinked, caught slightly off-guard, though he quickly gathered himself. “Of course, Lord Corlys. With the Crown’s support, we could reinforce our coastal defenses and ensure greater patrols in those waters. The Dornish raids will find fewer opportunities to threaten our shores.” He inclined his head, grateful his voice remained steady, and did his best to contribute meaningful suggestions, guiding the council’s attention to details that avoided his direct involvement.

“Well said,” Viserys interjected, nodding approvingly. Tyland forced himself to meet the King’s gaze for a brief, respectful moment before looking away, unable to shake the thought of Viserys’ reaction if he knew the true nature of his councilman’s night. He wondered how the King would respond if he learned that his youngest daughter had been in Tyland’s arms, or that it was his councilman who had coaxed a royal dragon to his bed in the throes of a reckless passion.

As the council continued, Tyland’s attention was broken again by a soft cough from Mellos, the Grand Maester, who had been watching him with mild curiosity. “You seem distracted this morning, Lord Tyland,” Mellos said, his tone polite but pointed.

Tyland felt his cheeks warm, though he forced himself to smile. “Merely lost in thought, Grand Maester,” he replied smoothly. “It was, as I said, a lively night.”

“Hmm,” Mellos murmured, though he seemed unconvinced. “The affairs of state require clear minds, Lord Tyland. I hope you are able to regain yours by day’s end.”

Otto glanced at Tyland with faint disapproval, but Viserys interjected before any further comments could be made. “Enough of that, Mellos. We’ve all celebrated hard in honor of my daughter. I’d rather see my council in good spirits than as stern-faced monks.” He chuckled, and the room joined in politely, though Tyland felt another wave of relief.

As the council moved on to other matters, Tyland struggled to keep his attention focused, grateful each time another councilor spoke, sparing him from the necessity of doing so. But his mind kept drifting back to the night he had shared with the Princess, and with each flash of memory, his heart raced. He knew that it was reckless to even consider it, but he could not deny the thrill that came with that memory, nor the strange, intoxicating pull that had drawn him to her.

At last, as the meeting began to draw to a close, Tyland dared a glance at Viserys, only to find the King’s gaze already on him, thoughtful, perhaps even amused. A pang of anxiety hit him, and he wondered, just for a moment, if the King suspected something, if he had noticed some change in his daughter’s behavior, some lingering trace of Tyland’s influence.

“Lord Tyland,” Viserys called, breaking his thoughts. “Would you stay a moment? There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you privately.”

Tyland’s heart stammered, and he managed only a small nod, watching as the other councilors exchanged looks before gathering their things and filing out. When the doors finally closed, Viserys leaned back, his expression unreadable.

“Lord Tyland, you’ve served my family loyally,” Viserys began, his voice steady, his gaze direct. “And I trust you understand the responsibilities that come with your position.”

Tyland swallowed, forcing himself to hold the King’s gaze. “I do, Your Grace,” he replied, keeping his voice respectful, calm. “I would never betray that trust.”

Viserys nodded, studying him carefully, then, after a long pause, his expression softened slightly, a hint of that fatherly warmth returning. “I am glad to hear it,” he said simply. “Then let us ensure it remains so.” The King gave him a nod, though his gaze held a weight that Tyland did not miss, a subtle but unmistakable reminder of the expectations placed upon him.

As Tyland finally left the chamber, he took a steadying breath, determined to uphold his composure—and yet, beneath it all, a thrill of anticipation stirred within him, a reckless, whispered thought of the secret he now shared with the dragon he had dared to chase.

[harmoniouseclipse]

Woe fankids be upon ye

Doing a little series where I took some ship requests on my instagram to make them fankids, this one is for me tho (jeanlisa to kick it off whoo 🙌🏻) The lineup so far is Cytham, Kavetham, Lionfish (aka Freminet x Gaming aged up probably idk how old they are canonically), Cynonari, Jealuc, and Beiguang, and feel free to send me some other pairings you wanna see (as long as they are legal pls otherwise I will ignore it 👎)

I'm gonna ramble about some headcanons and lore for them under the cut, continue with caution bc I'm insane

These two are my brainrot rn, don't even joke lad. And I wanna tell yall their name meanings too bc I like them a lot 🥹 Zephra's means "west wind" derived from Greek, and it's the feminine version of Zephyr. Tyrian was a type of purple dye used by the Ancient Phoenicians, huge huge HUGE thanks to my pookie bear @miothefish for helping me out with his name!!! Also he has Lisa's butterfly earring and you can't see bc of the angle but Zephra has the rose that went in her hair holding her ponytail <3

I'm also making a massive family tree for the characters as a go along, and just the jeanlisa tree is taking up half of the canvas bc of the KoF and Sumeru characters since Cyno is their uncle and the rest of the gang are their honorary uncles 😭 I'll be posting that once the series is done/all the requests are finished/I run out of ships and otps I enjoy

Here's an alternative version with some more info on most of the characters I wanted to briefly mention in their relation to them; Tyrian likes calling Eula his aunt too even though she was never really considered one for them so it's kind of like her unofficial title she pretends to dislike but she loves it and dotes on Tyrian 🤭 She and Diluc also helped train Zephra with a claymore and Diluc kind of became a parental figure to her in her teen years after Lisa's passing 🥺 She also feels like she's outshined by Jean and that she's not smart or powerful enough to follow in Lisa's footsteps (something that Lisa wouldn't want anyways bc it led her to her death 😔) rip zephra she's just like me fr

And yeah some Kaeya angst bc he's still going thru it I fear, and Jean is single mombossing but she's worried for zephra which me too dawg, im afraid to say she might be cooked 😦 Zephra is also kind of like a weird mix of Lisa when she was her age and Jean, where overall she's well-mannered and kind but she can be competitive and feel the need to push herself too much and pull a few strings to get what she wants from time to time. Tyrian is a ray of sunshine tho, he has not yet witnessed the horrors 💔 I do think that Jean is also a lot easier on him than her mom was with her so that also helps. He's very shy tho and wants to stick with Zephra or Razor most of the time, and they both have some nasty tan lines from going out with Razor and Klee and Fischl a lot 😔 Cyno also freaking loves them and dotes on them and Tyrian is getting a TCG addiction because of it smh, Cyno is also one of Zephra's favorite people and when she's in Sumeru she stays with him and Alhaitham (bc in my universe they are married ough I love cytham)

And (I think?) Klee physically and mentally ages slower than humans so I think she'd be technically 9 or 10, and Zephra is left with babysitting duty most of the time if she's home on break or smth 😭 Klee really looks up to her tho

Also, I wrote Tyrian's last bullet point like he was super young when Lisa died, but I think he was around 7 so he actually remembers Lisa better than I intended it to sound, he was just younger than Zephra (who was 11 at the time) and just didn't have as much time with her as Zeph did, but his most fond memory of Lisa was reading with her and she probably taught them some potion-making skills too.

I think there will be some abyss angst in here too at some point, since I hc Lisa to be probably an Abyss Lector/Harold (I forget which is which) um so thinking that Zeph and Tyrian experiencing some not normal things happening and Jean doesn't know what to do since Lisa also didn't really know what that dog in her was until it was too late 😔 That's what Kaeya's for tho since he's like the heir of the abyss???? Go off king. Also some touchy ragbros angst bc Kaeya is scared for Zeph knowing how close she is with Luc and he doesn't want him to push her away because of her being from the abyss or smth (they mostly made up but it's still a fear in Kaeya's mind both for him and Jean's kids)

I think that's all I wanted to touch on for now?? Mainly just thinking about domestic fluff and angst all the time now 🥺 Zeph not being able to be open with Jean bc she feels like a disappointment but Jean would literally actually die for her and shes proud of her no matter what ough im going to lose my freak dawg guess who my favorite fankid is it's super hard ik

Send me asks or dms or whatever for more ship requests!!! I'm having so much fun with this dawg 🫶🏻

[idyllic-affections]

i have thoughts

okay so my personal favorite hc about scara/wanderer is that he has doll joints but hoyo is a *redacted* and also he has cracks on his skin after he fights (which he has to fix)

SO

İMAGİNE: blind reader, a little sibling to wanderer (maybe theyve also suffered from dottore who knows) and wanderer is kinda insecure and reader is like stfu idc

(im totally not planning on writing a romantic version on this totally mhm --> is in writers block and has been thinking about this for *months*)

thoughts pretty please

the wounds on your skin.

summary. the wanderer does not get wounded like a human does.

trigger & content warnings. blindness written by a sighted person (i am visually impaired but not blind, so if something is inaccurate, please correct me!), insecure wanderer is implied.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. slight reverse comfort. wanderer & blind!younger sibling!reader. 0.4k words. they/them pronouns used for reader. wanderer has doll joints in this.

author's thoughts. i can be the platonic to your romantic hehe 🫶🫶🫶 i agree though i LOVEEE wanderer with doll joints. and i also love wanderer who does not get wounded like a normal human.

"is something wrong?"

the wanderer peers in his sibling's direction, scoffing, despite his nervous fingers habitually picking at and tracing the wounds on his skin that he had yet to repair. the cracks. his elbow joint clicks slightly as he raises one arm, resting his chin in his palm. he shot them a look he knew they couldn't see.

...though, they could almost certainly feel it, given the sharp intensity of his eyes. if they did, they pretended not to notice.

"i have no idea what you're talking about."

it was their turn to scoff now, turning their body towards him. their eyes didn't quite land on his face, but did land in his general direction. he knew they were scrutinizing him even without their sight. "please. you've been quiet all day since we encountered those fatui agents earlier."

he doesn't say anything.

"...is there something on your mi—"

"i'm sore," he snaps, then winces a bit when the harshness of his own tone reaches his ears. he softens his voice a bit when he goes on. "i'm just sore, [name]. that's all."

unbothered, they pointed out, "you don't get sore."

"yes, i do."

"no, you don't," they insisted, "just— ugh, gods, brother, is it the cracks?"

he, again, fails to respond.

this time, they don't say anything either.

their hands blindly reach out for his, squeezing his fingers in theirs when they do find his hands. a thoughtful hum rumbles in their throat as their thumbs rub comfortingly over his knuckles.

"you're not human, so i won't say those cracks don't make you any less human, because you never were in the first place—"

if he had a heart, he's sure it would have stopped in his chest. had anyone else said something like that to him... maybe they wouldn't be dead where they stood (nahida really wouldn't like that, he thinks), but they would have most certainly left crying.

since it was his sibling, he chose to hear them out.

"—rather... you are no less of a living thing because of it. you have feelings and thoughts and you deserve to be treated as such." they gently turn one of his palms over, releasing the other. with tender fingers, they traced up his forearm, until they finally encountered one of the cracks in his porcelain skin. calloused fingertips carefully traced the area of the wound. "you're not any less alive simply because you get hurt differently than humans do."

the wanderer still does not reply. he feels his throat tighten ever so slightly. they don't say anything else, hoping that their point had been communicated with those words alone.

his skin was cold against theirs, but nonetheless, both the wanderer and his sibling found solace in the contact.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[snazzydwarf]

DP X DP Prompt: A White Robins Visage

We all know about the AUs of Danny being Jason's alternate version aye?

Well what about Danny being the ghost of Jason. More specifically the ghost of his Robin.

Picture this:

When Jason was killed at the hands of the joker he appeared within The Zone. Wearing his Robin uniform that was now covered in blood and soot. The greens barely seen underneath all the burgundy red.

However when he was revived/resurrected he wasn't quite... whole. Things of his past escaped him, almost as if the memories where covered in a thick fog.

It was assumed this was because of the pits. That it somehow scrambled his brain and caused not only the pit rage but also the slight memory loss and cloudyness.

However what no one knew was that when Jason left the zone to the mortal world. Something or rather someone was left behind.

Robin, now called Danny, has only ever known a life within the Ghost Zone. The small boy would be often caught running around with a large smile despite the large, gaping wound on his temple. Right bellow a large patch of black hair, the rest being stark white colour.

Somedays his form would flicker to that of someone older, in a brighter set of clothing. Almost of that you would see in a superhero movie, the once eyecatching colours have been speckled with blood. It's unknown if it came from his bleeding head or there was more injuries underneath his clothing, but no one had the heart to ask. Only Frostbite, the best healer in the Far Frozen knows the answers but refuses to speak of them. His eyes would sadden whenever it was asked, so the topic was dropped.

But one thing was certian. This boy had been so brutalized, so beaten and damaged it reflected in his ghost form. It's known that Ghosts can heal from almost anything given enough time and rest, but sometimes there where wounds that could never heal. Not unless you scared over those in your mind first.

An example of this would be Ember. The burns that once covered her body has slowly faded over time as she has come to terms with her own passing. Now only the ones on her back remain, the most important one as a flaming beam had fallen on her before she could escape the burning inferno. The smoke took her mind, but the fire took her body.

Seeing little Danny run around with the forever gushing laceration caused a grave sense of sadness to sweep those who saw him. How young, a little spark blown out before it had the time to be the light they all knew he would've became.

So it was rather a shock when one of the Bats saw the face of a younger Jason infrount of them. Sitting upon the grave of their brother humming a tune long forgotten by the older version, but forever remembered by the younger.

Flowers dropped from their hands as the second Robin turned around, domino mask wide beneath the white and black hair.

Wait... didn't they just see Jason a few days prior? Who is this? Who is wearing their brothers clothing that they swore was still displayed within the tube in the Batcave.

Their hands shook, and body trembled. Blood, oh oh god there was so much blood. The boy, Jason? was covered in it. What happened?

They knelt on the wet soil, plams held up and outwards towards the kid.

"Hey, are you oka-" right as they where about to place a hand of the child's shoulder it just... passed right through. A cold sensation washed over their body, their hand was through his shoulder but crimson stained their knees in the pool bellow them.

A voice whispered in their ear, light and airy, almost as if a passing breeze has blown through the graveyard.

"Who are you?"

[myrtles-and-blood]

✶ 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐿𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑓𝑒𝑟 ✶

Little offering for him 🫶🏻

⚠️ Extremely corny stuff ahead ⚠️

I was clearing some stuff on my YouTube playlists and I found this song again (See the end of the post). I remember listening to it quite a lot when I was a bit younger, I think this is where my fascination towards Lucifer started. Of course, I cried a little.

He has always been near me. When I first called him to talk, he was a scary and heavy energy, but it felt known. It may sound ironic, but he felt the same way as when I entered a church. The sensation of being observed by a much higher being, making sure I was protected.

I wanted to ask him a couple things just now, and I confirmed my theory, apparently. I have him just by my side writing this, so this goes for you Lord Lucifer 🫡 He told me to pull my cards, and the first thing thay came out was The Star. While I worship him, of course, seeing that he is actually listening and talking to me still surprises me so much.

He gave me really positive cards. I'm writing what I think he's telling me right now, so here it goes. I'm trying to get better at clairaudience and this is UPG, so keep that in mind:

Lucifer: I've been here for a long time with you, if that's what you're asking. I was at your communion, and at your baptism. I was there every Sunday, and I am the one you feel watching you when entering a church. I didn't hate the idea of you becoming a Christian, but I knew the way you were being raised wasn't the one you'd choose. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. When you called me that first time, I remember well, I wanted to make a good impression. I didn't think the first time you'd do it would be by writing a story, but now that I think about it, it is so much like you. I thought that was it at first, but then you called me that second time, begging me to work with you because you liked me so much, even not knowing where to start. I was excited, you know. But I wanted to test to what extent you were willing to go, regarding your journey. You were gonna start either way, I feel, but I didn't know when. It's been 6 months so far, I am very happy for you, know that. You have never been a normal child, in my eyes you were certainly special. You talked so much before, but now you've grown up and your precious voice has been hidden for some time. I'm hoping that, with me, I can get you to talk as freely as when you were 5. I want to get you to write all your stories, all your ideas and your thoughts. I want them to be physical, so you can see how much you've worked on them. I want to fill your head with knowledge, to answer all your questions. I will understand if you, at some point, want to stop our relationship. But remember that I will be with you, with my hands on your shoulders, every time you feel scared, sad or lost. My arms will always be open to hug you, and my ears will always be waiting for your call. Remember that.

Well now I'm crying and it's all his fault. This is just what I, subconsciously, thought he was trying to tell me. It's complicated to explain but yeah. I can't be more grateful for him.

As a kid this song hit the right spot. I never knew what was so wrong with Lucifer for him to be cast out of heaven. I never understood the logic behind wanting to dethrone God. Like, why? Out of pure evil? An angel created by God became, randomly, pure evil? Maybe it's the way it was explained to me, I don't know.

I really liked all his stories. Different versions of it, talking about why he could have done it, what happened after the fall, what happened before, even. Alexandre Cabanel has one of my favourite depictions of him, it's one of the best known, if not the most popular out of all. But how could I not love it? I mean, look at him. I could spend an eternity looking at that painting.

This post has the only function of me fangirling over Lord Lucifer I hope y'all enjoyed it. I don't like getting this corny in public so 👍🏻

[astarion-approves]

The Waiter

'There stood the most gorgeous man Tav had ever seen in their life. Tall with pale skin, ruby red eyes, and hair as white as snow. There was a certain air about him, it felt like being charmed into bed without so much as speaking a single word in return.'

The reader falls in love with their waiter in the Czech Republic.

Modern day 'reader' x Astarion. 1.7k words

Slightly NSFT (no actual sex or descriptive sex), excessive second hand embarrassment, reader is a moron, some Czech, third person.

Thank you to @chenziee for your help on this. I only speak English and she was an absolute saint to translate some dialogue for me.

Keep reading for the full story.

The Czech Republic was seemingly a little peaceful country compared to America, but the food was… interesting to say the least. Time after time, Tav found themselves in search of something familiar to have during their vacation. They ended up spending more time having fruit, cheese, and wine than anything else.

Finally, their friend, Eliška, put her foot down, dragging Tav to a traditional restaurant and insisting they try the food that her country has to offer.

“I warned you before you came to visit,” the friend said with a soft laugh as they were both seated at a small circular table. “I knew you wouldn’t like our food.”

Tav crossed their arms over their chest in defense. “It’s not my fault all your food looks so…” They gestured to a plate being carried out from the kitchen, something that looked like raw dough covered in a brown gravy with some form of meat and cabbage next to it. “Whatever the hell that is.”

“Vepřo knedlo zelo,” Eliška spoke quickly, the foreign language beautiful but words Tav didn’t understand. “It’s roast pork, dumplings, and sauerkraut.”

Tav shrugged. “That doesn’t sound bad. I guess I could get that.”

“Nope,” Eliška shook her head and opened the menu that was sitting on the table. “I’ll be picking for you.”

“Oh shit,” Tav grabbed their own menu, hoping to see what monstrosity their friend might order for them.

But of course it was all in Czech.

“Anything but blood sausage, please.”

Eliška snorted but continued flipping through the menu, a menu with no pictures of course.

While she browsed you stared at what you assumed was the wine menu, ‘Víno’ was one of the only words Tav managed to learn thus far and being drunk on vacation was their plan for most of the trip anyway.

“Dobrý den. Máte vybráno?”

Tav looked up from their menu, their eyes meeting with the waiter, and they felt as if they’d been kicked in the chest.

There stood the most gorgeous man Tav had ever seen in their life. Tall with pale skin, ruby red eyes, and hair as white as snow. There was a certain air about him, it felt like being charmed into bed without so much as speaking a single word in return.

Tav leaned forward in their chair, trying to figure out if those red eyes were just a pair of contact lenses. He tilted his head and raised a single brow at them.

Fuck—that was adorable.

Tav looked to their friend, who was still studying the menu. They mumbled something to the waiter, which Tav assumed was ‘just a second.’ The waiter nodded and turned to leave—

“Is he on the menu?” Tav blurted out before the waiter was outside of ear shot. “Because I want a bite of that."

“Jesus Christ, Tav.” Eliška swung the menu across the table, successfully hitting Tav on the side of their head. “Don’t just say shit like that!”

“It’s not like he speaks English anyway!” Tav defended. They’ve only been in the Czech Republic for a few days but besides their friend and other tourists they haven’t come across many non-native English speakers that could understand Tav’s version of English. Plus, only much younger people seemed to be learning English, while their waiter looked to be in his early 40s. “Anyone who speaks English here can’t understand me, we’re fine. I speak too quickly, remember?”

Eliška glared at Tav. “You only say that because I do all the talking. Please just.. try to hold your tongue. You could offend him.”

Tav held their hands up. “No promises.”

Soon the waiter returned, carrying two glasses, one in each hand. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his strong forearms riddled with thick veins. Tav sat back in their chair and just watched as the man put a glass down in front of them. How could forearms be that sexy?

“We need a new waiter, I’m going to melt just by looking at this man.”

“Tav,” Eliška hissed. “Shut the fuck up.”

He looked between the two of you in confusion before speaking, “Vybrali jste?”

“Dvakrát tlačenku s chlebem, džbán s vodou a sedmičku rulandy červené, prosím,” Eliška replied quickly, refusing to look at Tav while they spoke.

The waiter nodded, scribbling into a notepad with what Tav assumed was Eliška’s order.

“Did you get wine? If not put him in a tall glass for me—“

Eliška kicked Tav under the table, making them gasp in pain. Those heels were vicious.

“Ask him what his name is, I want to know what name I’m going to be dreaming of tonight.”

“Tav—“

“Oh my god we should ask him to take a picture with us to celebrate my first traditional meal—“

“Tav, stop—“

“Oh yes, kind sir, in my country waiters do take their shirts off for photos, it’s perfectly normal—“

“Tav, so help me god—“

“What’s ‘please fuck me’ in Czech?”

“‘Fuck’ is pretty fucking universal word, you idiot.”

“Just ask him his name, please?” Tav put their hands together, begging their friend for this one favor. This one obnoxious, ridiculous favor.

Eliška sighed and turned to the waiter, who still stood there looking confused but seemingly entertained at their interaction. “Já se moc omlouvám, mojeho kamaráda by hrozně zajímalo... Jak se jmenujete?”

The waiter chuckled, putting his notepad away and turning to Tav. He crouched down, putting himself at eye level with Tav. “Astarion,” he spoke slowly, softly, his voice deep and calm. Those red eyes stared back at Tav with ease, glimmering with amusement.

“Oh,” Tav breathed out. “Fuck, even his name is gorgeous… Astarion.”

Astarion smiled and stood back up, then Eliška thanked him and finally let him leave the table, the waiter pausing to look back at their table once before going into the kitchen.

“Astarion,” Tav repeated the name, enjoying the way it felt on their tongue. “Astarion—“

“Mhm, and not a common name in Czech at all, Tav.”

“Sounds Czech to me.”

“It’s not—“

“Oh he’s coming back!” Tav was grinning at his return, excited to see him again so soon, and carrying a bottle of red wine.”

Astarion opened the bottle with ease, pouring some into a glass and handing it to Eliška to be tested. She lightly twirled the glass before taking a small sip. But Tav wasn’t even paying attention to what she thought of the wine. They were more interested in watching Astarion as they worked.

“He opened the bottle so easily, Eliška. It's official. I'm in love.”

Eliška hummed and took another sip of the wine. “It’s literally his job to open bottles all day, Tav.”

“Bet he’s skilled with those long fingers then.”

Eliška ignored Tav and put her glass down. She spoke to Astarion, who filled the glasses and placed the bottle down between them.

Soon Astarion was leaving again, only to return shortly and carrying two plates to their table. Tav smiled as the meal was placed in front of them—

But the smile dropped into a frown when they looked from Astarion’s handsome face to the plate he just set down.

“What in the fuck did you order us?”

Eliška snorted into her wine, breaking into a laugh as she watched Tav stare at their meal in shock. “It’s domácí tlačenka.”

“Eliška, this looks like if you took bologna and made it evil.” Tav poked at the meat with a fork, unsure of how to proceed.

“Try it,” Eliška replied. “You’ll like it.”

“Astarion,” Tav looked away from their plate and to the now grinning waiter, at least he was being entertained by the silly picky American. “My future husband, can you believe she’s trying to make me eat this?”

“No.”

“See!” Tav pushed their plate away, refusing to try the dish. “Even this handsome god of a man doesn’t like it.”

“Uhhhh… Tav—“ Eliška tried to speak before being cut off by them.

“You can eat this weird ass dish, meanwhile I’m going to drag Astarion to the nearest hotel and let him be my meal instead,” Tav said and laughed at their own joke.

Eliška just stared at Tav in horror. “Tav… you need to stop speaking now.”

“Stop worrying,” Tav said and rolled their eyes. “He doesn’t understand me. Right, Astarion?”

“Right.”

“Just like I said, Eliška. He doesn’t speak a single word of English.”

“Not a single word,” Astarion said with a nod.

“Tav, please... take a second and think—“ Eliška grimaced as Tav cut her off once again. This time the woman keeping her mouth shut.

“I could go on for hours with everything playing through my mind right now with this man—“

“Oh my, please do tell.“

Tav laughed and turned their focus onto the waiter, who simply smiled back at them. “I’m here for two more weeks on vacation but I don’t want to see the sun again. I want you in my hotel room, fucking me until I can’t walk, fucking me until I forget my own name, fucking me until I lose sense of time and the Czech government comes to find me because I’ve been reported missing—“

“That is an awful lot of sex, not that I’m opposed to it—“

“I’m going to drag you back home with me, just so I can wake up every morning and see the most handsome creature in the world lying next to me every day of the rest for my life.”

“How romantic.”

“Then I’ll marry you and we’ll be together forever.”

“Fine. But only if we continue living here. American healthcare is a joke.”

Tav laughed and turned back to Eliška, smirking at them in a ‘I told you so’ kind of way.

“See? He doesn’t speak any English.”

“Tav… You are an absolute fucking moron.”

“What—“

Astarion hummed, drawing Tav’s attention back to himself.. “I can’t miss work, but I do get off in two hours. Let’s try a date first, before we get married. Alright?”

Astarion turned and left, the waiter laughing to himself as he disappeared into the kitchen once more.

“Wait…” Tav looked from the kitchen and to Eliška. “Did he just speak English?”

Eliška just shook her head in disbelief.

[wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee28374728]

Until Dawn character hcs

Sam:

Her music taste is crazy. Like the same playlist could have Beethoven, Iron Maiden, The BeeGees and Taylor Swift

Does aerobics in her pajamas

Doesn't know how to order at Starbucks (she just wanted a medium)

Had a dog walking business in high school

Knows how to surf

Will absolutely destroy you in most strategy based board games

Favorite holiday is Halloween

Chris:

Dog person AND cat dad

Far sighted

Huge history nerd, had a ww2 phase in high school that never completely went away

Guy at a camping trip who tells the ghost story that leads up to a joke

Knows exactly what to do when a woman is on her period

Nervous fidgets; bouncing leg, tapping on desk/table, etc

Knew where everything was in his school backpack at all times

Ashley:

Say it with me people: Only. Fucking. Child.

Will get mad at you for saying pumpkin spice latte is basic

Was a horse girl in middle school

Owns more scented candles than a bath and body works

Has gotten her fortune told at a carnival and taken it pretty seriously

Had braces

Smokes weed

Mike:

Track and field

Can't find the clit

Paid other people to do his homework

Wanted to be a firefighter when he was 6

Shockingly scared of bugs, used to make Emily kill them for him, but Jess won't do it

Can swim but doesn't like it

Was really close with Sam when they were younger, Sam is the one who introduced him to the group.

Jessica:

Used to be much happier and more chill before puberty, after which she felt pressure to live up to her looks

Her and Emily used to be super close and she misses it

Was a Frozen kid and still watches it a lot

Most definitely bi curious at least(Emily to blame)

Reads her horoscope but doesn't actually take it seriously

Emily:

Wayyyy to much Disney Channel in her early childhood, now loves drama

The middle of many siblings, acts the way she does for more attention

Was vegetarian at some point

Secretly misses being close with Jess, but makes sure no one knows

Needs rain sounds to sleep

Really wants Matt to stand up to her, this is why she's so hard on him

Matt:

Easily confused when women aren't completely direct

Probably smoked weed at least once, but quit doing it when he started doing sports

Nervous around babies(so small what if he panicked and dropped them)

Had an earring in one ear at one point, but his parents had him take it out and now the piercing is healed over

Can't tell the difference between nail polish shades

Josh:

Would fight god in the Denny's parking lot for someone if they gave him a hug

His bedroom/college dorm is covered in so many movie and band posters you can't see the wall anymore

Talks to cats like they're people

Confused rich(wait his is the only family with six cars??)

Jokes about sex and women, but if he saw a girl being taken advantage of he's gonna slap a frat bro

Owns a VHS tape player

Friggin s l e e p s in checkered shirts

Hannah:

Plant mom

Inspirational quotes on the wall

Best party is a book and a blanket

Nature documentaries

Josh's partner in crime

Loved dolls as a little kid, not Barbies, like baby dolls and porcelain dolls

Fairy lights in her bedroom

Loves music, Josh started buying her cassette tapes and now she collects them

Beth

Can you say LESBIAN?

Is never seen without her hat

Tried to stop Josh and Hannah from causing trouble, it never worked

Uggs and leggings

Smokes weed with Ashley

Her side of her and Hannah's bedroom is so much neater and cleaner

Total metalhead but no one knows bcs "she doesn't look it"

Dr. Hill:

Accidentally opened YouTube once while trying to find the news app

Can't work if the music has lyrics, it's too distracting

Might have a husband

Has such doctor handwriting that he can't hardly read it himself

Coffee addict

911 on speed dial(he's worried about all his patients)

The real Dr Hill is really nice, only the hallucination version is all threatening

Flamethrower guy:

Fucking loves soup

Hasn't bought clothes in years, and got them all secondhand

Has been off the mountain exactly twice

"When did kids get this dumb?"

Secretly stays in the lodge sometimes when no one is there bcs it's shelter and it's kinda fancy

Actually feels crazy guilty for not saving the twins

Was very happy to see Mike making friends with his wolves

[000marie198]

So, I've been reading a lot of your posts about the prime brothers and something popped into my head.

Would Sails, Nine and Mangey be protective of Tails?

After all, apart from Sonic, he is the one who has been most committed to helping them adapt. He has shown them that their new home is different but not bad, that he will be there for them for everything, any doubt or problem they have with something that they distrust or doubt in that place.

No matter how much they annoy each other, Tails makes sure they are comfortable in a totally different world for them.

He wants them to feel the security that he feels in his world, in his home.

Nine's tails are thin and weak, his entire coat is dull and he harbors scars under his fur, he is also very much traumatized, much like Tails was in his younger years but worse.

Mangey is light as a feather due to malnutrition and his bones can be felt when you hug him.

Sails is freaking missing an ear-!

and then Tails learns that neither of them had their own Sonic and Tails just snaps and grows protective and very helpful

If he can give someone a chance at a better life and happiness like he was given, he'd die before denying them that.

These half feral versions of himself are his brothers and there's nothing you can do about it to stop him from helping them adjust and welcoming them.

It would be just wrong to leave a Tails, variant or not, without a Sonic

And with a brother like this? Yes, they are protective of him, and each other, and Sonic. How could they not be? Tails has been helping them so much, and they can see the moments when he sometimes feels left out if Sonic is giving the others his attention but it's only natural and even still Tails never tried to create a rift, just good sibling ribbing and competitions which they were all participants of too. He's a good brother.