#im soft for them PLEASE

[nohr-selphias]

"I love you, Zevran. I hope you know that."

"Yes... Yes, I know that."

— commission art by @sinizade, posted with permission

[royaltea000]

11/6 of hetalia characters I’ve never drawn before - I’m done!!

[gunsatthaphan]

"you're addicted to me."

[rikugans]

first meeting.

[dendroaspis-viridis]

I'm begging you, BioWare... Learn from the mistakes of Baldur's Gates past...

[clairedaring]

You know... Since you disappeared, I prayed everyday… that I could see you again. I didn't want to get you back. But I just wanted a chance to apologize to you. P'Joe, I'm really sorry. I'm sorry about everything.

MY STAND-IN (2024) | 1.12

[inchidentally]

the trying and failing to control the smile spreading wide on his face, the bashful looking down and blushing, the so ahhh yeap yeap when he stumbles over his words... definition of who got you smiling like that bro… but it's two people in Oscar's life who both happen to be petite, British, posh, beautiful, who give him a hard time but also make his days infinitely better, and picky eaters who have him in a tug of war where he can't ever eat fish at work but he can only cook fish at home

x x x x x x x x

[marimeeko]

Thought of Izuku falling from the sky and Katsuki catching him and them clinging to each other as they land/hit the ground.

Izuku starting to process everything and saying that he couldn't save Tomura but he may have reached Tenko? Also btw I think I'm quirkless, now, Kacchan, OFA is gone, I let it go...

Katsuki soothing him in an adrenaline high, breathy way, you did your best, you did your best, you're still a hero Izuku, you're the best GD hero around...

And then as everyone in 1a starts to descend on them in celebration, Katsuki literally fucking growling at them to give Izuku some space and some air, DONT FUCKING CROWD HIM!

And someone (probably Kirishima or Kaminari) complaining that HES THE ONE holding Izuku so desperately as if he'd disappear.

Katsuki telling that person to fuck off and squeezing his grip on Izuku as Izuku clings to him.

Izuku silently sobbing into Katsuki and not being able to tell which emotion the tears are from, because there are just so many.

[atinycafe]

"hey pretty"

you offer no response, shutting the door behind you as you enter the room. tossing your bag carelessly to the floor, you kneel beside the countless sneakers belonging to san and mingi, scattered haphazardly around the room.

you reach down to untie your air forces, dropping the first shoe onto the ground. the movement catches your boyfriends' attention, but they remain silent, watching you intently.

"bad day?" san asks softly from his spot on the couch, seated next to mingi. their eyes fixate on you, concern etched in their gazes.

"bad day." you mumble in confirmation, proceeding to untie your other black shoe. however, the lace gets snagged, and your fingers fumble clumsily. you pull harder, but instead of loosening, the knot tightens even more. it becomes the breaking point for you.

a sob escapes your lips, and you bury your face in your hands, too weary to do anything else. your body quakes on the floor as tears stream down your face. you want the crying to stop, to take a breath, but you find yourself caught in a strange battle of attempting both and choking in the process.

the crying intensifies, and you feel your nails digging into your eyebrows, a feeble attempt to hide away momentarily. you're tired, utterly exhausted, and all you crave is sleep. yet, with your shoe trapped on your foot, you can't retreat to the solace of your sheets.

taking another shaky breath, you sense a shadow falling across your face, momentarily shielding you from the light. you don't budge from your position, continuing to cry. a cold hand gently rests upon your own, and you flinch softly, caught off guard. the thumb begins to rub tenderly against your skin.

you recognize the touch as san's. he coos softly, coaxing your hands away from your face. initially, you resist, not wanting him to witness the streaked mascara and runny nose. however, he manages to gently coax you out of your shell.

when your eyes meet his, you're met with a gentle gaze, his eyes locked with yours as he squats in front of you. his smile is soft, and the tears flow even harder, his tenderness overwhelming you in this moment. he chuckles softly, bringing his large hands up to wipe away your tears, pinching your cheeks gently.

"my big girl what's wrong mmh?" he croons, his voice filled with affection. "what's got you like this huh my strong girl?" the endearing nicknames tug at your heart, causing you to cry even more.

"awnn, it's okay baby, big girls cry when it gets too hard," he nods understandingly, validating your emotions. you reciprocate with a nod of your own, sniffling. he brings his thumb to your cheekbone.

"i'll go make you hot cocoa, want that?" you nod again, the sobs calming slightly at his soothing whispers.

"your words baby, can you use them for me?" he encourages you softly, and you manage a meek "yes please," stuttering through your soft sobs. he presses a tender kiss to your lips and smiles, placing his hands on his knees as he stands up. it's then that you finally notice mingi's tall figure behind him.

mingi, too, crouches down in front of you, silently taking your foot clad in a shoe into his large hands. he deftly works on untying the shoelace, his long fingers effortlessly undoing the knot you struggled with. once untied, he removes the sneaker from your foot, placing it neatly aside, a stark contrast to his own untidy ones beside the black pair.

he grasps both of your feet and begins tickling them, eliciting tired giggles from you. finally, a smile breaks across his face as he witnesses your own. he pulls you closer, tugging at your legs and sliding his hands beneath your thighs. lifting you effortlessly, the two of you rise to your feet, and you simply rest your head against his solid chest, briefly closing your eyes as he carries you to the couch. the paused episode of "law & order" flickers on the television. he settles down, you still cradled in his arms, and he gently eases you off him so that you're sitting upright. he helps you remove your bomber jacket, tossing it onto the nearby couch. tapping your thigh, he signals for you to stand up so he can remove your denim skirt, but you shake your head.

"please no, wanna stay close to you please," your voice cracks on the second "please," and he sighs.

"okay tiny," his deep voice emerges softly from his lips as he pulls you closer, his forehead gently touching yours. "you've got a fever pretty."

"makes sense, head hurts like a bitch," you close your eyes, inhaling the minty scent that wafts from his laughter.

"san, bring me some ibuprofen," mingi calls out to san, who responds with a sweet "okay!" you flinch at the loud sound, the throbbing in your head intensifying. mingi notices and places his large hands over your ears, the pressure offering some relief. "sorry baby, didn't mean to be loud."

"'s okay princess." he smiles at the cute nickname and kisses your forehead.

he assists you in removing your black turtleneck, and then proceeds to remove his own t-shirt. moving closer, he goes to unclasp your bra, seeking your consent with a fingertip poised on the clasp. you give a soft nod, your eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. he removes your bra, joining it with the rest of your discarded clothes. finally, he pulls you back into his embrace, handling you delicately until your chests align. the coolness of his skin instantly soothes you, and you release a sigh of relief. he snakes his hands around your waist, tracing star patterns along your spine, whispering compliments into your ear.

san returns to the room, placing a large brown mug and two blue translucent pills on the glass table in front of you. he quickly exits but reappears with micellar solution and a handful of cotton pads.

taking a seat beside you, he lifts your face from its place in the crook of mingi's neck, causing you to emit a soft moan of protest. he hushes you gently, his smile radiant as ever. "come on, look at me, pretty. you don't want to sleep with makeup on your face."

he wets a cotton pad with the micellar water and proceeds to cleanse your face with delicate motions, barely perceptible against your skin. then, using a dry pad, he gently removes any lingering traces of the liquid.

"baby too sleepy for the cocoa?" san inquires, running a hand through your hair, his brow furrowing as he detects the dampness on your hairline. not out of disgust, but rather out of worry because the room is too chilly for you to be perspiring. he turns around, stretching to retrieve the folded blanket at the end of the couch, reluctant to leave your side. unfolding it, he covers you, tucking it between mingi's back and the couch, creating a soothing cocoon.

"no, want it" you whine in a broken voice, and both boys smile at your fragile form, finding you irresistibly adorable. "ah, so bossy," san remarks as he takes the cup and pills, inserting one into your mouth before bringing the cup to your plush lips, helping you swallow. he repeats the process with the second pill.

"want another sip baby?" he coos, noting the way you scrunch your nose. he exchanges a glance with mingi, both of them deeply in love with you, their stomachs still fluttering with butterflies even after all these years.

"no, just one marshmallow, please" you request, extending your hand from beneath the blanket to show them your index finger, emphasizing the importance of having only one.

san's smile widens, his blush evident on his face at your endearing plea, while mingi takes your fingers and presses a kiss to them, producing a loud smooching sound that elicits a soft laugh from you.

"say ahh"

masterlist

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

misc oldish scribbles i found of these two being Sweet <3

[aphel1on]

actually i'm not over the new developments in scaramouche's still-unfolding arc from simulanka yet. we are getting to watch him basically in real time gradually unrepress the ability to feel emotions other than hatred, rage, and despair, and slowly get in touch with the softer parts of himself that despite what he may have believed were only ever buried, never lost. this is quite possibly one of the best "Redemption as Recovery, Recovery as Redemption" arcs i have seen play out in media and it drives me crazy that it's in a fucking gacha.

we saw hints of his personal development in the inter-darshan championship such as when he gave tighnari water, and then nahida set him up to make more connections in life when she enrolled him in school. but the amount of progress he shows in simulanka makes me stupid emotional. he could at least argue that nahida sent him to keep an eye on things so he HAD to help tighnari. but no one was watching over his shoulder to make sure he helped the little toy guys! he just did that!! all on his own!! and CERTAINLY no one made him get that invested in mini durin. he saw himself in that funky paper dragon and just got wildly attached wildly fast. the feelings i had when he told mini durin he wanted to be friends, it was like i was a 10-year-old who just discovered the power of friendship trope in a shounen anime for the first time ever or something. it's downright silly how impactful that little display of earnestness was to me.

this is a character that we've seen be suicidal on screen 2-3 times depending on how you count it, and to see him extend such empathy to a creature that reminds him of himself, and how he's started to feel safe enough to express his gentleness and to pass on the same type of kindnesses nahida showed to him at his lowest, just really gets to me in the best way.

...of course, because it is a fucking gacha, a lot of this character development and plot beats are time-gated behind limited-edition events to force you to keep logging on, and will later only be available in people's youtube recordings.

...but still!!

[deoidesign]

Guys you're not gonna believe this. The books are wrong again

At least this time I didn't even get half of them and half of what I did get was damaged...? So I only have another 70 books to deal with... This time they're soft touch......

I've got so many of book 2 it's not even funny

[forwhump]

a/n: ;-; I feel a little silly introducing myself on a writing post but I feel sillier just starting to post my writing w/out any sort of introduction at all, so hi ! I’m Tina ! I’ve semi recently gotten introduced to the whump community because the content I create has been whump the whole time I just didn’t know it & thought I was alone in it !

now that I realize I’m not, I figured I might as well start posting my blurbs somewhere ! I don’t know if it qualifies as conventional whump, but is there such thing as conventional whump ? so what the hell

I put my two favourite oc’s through the horrors so often I have so much whump content w them & it’s just going to waste in my google docs & my notes app ! I’m chronically shy about posting my work online but I figured somebody out there might see this & maybe even like it so what’s the harm in sharing !

if you do see this & maybe even like it, yay ! I’m so glad ! thank you for even reading it <3

tw/cw for aftermath implied rape, mentions of being gutted

Wren has always been beautiful.

Silas had always thought so. Even at Wren’s worst, even when it wasn’t wholly appropriate to think. Silas had thought so since that very first day, since he was dragged into this place clawing and biting, since Wren had looked up at him from his place in the common room and smiled at Silas, sympathetic, as he was dragged into hell.

It was striking, even then, even disoriented and scared and confused. Wren was a bright spot, a glimmer of light in a bland, grey prisonscape. He’s beautiful like no other person Silas has ever seen, beautiful in a way reserved for the sunrise and the moon, so beautiful it actually gives him an eerie, kind of inhuman quality, even now, even still.

Wren has always been beautiful and Wren is beautiful still. But this —

There is nothing beautiful about this.

It’s ugly. It hurts something low in Silas’ chest.

It’s a film strip that’s been double exposed. Wren’s always been beautiful, and so particular about his hair; Wren has fairytale hair. It’s impossibly long, fairytale long, and the colour of snow, kinda, but he’s always so particular about it, he takes such good care of it, something that’s only his, something that belonged to him before this place, something they let him keep, and his hair always shimmers, perfect, iridescent. Silas has always found it kind of hypnotizing. Wren’s always so careful about how he braids it.

His hair is a mess. It had been pulled up into a ponytail with a piece of pink ribbon that’s gotten mostly lost in the tangles of his hair. Loose strands stick to his face, his throat, his waist, the insides of his thighs with tears, spit, sweat, semen, blood. He’s wearing some demeaning little pleated skirt, the same pale pink as the ribbon, and it’s short, it’s so short, and there’s so much visible skin that Silas can see almost every bruise, big and purple and splotchy and broken, like road rash. He can see all the blood tracked down the insides of his bruised thighs. He can see handprints. Tooth prints.

How is this happening? How did it get to this?

“Wren,” he hears himself say.

“Leave me alone.” His voice is the flattest Silas has ever heard it. He doesn’t lift his face from the carpet.

“Wren.” He doesn’t know what he’s gonna say. What can he say? He reaches a hand out, almost instinctive.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Wren —“

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Wren snaps, almost screams, and he finally lifts his head as he flinches away.

Most of the left side of his face is that same broken, road rash bruise. His mouth is swollen. His eyes, from crying. He doesn’t have hickeys, but proper, scabbing bite marks, bruising his jaw and his throat.

So much bruising. So much blood.

Silas knows what to do.

He struggles with that, sometimes.

Wren was allowed to keep his hair; Silas was, as well. It’s all Silas got to keep.

No part of Silas is the same as it was when he got here; no organ, no arterie. Silas isn’t human anymore, Silas is a weapon, but he tries, oh my god, he fuckin’ tries, if nothing else he tries, and he’s getting better, he thinks. He just struggles sometimes with human emotions, with feelings, thoughts, with what to do, what to say.

He knows now, though. What to do.

No part of Silas is really human anymore, but most of him is all still attached. His left leg, however, isn’t, and the replacement he’d been given, as a massive, inhuman superfreak, is heavy and deadly and fuckin’ uncomfortable. It pinches. Silas hates it almost more than anything. Unless he absolutely has to wear it, he gets around in his chair. It’s how he gets back to his room, where, without even a groan of displeasure, he makes quick work of his superfreak prosthetic.

On his own, he stands. Onto his chair, he piles one of his crewnecks, a favourite of Wren’s because of how cartoonishly large it fits him. Silas piles his comforter on top. From Wren’s room, he grabs his hairbrush and a pair of his joggers. Their clothing is the same dull grey as everything else in hell — prison grey, Silas thinks of it.

He limps his chair back to the common room. He folds the sweatshirt and joggers over the back, brush hooked in one hand as he holds open the blanket. “Okay,” he says. “Come.”

Wren’s head is down again. He’s right where they dumped him, a pile on the common room floor. “Leave me alone, Silas.”

Silas frowns. “No,” he says. “Come. I won’t touch.”

Slowly, Wren lifts his head. He blinks up at Silas with huge, wet eyes. “What?” He says, less sharp but a bit more broken. “What are you doing?”

Silas shakes the blanket at him. “Come.”

He isn’t expecting the way Wren’s face crumples, or the way he sobs. Softly, he says, “Wren?”

Wren turns his face away, but when he sobs, he sobs, “Silas.”

Folding the blanket and the brush back onto his chair, Silas limps around it to slowly, awkwardly maneuver himself onto the carpet next to Wren. Within reaching distance, but he’s careful not to touch.

Wren doesn’t lift his face and sobs into the carpet.

Slowly, Silas lies down, on his back next to him. He reaches out, he doesn’t touch, but he invites, and without looking at him Wren shifts into his arms and sobs into Silas’ shoulder.

Silas covers his back with a massive, gentle hand and lets him cry.

He cries for a long time.

Eventually, his sobs soften to sniffles and the hitching of his back slows under Silas’ hand. He says, into Silas’ grey sweatshirt, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Why?” Silas asks.

Wren’s chest hitches. His voice cracks when he says, “I’m disgusting.”

He frowns. “You’re not disgusting.”

Wren hiccups out a sob.

“Wren,” Silas says, “you’ve held my organs inside my body for me. This is nothing.”

He sobs again.

Silas thumbs slowly across his back, over the stiff, ripped material of his shirt. “Let me take care of you this time, Wren,” he says. “Please.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” he says softly.

“I don’t,” Silas says. “I want to.”

Wren’s small fist curls into Silas’ crewneck. Into his chest, he whispers, “they really hurt me, Silas.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Silas promises. He already knows how he’ll do it. It won’t be slow but it will be painful. “Let me take care of you first.”

Wren doesn’t answer him, but he nods into Silas’ shoulder.

Softly, Silas asks, “can I pick you up?”

He nods again.

Gratefully, gently, Silas lifts Wren into his arms and from there, into his chair. He pulls the grey blanket around his shoulders and Wren sinks into it gratefully.

The bathroom is cold, and the water doesn’t get hot, but it gets warm, so Silas runs it warm before he limps across the bathroom to gather an armful of towels. He held Wren to his feet, and leaves the towels in his place.

“You don’t have to do this,” Wren says softly.

“So?” Silas says.

He blinks up at him, a bit taken aback.

Supporting most of Wren’s weight, Silas says, “do you want my help getting undressed or do you want me not to touch you?”

Wren blinks up at him again, sniffling. “Would you help me?” He asks, so soft he’d barely spoken.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” Silas answers.

Wren makes a soft sound, and Silas is careful not to touch any of the bruises as he bumbles through small buttons and zippers with huge hands. He helps Wren out of his ruined skirt and into the lukewarm water. Silas doesn’t undress, but he follows him in, letting Wren lean hard against him as he lathers a washcloth he hands to him before getting to work untangling his hair.

It’s a careful few hours of effort, because Wren has so much hair and it’s so matted, caked with blood, grime, semen.

Silas is meticulous. He brushes it out. Washes it. He isn’t a great braider yet, but June had been teaching him the basics, and he can struggle his way through a sloppy French braid. He tugs the elastic out of his own hair to tie it off, and once he’s done, Wren turns to look up at him and he’s crying again.

“Wren?” He says.

And Wren surges forward, pushing his face into the hollow of Silas’ sternum, arms tight around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispers into his wet sweatshirt.

Silas cradles the back of his head with one hand. “It’s okay,” he says.

In truth, he would die for Wren in a heartbeat. This is nothing.

[mudandmire]

Slice of Life

Azris Week - Day Five: Slice of Life

~~~ In penance for the angst of day four, I give you day five, fluff extraordinaire, as a gift. This is just another part of my #giveerisababy2024 campaign - I'm looking at you, Azriel. As always, enjoy!! :D ~~~

Starlight

The room is stunning—the door opening straight into the open, wood floor and slipping seamlessly right into the double doors leading to a small, fenced balcony, looks out into the ocean. The glinting, silvery tossed waves crashing against the white limestone that carves the curve of the coastline. Eris has one hand holding Azriel’s bag, another, smaller one slung across his shoulders. His free hand is taken up by a much littler one; round, pudgy fingers and a deceptively tight grip.

Before it releases entirely.

“Ah!” Mina shouts, padding forward like a runaway cart with no brakes toward the open doors. “O-ten!”

Eris drops every bag—the front door still swung wide open as he hurries after her. “Mina—Mina wait for daddy, please.” He says, catching up to her quickly, but she pauses anyway, her small wings fluttering.

“O-ten,” she whispers, one hand pointing out the double doors and it’s clear, arched windows and out to the water below.

Eris crouches low, holding her lightly at her side. “Yes, I know. But we can’t go to the ocean there, little dove.” His thumb rubs soothing circles on her stomach, and with the other he snaps his fingers and the doors close with a click. He gazes at the side of her face as the sea breeze brushes gently through her dark curled hair, like it’s welcoming her. Saying hello.

Mina continues to watch the view outside, her attention fixed as a spell with her wide, dark eyes taking in everything it possibly can. One of her hands fisted at her mouth.

Eris watches her—astounded, in awe, completely, utterly in love for the second time in his life.

There’s a patch of sunlight shining on the rug in front of the doors, Mina toddles over to it and sits with a thump. Her back to the sunlight, wings shining golden, each spiderwebbing vein burnished blue and red lit up from the inside. They shudder gently, stretching out just a little to bask in the warmth.

Eris uses the time Mina spends on the soft rug with her toy lamb to pick up the bags he had dropped in the front door, and settle them in the main bedroom. Briefly, he’s taken in by the stretch of blue ocean, the green capped white cliffs that appear to cut through it. It has it’s own two doors that don’t have a balcony, more like a metal beam a foots-width and the same iron fencing.

“Mina,” he calls out, poking his head through the door and seeing her little face turn up at her name. “Come here, dove.”

She does so, standing up on wobbly knees Mina walks over with those stiff steps children take—like they haven’t quite learned what their knees are for.

Her little green dress flutters when Eris scoops her up, a happy squeal lifting from her upturned lips and he holds her close.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy.” She laughs into his neck.

Eris melts. “That’s me, darling.”

He moves in front of the bed, with it’s pristine white sheets and soft, down pillows. The heat of the day has seeped into the room, like bathing in liquid sunlight, and Eris pats himself on the back for thinking ahead making sure they all wear something light and breathable for the Summer Court.

Mina lays her head on his chest, the soft, dark curls of her hair brushing against his chin. Eris relents against the impulse to bury his nose in the top of her sun warmed head and inhale—Stars, she even smells like sunlight. Everything warm and precious in this world has blessed her and her little head. He hides a smitten smile in her hair and perks up when she says, “where?”

“Where, what?” He asks, following her gaze to the ocean far below them.

Her feet kick out slightly, like if she moves more the words will come to her quicker. “Where o’ten?” She begins to wiggle, fidgety, and Eris glances over his shoulder to the lovely, comfortable bed. He toes off his boots.

“Well,” he says as he lays down with her on his chest, grunting softly as she squirms away to sit up next to him. “I believe the ocean is right there.” He points out the open doors, the white linen curtains fluttering in the gentle breeze.

“Where’s go?” She wonders, her fingers fiddling with her stuffed lamb.

“Hm,” he hums, brow furrowing. “I think it goes out to Hybern, little dove. But it also goes around the whole of Prythian, way up to the Night Court.”

Mina brightens. “Nana!” She has her hands on Eris’s stomach and bounces along with the mattress.

Eris coasts a finger down the round slope of her cheek. “Mhm, nana’s there, but so is Zeb.”

“Beb.”

“Exactly.”

Eris hears the front door open, footsteps loud and tired walking in on the wooden floors. He tenses slightly, amber eyes flickering over to the door to the main bedroom until the faint scent of cedar greets him like a balm. He sinks back into the comforter with a sigh, watching Mina put the pieces together herself of who’s here.

Azriel stands in the doorway, a tired smile on his face. Mina shouts, loud and excited at the sight of him. Eris can’t help but agree with the sentiment, seeing Azriel with his dark, hazel eyes, lightening like sunrise when his gaze lands on the two of them.

The tension in his shoulders seem to melt away—whatever complication he was dealing with out front with the owner of the house seems to have dissipated by the time he’s next to the bed.

“Ada!” Her little hands grab at air, and then settle on his face when he leans down, palms flat on the bed.

Azriel’s features go molten, every harsh line of him softening along with the slump of his wings as he stares down at Mina. “Hello, little kokhavim.” He brushes their noses together gently, a fond form of greeting for parents and their children in Illyria—something he never had, never was given. He relishes in letting Mina clumsily bump their noses as she shakes her head around.

Eris laughs, eyes crinkled.

“Ada, ada—o-ten!” Mina says, wonder in her dark eyes when she points to the view out the doors.

“I see, I see it. We’ll go visit it soon, dove.”

Azriel toes off his own boots, sighing as he crawls over the plush quilts and comforters on the bed to flop down against the pillows. Mina stays in between them, guarded by the landmasses they make beside her. Her own little island, surrounded by the raging, protective sea.

Eris skates a hand along Azriel’s forearm, the sleeve of his shirt having been rolled up at some point. “Did you get everything with the owner settled?” He asks quietly, keen eyes watching how his lips press into a frown.

“I did, the ba—” he cuts off, glancing to Mina who seems entirely taken with a hung and framed painting on the wall above the bed.

“He wasn’t very nice. The paper work was ridiculous—I know for a fact we told him we had Mina with us—but it was just another add-on to his list of negatives. Don’t do this, don’t do that, keep the noise down, whatever.” He sighs heavily, elbow sinking into the mattress where he keeps his head up.

“Mm,” Eris hums, the back of his fingers brushing against the skin of his chest, the dip of his collarbone. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah?” Azriel’s grin is crooked, taking Eris’s wandering hand and planting small, featherlight kisses on each knuckle.

“Yeah.”

It’s a little thing, looking at Azriel. The strong line of his nose and jaw, the curve of his smile, the one dimple in his cheek, and the glow of his eyes with their sooty lashes. Every part of him masterfully crafted, every part wholly Eris’s.

Azriel’s smile softens like he knows what Eris is thinking.

Mina squeals, and it breaks their attention.

“Sa-baa! Sa-baa, daddy, sa-baa!” She babbles, over and over, bouncing excitedly on her bottom, her wings following the movement.

Azriel glances at Eris, confusion written in the features of his face. Eris shrugs back.

“What do you mean, love? What’s sa-baa?” He asks softly, hand flat on her back below her wings to steady her.

Azriel looks around, trying to figure out what could have inspired this sudden burst of nonsense.

“Sa-baa, daddy!” Mina giggles, shaking her lamb toy around.

“Yes, I know, dove, but I don’t know what that means.” Eris says, trying to hold in his laugh. He never realized how funny children could be when he was growing up. Humor was all but crushed out of each of his siblings, including him, one careless, callous comment at a time.

It was only the presence of Azriel, and now their little starlight, Mina, who had brought it back like bouquets of flowers in spring.

Mina keeps repeating herself, a soothing chant of ‘sa-baa, sa-baa,’ as she keeps her fist in her mouth, drooling around it.

Azriel makes a noise in the back of his throat—a caught laugh. “You mean Sasha, kokhavim?”

“Sa-baa!” Mina screeches, flinging her lamb toy around.

Eris lays his head back on the pillows, chuckling softly. His gaze finds Azriel’s, almost upside-down at this point, and he points to the painting above the bed.

“There’s a black lamb.”

“Oh for the love—Sahsa, right, got it.”

“Ada, sa-baa.” Mina whispers having crawled over to him when he gestured at the art piece.

“I know, little one. But Sasha’s back at home, safe and sound.” He rubs their noses together gently.

From where he’s laying on his side, contentment like perfect sunlight sweeps over him. He would give anything to freeze this moment, imprint it on his mind like a picture pressed in glass—but he’s okay if it moves on.

He’s more than content to find Azriel’s hand in his when he lays down on his side, facing Eris, the other cradling Mina. In fact, there’s a large part of him that wants it to continue, to see where the rest of his life takes him. Wants to see Mina grow up and learn how to pronounce ‘Sasha’ in her strong, little voice. He wants to grow old with Azriel even though it will take practically their entire life before they start to see signs of mortal aging on each other. Most of all, he wants more of this. There’s no longer the embedded fear of every dawn, not of his life or his health or his sanity. Azriel had helped him dig through his veins and bones, helped him root out every poisonous, destructive belief that was burned into him. And after helped him heal with salves and bandages and soothing, warm touch.

When Mina falls asleep in the slowly sinking patch of sunlight, Azriel squeezes his hand.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

Eris’s lips quirk. “Who says I’m thinking?”

Azriel’s hand leaves Mina’s back for a second, tracing the curve of his mouth, the pad of his thumb landing on his bottom lip. “This does,” he says, “you’ve had that soft look on your face the whole time.”

Then he leaves it, lets the silence shroud them with it’s soft blanket of dusk. Mina’s soft, slightly raspy breaths heave and sigh like the ocean tide far below their open window.

Eris sighs. “Did you ever, even once in your life, think you could have this?” He says, and it comes out more vulnerable than he wanted, but Azriel is there anyway—his touch and gentle gaze all searching, all finding him, all cupping the tender aches and bringing them out under starlight.

“Never.” He whispers. “Not once, Eris. But there was a moment with you where I could see it. All of it.”

Eris inhales sharply—even now, the things Azriel says catch his breath. “Me too.” He says softly, barely louder than the crash of the ocean waves.

Azriel smiles, the soft, fond one he reserves specially for him—and now for the little girl asleep on her stomach, clutching her lamb tight, little wings twitching as she dreams. He lays his head down on the pillow, gaze still on Eris who keeps it lovingly.

“Thank the stars.” He says with a smile.

Eris’s eyes squint under the force of his grin. He laughs, breathless and—Ko-kaw’eloi bless him—happy.

“Thank the stars.”

~~///~~///~~///~~

Key:

Kokhavim - 'Starlight'

Short, soft and sweet for today <3. I'm dead serious though I need them to have a baby like I need air to breathe. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, I loved writing this like I've loved writing every prompt. Even though sometimes it's a struggle to get into the vibe, it's still so so fun, I really can't thank @azrisweek enough for this event like it's brought me back to writing - enjoying writing. <3

[gunsatthaphan]

I keep seeing so many parallels between the eclipse and only friends and the one between the eclipse ep 8 [2/4] and only friends ep 4 [4/4] is giving me butterflies in my stomach. I am so in love with them.

akkayan 🤝 sandray: finger touches

it's in times like these where I just wanna crawl into a hole and d*e tbh 😩😩

[souredfigs]

Every once in a while , I think of the Stark Children , I think of Sansa surrounded by enemies left right and centre , with no way to freedom except for death . Like steel she has been beaten down and molded by those around her , but she does not break or shatter , she remains hopeful and struggles to survive, and she may have a new name now , and with that new name she's forged a new person , but deep down she knows some remnants of Sansa Stark , although blurry , are still visible to her . But she keeps Sansa Stark to herself and herself alone , to the rest of the world she is still Alyane Stone .

I think of Arya , Arya who tries so hard not to lose a part of herself in the dark echoey chambers of the house of black and white .Arya who has hidden needle under the stones of the beach for it is the only thing that is left of her family . Arya , who with every deep breath , tries to reach across the memories of Jon , Ned , Catelyn , Sansa , Rickon , Robb and Bran . Arya who despite all that she has seen in her short life , tries to do good in every capacity. Arya who burns and burns for the desire of Justice in a world where justice is as rare as the valyrian steel that noble families keep tucked away in their treasures.

I think of Rickon and wonder if he feels alone having lost all and any connection to his home , angry at his brothers and sisters for leaving him or if he feels content living in Skagos after all . I wonder if Davos would leave him there after he sees Rickon being happy with his new life , sparing him a life of further pain caused by these warring families.

I think of Brandon , trying to echo through a wool of time , reaching out his hand in the foggy winter winds for ghosts and bloody sacrifices to the old gods to reach for ancestors long gone .

I think of Jon lying on the snow, his warm blood turning colder and colder as it touches the ice , and how the last thing he whispers is the last of the family he has with him , as his soul leaves his body .