#thank you sm for the prompt!

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: can i pretty please request a drabble where gen has a sibling and that said sibling and hoshina are dating? even better if gen's sibling is an officer/troop leader in the first division and partakes in the rivalry between the third and first division but outside of everyone's view— gen's sibling and hoshina are terribly lovey dovey!

warnings: reader wears short shorts in a scene

wc: 1200

This was not something that started today. Rather, it had been this way for as long as anyone could remember.

From the moment you had joined the 1st Division, you had always been bickering with Hoshina— just like your brother. It was plain as day you were none other than the younger sibling of Narumi Gen. Although you lacked the power and passion for fame that Gen had, you weren't any less competitive than him.

However, unlike your brother, you were better at neutralizing smaller size Kaiju than him— naturally making you more competitive with Hoshina. While you were incredible at what you did, you seemed to fall just a step behind of Hoshina most of the time. You were insanely good, but Hoshina was just a little better. You had beaten him just once in the neutralization test of smaller sized kaiju, and you just couldn't seem to do it again.

This was well known among most of the first and third division, and they did enjoy your playful banter that arose even in the toughest of times. It wasn't always easy to keep the mood bright when things got difficult, but the two of you would never fail to do so. They hoped this would never change and your rivalry would never fade.

However, there were things that had changed that no one really knew of. The two of you had started dating a year ago, and you were madly in love. It was your little secret. Well, your little secret that Gen accidentally found out about.

Neither of you had told Gen about this and quite frankly, the two of you were planning to keep hiding this from him if it were possible. It wasn't new that he despised Hoshina quite a bit, and he was extremely weary of the people you meet, especially men. Naturally, to find out that Hoshina was your boyfriend wouldn't exactly be celebratory news for him. Not to mention that Gen was loud when he had complaints. You knew he absolutely would not shut up about it. So it really wasn't the plan when he had found out.

You were in your room lazing around in a baggy shirt, specifically Hoshina’s shirt, which covered your short-shorts while Hoshina was in your kitchen cooking something quick. Until you got a shared place, this happened rather often. It was either him in your room or yourself in his room. However, a lot of your stuff had found a place in his unit and vice versa, so it was very easy for you to visit each other whenever. A little too easy, perhaps.

“Hoshina, you don't have to make anything fancy,” you said. “Anything’s fine. You had a long day too.”

“I'm literally making us ochazuke. It couldn't be easier—” he was starting to say when the door swung open.

“Guess who's here!” Gen had yelled while walking into your place.

Immediately you looked back at Hoshina in the kitchen and gave up. “Oh gosh,” you said.

“What did I say about ringing the doorbell?!” you yelled back at him.

“And what did I say about locking the door?!” he exclaimed back.

“I thought I did—” you started to yell, but then you remembered you had forgotten to lock the door after Hoshina came in, hands full of groceries to stuff your empty fridge. You were a little too thrilled to see him. “My bad.”

You knew Hoshina was going to scold you later— he's been telling you to be more careful about locking up properly.

Gen saw the extra pair of shoes by your doorway and immediately met eyes with Hoshina in your kitchen.

“Why the hell are you here?!” he yelled.

“Oh, can you please be quiet,” you said. “He's visiting.”

“Why, hello! That would be me!” Hoshina said, greeting Gen properly now that it's come down to this.

“Why is he visiting you, in your room, alone, with you dressed like that?” Gen continued to ask. He wasn't understanding nor did it seem like he wanted to.

You let out a sigh, you didn't mean to, but there was no getting around this one. “What's wrong with having my boyfriend in my room,” you said.

“Your boyfriend? Hoshina?” Gen said, horrified. He didn't think matters could get worse, yet here he was. “Why him?”

“Oh, why not him?” you asked. “He's the best I could ever wish for.”

Hoshina didn’t expect that— especially not to your brother, just like that. His eyes widened as his heart tightened. Oh, how he absolutely adored you. You said it so naturally, as if merely stating a fact. To you, that really was all it was though.

Gen had a lot more to say and complain about while staying far too long, long enough to steal some ochazuke for dinner (which he also managed to complain about) before you were finally able to kick him out. Yet, through all of that, Hoshina couldn't be happier to be with you, bickering away as you ate a 5 minute meal at a small make-shift dining table.

As soon as Gen finally left, you spread your arms out in front of you, asking for a hug, which Hoshina promptly returned.

“He's finally gone…” you said, relieved it was finally just the two of you.

“Not sure he liked me much,” Hoshina said with a smile and you rolled your eyes.

“Like we didn't already know,” you said. “I really didn't plan for him to barge in like that.”

“I have to admit, I do enjoy watching you two bicker though. My brother and I are not nearly as close,” Hoshina said and you rolled your eyes again when he said ‘close’. You wouldn't ever explain your relationship as ‘close’. “However, you ought to make a habit of locking your door. What if that wasn't your brother and I wasn't here.”

“Yes,” you said, quietly but clearly— but avoiding eye contact. “I will.”

“Thank you for saying that earlier,” he said, turning your head to face his. “To this day I don't know what made you choose me.”

You immediately realized what he was talking about.

“Oh, please,” you said. “Be serious. I am the luckiest person alive by your side.”

He kissed you and you kissed back, but he truly wouldn't let you go. You started hitting his arm, hoping he would let go so you could catch your breath. After what felt like the longest moments ever he finally let you pull back, letting you breathe.

“Soushirou, I can't breathe!” you said, trying to sound irritated, but your tone lacked the edge you were hoping for.

He completely ignored you, however, and pulled you back into a tight embrace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he said. “Just you and me.”

“In this small place?” you said, laughing a little.

“Absolutely wherever,” he said. “As long as you're here with me.”

[turnipoddity]

we all know that adam is more clingy than lawrence but there are times that lawrence is more clingy than him, like when adam is working with his photographs, lawrence would come up from behind and cuddle with him unexpectedly

oh now i will be passing away

[triona-tribblescore]

I saw you wanted fluffy suggestions so here ya go:

Baby Mikey blabbering and Donnie responding like it’s a philosophical discussion.

Big! Sweaters! Big fluffy sweaters!

Disaster twins in the get along shirt

Raph and Leo in the get along shirt

Raph napping while Donnie happily rants to him

All boys walking together down an overgrown subway tunnel and relishing in sunlight and plants!(if ya need some background practice)

sooo uhhh, this ask may be four months old BUT! I was saving it for a rainy day and, would you look at that, its raining outside :D

some close-ups :)

[uhhhitsgray]

fic where astarion puts lipstick on u? ☺️ I feel like that could be super intimate

aksjdhfakdhf, anon please 😭 this is so cute, yes yes I write c:

~ wc: 2k, no warnings, this is just fluffy and cute. tav and astarion are already in a relationship. attempted to make this as gender neutral as possible, but I did throw in a few pretties (since astarion does say that in the game), a few darlings and he calls you gorgeous. astarion would call you all those things regardless of gender so I hope you're okay with that ❤ enjoy & and thank you for the prompt, this was a lot of fun!

You sigh as you look down at the metal tube in your hands defeated with the fact that you don’t think, or even know, how to properly apply lipstick. Up until arriving at Baldur’s Gate you never had the need to dress nicely. Of course your clothing choice was much more than just clothing, it was armor meant for protecting and not so much for looking good.

You had found this small shop on the outskirts of the city one evening. It didn’t cost a lot of gold, and you wanted to treat yourself. Though maybe you should have gone with something you were more familiar with instead, but you wanted to feel attractive; pretty even.

It was a peaceful evening at camp, the day hadn’t been taxing on the group luckily, just a few pesky thieves but nothing else major happened. Your tent was further away from the center of camp where the others were, you enjoyed the solitude that it provided giving your mind and body an opportunity to just breathe and relax. By the gods, you’d take that chance any time it arose. 

You had snuck away from the group while everyone was laughing and talking over the wine from the city. You so desperately wanted to try out this lipstick, but after several attempts and every pass looking worse than the previous your shoulders slumped in defeat, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. You could also ask someone in camp, maybe Shadowheart or Isobel would know. You remember them both stating they’ve worn makeup before, shit, Isobel currently wears makeup. 

But admittedly you didn’t have that type of relationship with them. Of course you were fond of them, friends even, but close enough to ask for something like this? You weren’t sure you were that comfortable with them. Truth be told, you were only close with one person like that in your camp, the pale elf himself, Astarion. An odd person to ask possibly, has he ever worn makeup before – or lipstick even? You weren’t sure, but you weren’t sure if you even cared. 

He’d help you right?   

You shove the tube into your pocket, and head towards the campfire where you left him with the group. The light of the fire danced across his skin, washing warm hues across his pale skin. His rather white hair was highlighted in reds and oranges, his red irises reflecting the vermillion shades of the flames. He was laughing at something Gale was sputtering on about, a genuine smile on his face.

Truly beautiful. 

You step into the light of the fire, one arm crossed across your chest holding yourself close. Caging yourself off as if you’re too afraid to ask such a simple question from the man you adore. “Astarion.” 

Astarion’s attention is ripped away from Gale at the drop of his name, his name sounding like honey on your lips. He’d never get used to it. Warmth blossoms within his chest at the sight of you on the other side of the fire, “Yes, darling.” He smiles towards you, scooting himself over on the log he was sitting on, patting the wood for you to sit next to him. 

You smile at him, and make your way around the side of the fire, offering a small wave to the few people who were still at the campfire. You cross behind Astarion’s back, hand dragging across his shoulders. You lean down behind him, fingers dancing up the back of his neck into his hair. “Can I ask something of you, my love?” 

He leans back into your hand slightly still facing the fire as he answers. “Anything.” 

You kiss his cheek, it’s short and quick as your words mumble and stumble out of your mouth. “Can I ask you away from everyone else?” 

His body stiffens slightly, “Is everything okay?” Astarion turns towards you, his tone shifts in his question. Worry, and something similar to dread fills his eyes as he looks into yours. “Did… did I do something?” 

You offer him a soft smile, “Everything is fine.” You cup his cheek in the palm of your hand, thumb brushing across his fire warmed skin. “You didn’t do anything.” 

He swallows down the worry and dread as he leans into your palm. Astarion nods up at you, “Okay, darling. Where do you want to go?” 

You look past the fire in the direction of your tent, “Is my tent okay?” 

Astarion nods, standing up next to you. “Lead the way.” 

The fact that you wanted to ask Astarion to put lipstick on you was plaguing your mind. You were sure you were making this a bigger deal than it really was, it wasn’t that big of a deal to begin with. But by the gods, your mind was telling you that it was the absolutely worst thing that you could ask of this man. 

You slowly lead him back to your tent, your hand in his. The warmth of the fire still lingering on his skin, the cool evening breeze bringing a yin and yang sensation. “Now, darling, I’m dying to know what you wanted to ask.” 

You were second guessing yourself as you pulled the front of your tent open and allowed him and yourself to walk in. You take a deep breath, “I… I — uh.” You shake your head and take a few steps further into your tent. 

Astarion squeezes your hand, “You can ask me anything, you know that.” 

You sigh, letting go of his hand as you drag your fingers through your hair. “I know.” You look at him, the crimson irises carefully watching you. You start pacing the length of your tent. It’s not big by any means, just enough room for your bed roll, a small table and stool. But you were gonna pace it as much as you could, as much as the space would allow; trying as best as you could to allow your mind some room to think of the question at hand. 

“Darling.” 

You were biting your nails as you heard Astarion call for you. Your eyes search his, uncertainty lays heavy on your expression. “You can’t laugh at me, okay?” 

Astarion chuckles at that. You sweet, precious thing of his, he could never. “I wouldn’t dare laugh at you like that.”  

You nod, looking at the floor again. “So I uh – I bought something in the city the other day and I need help putting it on.” 

He raises an eyebrow to you, crossing his arms at his chest. “And what did you buy?” 

You stuff your hand into your pocket and pull out the metal tube, palm side up showing Astarion. Your eyes burn holes into your palm, embarrassment flushes your cheeks red. How stupid is this. 

You hear Astarion stepping forward, into your space. “Lipstick?” 

Your eyes dare to look at him, too scared to see the expression he has on his face. “Yeah, I don’t know how to properly apply it. I was trying earlier, but it kept looking all wrong and bad and Astarion, I just wanted to look pretty.” Your words come out of your mouth a little too quick, not giving your brain enough time to process before speaking. 

Astarion cups your cheek this time, a playful tone to his soft voice. “Oh darling,” He leans in and kisses your forehead. “You are always beautiful.” 

Your arms cross, pouting. “But I wanted to feel pretty.” Your eyes darted up to him for a second before they found the floor, “Wanted to be pretty for you.” 

“There isn’t a day where I don’t think you’re the most stunning person I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He grabs the metal tube from your hand. “But I can put this on for you, if you so wish.” 

You smile at him, “Please.” 

He nods towards your stool, silently asking you to sit down. Your feet take you to the stool and you sit yourself down as Astarion opens the lid, a smile spreads on his face as he sees the color you purchased. It’s nothing flashy, a more mutual tone. Probably to not draw too much attention to yourself if he was to guess. “This color will look so pretty on those lips of yours.” 

“You think so?” 

Astarion steps in between your legs. One hand holds your chin, urging your head upwards so he can see you better. The other hand holds the lipstick carefully, twisted up just enough to be easily applied to your lips. “I know so.” 

Your hands land on the outside of his thighs, just holding his pants as you carefully watch him. His eyes flit to yours and linger for a second longer. “Don’t look at me like that, darling.” 

You smile at him, teasing, “Like what?” 

“Like you want to kiss me.” Crimson eyes drift down to your lips. 

“I always want to kiss you. Always want your lips on me, want them everywhere –.” 

Astarion squeezes your chin, “Behave yourself, sweetheart.” 

You giggle, smiling at him sweetly. “I always behave for you.” 

He cocks an eyebrow to you, a smile plays across his face, fangs exposed slightly in the light of your tent. “I would have to disagree.” His hand moves in slowly, carefully, as he presses the lipstick to your lips. Your eyes are locked onto his, though he isn’t looking at you anymore, you can’t help but just watch him in concentration. Trying his best, giving his best to you. 

He smiles as he pulls the lipstick away from your lips. “Gorgeous. This color suits you, darling.” He grabs your small mirror off the table next to you, flipping the mirror around for yourself to see. 

Your eyes widen at how well it’s applied, like he’s done it a million times. You move the mirror around better to see his work. Astarion was right, the color does suit your skin tone just perfectly. “Thank you Astarion. I – wow. Just how are you so skilled?” 

“Oh,” His eyes fall to the floor, you see his body freeze beyond your mirror as dread fills the pit of your stomach. 

Shit. 

You put the mirror face down on the table, standing quickly as horror washes over your face. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

Astarion shakes his head, and continues anyway. “I used to wear it to lure victims back to Cazador.” His voice is low, hurt as the words are hushed out. 

“I… I didn’t know that, I’m sorry for asking this of you.” 

“I didn’t expect you to, I’ve never told you that.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“You didn’t have to.” Your nail digs into the palm of your hand, you feel horrible for asking such a thing. If you knew you would have never asked. 

Astarion’s hand reaches out for yours, fingers intertwined with yours. “I’d do anything for you, my love. It was in the past, the future will be better. Even the now is better.” 

You smile at him, "And I'd do anything for you. One day at a time, my love." You giggle, pressing up on your tiptoes as you kiss his cheek. You grin at the mark the lipstick left on his cheek. He laughs knowing you've left a mark on his cheek. "I love you, thank you Astarion." You kiss his lips soft and delicate, sure to be careful not to mess up his work. 

"I love you too, gorgeous. Shall we show our friends?" He takes your hand as the other opens your tent up, awaiting for you to follow him. 

You smile, “What about the mark on your cheek, you want to wipe it off before we go?”

Astarion laughs as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you close. “I’d wear any mark from you proudly, I’ll leave it.” His hand wraps around the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. It’s warm, soft and caring; you’ll never get used to it. Or him for that matter. 

Your thumb brushes across his cheek, as you pull away from the kiss. You smile as his lips are slightly tinted the shade of your lipstick. “Alright, let’s go then.”

[saturnisfallingdown]

🌅

My piece for @phandomgiftexchange this year! I got @phandoras-box!! He gave me the prompts traveling and domesticity, so this ones inspired by some Isle of Man trip photos. Thanks so much to everyone who partook in this event/organized it!! this was a blast! Hope you like it, Eli! :]

[ID: Digital art of Dan Howell and Phil Lester dressed in warm coats stood beside a lakeside as viewed from behind, as the sun rises and seagulls fly around them. End ID]

[yyawnjun]

3 with theo plsplspls 😞🙏

AYY BEAUTIFUL ANYTHING FOR MY THEO'S STAN !!

oh, I hope you could feel this warming your heart a little bit. in the meanwhile, it's evening, during a cold winter day and waiting for theo outside of your door. you are wearing a big jacket with only your pijamas under it - moving a little bit to keep you warm; when you see him getting out of the car and coming to you.

and then suddenly feeling his body next to yours, with his arm around your neck and your head buried in his chest. a quick kiss on your forehead before taking your face with his hands. feelings his cold hands on your warm cheeks, and his lips quickly cover all of your face. entering in the house, and now both laying on the sofa.

a light blanket and two hot chocolates on the small table next to you. you lying on his legs and letting his hands caress you. now his hands are warmer, and his whole body feels like a natural heater. his eyes on you warming your hearth, and his whole body warming yours.

ASUDEIDH3F2JR2JR8E. or what about sitting next to each other in a restaurant with ur friends. when you suddenly feel cold, imagine just him interlocking his hands with yours and gently rubbing. without letting anyone noticing it or making a big deal out of it 😭

prompts ; event m.list

[lanternlightss]

Yaaay writing requests ^^. Do you think we could get the old mondstadt gang (everyone lives) reacting to venti after ascending do godhood? 👀. I think it'd be interesting >.<

As beings of Anemo, there is little reason for wind wisps to partake in the act of breathing. Why would they, those made of that same air as the one whirling around them, need to? This remains true for Venti, even after they had taken a form alike to Cecil’s own.

If. If only Venti did not take a liking to breathing, pretending—for a moment—that they have lungs to use, the subtle up and down of their chest, at first a conscious choice that you could see being made, moving towards one they do without thought. Something human. Something mortal. It makes them happy, to be able to mimic such abilities, such mundanity.

This is, to say, that he is impressed they have learned how to do it whilst they sleep (their wings twitching intermittently); as he feels the occasional soft breaths (he counts—a full minute of complete stillness, followed by a shuttering, jagged exhale, repeat) being blown across the hand that they rest beside, having used his left arm and waist as a pillow during the night.

He does not mind, not at all. Had sat up to place his right hand atop their head once he was not blinking sleep from his eyes, playing with the strands.

Briefly, he entertains the thought of humming them a lullaby, or perhaps, a tune to celebrate this moment, that they are all here, together, still. He dismisses it the moment he begins to toss the idea around, knowing that those same people included in that “they are all here, together, still” in the room with him (Amos, in her own makeshift bed beside him—Cecil “borrowed” the one he is using, truth be told, he should be in the room one down—with Valentina besides her sat in a chair, and Felix standing at the entrance) would kick a fit if he even dared to strain his voice further (orders from the healers.) How elated he had been when they told him he could still talk, simply had to be quiet, low.

“…how asleep, are they?”

Aha, speaking of his dear companions.

Cecil inclines his head towards Felix, though his eyes never stray from Venti. “I do not believe they will be waking up, for a long while.” (Thank the winds for that, they deserve it—he had heard that whilst he and Amos’ injuries were being attended to, the rest of them had been running themselves particularly ragged dealing with the everything.)

He hears Felix sigh heavily in response, and the shifting of fabric. Shoulders, presumably, fell? He brings his eyes up to scrutinize—the man looks one awful sway away from collapsing.

“Good, that means we can have this discussion in peace.”

That … particular phrasing does not inspire a good feeling. He forces himself not to show outward unease at the words, instead, curling the hand in Venti’s hair to touch at their forehead, and lightly gripping what he can of the sheets with the other.

“Are you sure we should be having any discussion? Both you and Valentina should get rest, too—you look a dead man walking, Felix.”

And—there, Felix’s relaxed shoulders seem to tense, his jaw clamping and working in a gritted motion subtly. Cecil is waved off, both in tone and by the fluttering of his hand, “I will rest easier after this.”

He chances a glance over, to where Valentina has scooted to the very edge of her seat, clutching at her knees in a white-knuckled grip, with furrowed brows. Amos, meanwhile, is propped against pillows, slightly slouching, her bangs and unbraided strands casting a shadow over her eyes, as she burns her gaze into Felix.

The first to speak of them is Valentina, leaning forwards: “Which discussion have we not already taken care of?”

Felix does not look away from Venti, but a grimace overtakes his face, angling his head in a way to hide himself behind both his hair and the large fur of his cape. He seems rather… uncomfortable, now—his crossed arms pulling further into his chest, one hand flexing. It continues to stay this way, even when gesturing to where Cecil’s wisp cuddles against him, and speaking the words, “What do we do about them?”

Her eyes harden, back straightening in an instant. “What is it that you mean.”

(Cecil is quick, to check on Amos. Her bangs have now completely covered her eyes, and he cannot truly gauge a reaction. He worries the sheets between his fingers.)

That discomfort shines, in the floundering of Felix’s limbs—his arms flinging outwards, his hand waving about as he grasps for words. “The whole point of this was that we did not want a God to rule over us, the way they had! And then, whatever it is of that…. those heavens, has decided we were wrong in that thinking, that they sent us another God to deal with, not a moment’s peace from the previous? Are we to never escape from the divine?”

Valentina stands, her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped frown, both her fists raised to her sides and clenching. She is stopped from going farther by Amos raising an arm in front of her.

A brief spark of irritation whisks throughout Cecil’s chest, and he wishes Felix had chosen a better moment to do this—Amos, as well, is not supposed to talk above a quiet voice, or for long periods of time. “I fear we would have encountered divinity whether we wanted to or not—tell me, why is it that many had told us of a frozen land, yet when the storm vanished, the snow was fading?” Her arm shakes imperceptibly, “Had it not been for … what decision it was, that transpired before we succeeded, we would have come to face the God responsible for declaring the war.”

(That is, to say nothing of their neighboring nation and Boreas’ wolves….)

She turns, and, he notes, that for the first time since Venti’s presence had made itself known (when they had near silently glided into the room, the door creaking shut just so, with Anemo slowly dissipating from their form, and playfully tousled Cecil’s bangs in a light breeze) Amos looks directly at the God, who has huddled closer—they seem to be trying to lay themselves over all of him—whilst the conversation had gone on.

Her eyes seem to soften, staring a few seconds longer, then dropping her attention to the end of the bed. She turns away, her arm falling to her lap, hands lacing together and nails gently clinking against each other.

“Perhaps we should count ourselves fortunate, that of all beings to ascend, it was the Elf.”

Felix scowls and presses his back against the wall, the sound of his cape sliding across it echoing, nearly drowning out the even quieter grumblings of his, “Fortunate is not the word I would use.”

How terrible for him, that for as far as he is from Cecil, his words still ring clear—words that cause that spark of irritation to flare into a burst of small flames, flames that have to be forcefully smothered out. Over the little time that the bard has not been able to walk the grassy lands, has he forgotten? Nothing, not a single noise, escapes from those who always listen, who keep their ears pinned to the striking chords of the winds.

His eyes narrow, bordering on a glare. And this is not quite shaping to be a “discussion”; would it be a proper one, they would actually be going somewhere, and not talking in practically circles.

“Why unfortunate?” Felix’s head snaps to him, and Cecil (pushes the flames) risks skimming his hand to where Venti’s right ear is, holding his palm there (a useless gesture, really, yet he does it anyhow). “You would not start anything if there was no value to be had of it—so, please, what is it you wish to truly say?”

The man opens his mouth, pauses. Cecil continues to stare, lowering his chin, his brows drawing together, upward, and the edges of his mouth threatening to fall.

Boots scuff against the floor, when Felix titters side to side, considering. A breath rushes out of him, harsh. Then, as if it were a leaf fallen onto still waters and sending ripples across the surface, he utters: “If they turn against us—what are we to do?”

Try as he might not to (flames slipping between the gaps of his fingers), Cecil lurches forward, and halts himself rather awkwardly halfway through it hearing Venti make an indescribable noise. He looks to them, seeing them curl inward, their brows knitted, wings dazedly moving to shield their body. A wince pulls at him, as he adjusts back to where he was (almost to, he should say—positioning himself to hide them from Felix’s view, his torso bent over them), and the hand covering their ear runs to their hair, massaging; they start to relax from it, wings spreading, and nestling their face into his waist.

(A splendid sight, yet… a bitter feeling forms, coating his mouth.)

Scratching at where two strands—resembling the ones they had as a wisp—sprout, he presses, a hiss to it, “Turn against us..?”

He holds his hands in the air, by his chest. “I know. I know, I have seen them.”

If the emotion of “incredulous” could be humanized, Cecil would be the perfect role, right then. Has he? Has he??

Admittedly, for most of the time he has been awake, he can count on one hand and two extra fingers how much he was fully lucid during it. When the pain constricting in his chest was not clouding his vision, when there was no fog laid over his mind, his surroundings dizzy, his limbs feeling inexplicably heavy. Shoving this all aside, however—during those lucid moments, and finding Venti waiting for him, their entire demeanor brightening at their locking of eyes; he noticed how terror and apprehension threaded through their being.

He does not think they have a capacity to harm—not for those they love, not for those they have a branch of trust to—by the fact that they cannot bring themself to hold his wrist in a firm grip without panicking of potentially “breaking him.”

(Or that they, wind now trapped in a bottle, a shell for them to be tied to, try next to everything to compact themselves to the size they once were. From curling into a ball on the wooden chair, from using their wings to hide themself away, from bowing and crumbling in the cradle of his palms.

How they are bigger and powerful, certainly, yet the world around them still remains so much more than they are.)

Felix slumps. “It would only be as a precaution. We should be prepared—”

There is a clanging of armor, signaling Valentina’s steps inching towards Felix. When she speaks, her voice is stern, tinged slightly by bafflement.

“No, you are aware, just as I, to what they are capable of! They are listening to the people, and doing what they can for them!” Her hand clenches, metal shuddering. “And even… they have been this way, they stopped at nothing to keep my clan safe, out in the frozen barrens. We should have seen a sign by now if they were to change, the winds are simple creatures. There is no reason for this precaution!”

“Are we to lay all our trust in what was? Their knowledge is more! They are not such a simple creature! They know intimately the hopes and dreams of mere humans—what that does. They have become privy to how far mortality can go, to how much a human can take before their life is snuffed from them, and now they have the ability to do something about it.”

He sweeps a hand, jerkily, to the two in bed, during the last words.

Cecil bristles. Their injuries are not to be used for matters like this. No one should have expected that death would not be nipping at their heels during the revolt, that they would not have to grab on to the world of living and dig. A retort readies on his lips, lips pulled back, only to—still.

(Oh. There is no air being blown across.

Oh.)

Valentina side-steps to the other side of Amos’ bed, hackles fully raised, a righteous glare upon her face. “You truly know nothing of the wind, then, if you believe they would willingly go back to those restraining—!”

“Enough.”

They both startle. Cape, whipping. Armor, clanking.

“Enough,” Amos repeats, the words sounding as though they were scraped from her throat. “The both of you… shall we have someone watch over, when you are outside here? You have swung knives.”

In unison, their shoulders hunch. She draws a soft breath, half-watching Valentina stride over to grab the canteen of water from the side table, offering it to her—while Felix seems to attempt to meld into his cape. She takes it into a tight grip, the tips of her fingers trembling, but does not bring it to her lips. Opting to swish the water inside, instead.

“A godhood is delicate,” taps at the canteen, the sound reverberating, “Especially one at … at the very beginning, of their divinity. A sign of change would not be in mortal lifetimes—it drips, one by one, slow.”

She turns to face them, once more. Trailing from where Venti’s wings flutter, the sleeves of their robe half splayed over the bed, to where Cecil is furled around them, a few pieces of hair strands falling over his eyes as he bows further at her stare. Eyes meet, hers, tinged in an old pain and weighted by exhaustion; his, bordering on guarded, cracked with pleading.

Underlying all of that is an understanding.

(You can never quite understand a God’s thinking, will only get to see the glimpses of what layers that sit just underneath the surface, a scratch of it, but love—

A God’s love, their eyes and arms locked around you, is something all encompassing.)

“We should continue to offer them the kindness they gave us.” Another tap, another tink. “Whatever path they follow down, whatever they choose to do, hundreds or thousands of years after this—at the least, they will remember having us by their side. Should they give an inkling, now, however—”

“All these what-ifs,” Cecil murmurs bitterly, withholding a sneer. “Could we, say, let them take their own steps first? They hardly have a proper footing!”

The puff of air that escapes her is almost amused. Her gaze drifts downwards, where the water of the canteen sloshes as it is tipped to her mouth. She sets it gently into her lap, after, a chorus of clinking coming from the repetitive thumping of her fingers.

“Of course.” She hands the canteen to Valentina, and the trembling of her limbs seems to have worsened. The blunt ends of her nails press into the palm of her hands, briefly, and she goes to pull the bed’s cover up to her chest, hiding her arms by tucking it over her fists. Then, “I have not seen you receive any medical care, these past days. Have you been shirking?”

Venti’s wings puff, a minute flinch going throughout their body. He pets at their hair, twirling it between the gaps of fingers—he had been checked on the day before his wisp had visited, and watched as they checked Amos’ health, too, quietly asking if the soreness had lessened, after the healer left, and her reply of rolling her shoulders and commenting that it does not feel like she is being crushed.

“Hee, I was hoping you would not catch that…” He nuzzles into their head. Backs a bit away, nary an inch or so, and brings his hand to their jaw, stroking his thumb along their cheeks. Venti tenses, brows scrunching. He continues, mock whispering, “Psst, Miss Amos revealed one of my secrets, can you believe…? Quite mean of her, hmpf! You would be my knight and defend my honor, would you not, Venti? My dearest?”

There is a pause, where he can see them debate with whether they should “awaken” or not. He waits, humming lowly—and is rewarded when two glittering green-blue teal jewels blink up at him.

“Knight..?”

“Yes! I shall gather you a shield, so that we can deflect her peddling—”

“My deepest apologies for not wishing your wounds to infect.”

Cecil leans to stick his tongue at her (she wrinkles her nose in jest), feeling more than seeing Venti sit taller, their hands moving to grasp at his wrist. A perturbed expression greets him when he turns back to them, searching him for anything critical. His heart squeezes, flips, squeezes.

He reaches out to brush his hand against a braid, tracing the poof part that is held together by a band. Hopes that the twinkling in his stare is enough to convey Do not worry, a “go along.” The ruffled feathers of their wings start to smooth out, fluttering about, as they squint at him—message received. “How many missed?”

“Only one session, I promise. My bandages… may need replacing, a little,” ducks his head, bonking against their forehead, and offers up a gentle, crooked smile. “Walk me back?”

They graze their own hand over his, holding it loosely. Nods, and lets go, standing from the chair, using their foot to push it away farther. Cecil shakes off his arm as he yanks the cover down to the end of the bed, throwing his legs over the side, the soles of his feet hitting the floor. Venti holds their hand out for him to take, pulling him up (though, he notes, they keep their fingers intertwined tightly with his.)

“You will be going?” Felix questions, uncrossing his arms.

“Mmm. I believe Amos has had enough of my shenanigans.” He waves his hand, stepping in front of Venti, having them still out of Felix’s view.

“… if you need any he—”

“Fret not, I have the most wonderful guiding wind!” He leans into Venti, as subtly he can, beaming. They are besides the man, now, and he tugs them closer to the doorway. “We should be on our way now, might be able to catch a healer along our journey.”

He waves to Amos and Valentina, receiving waves back (though, on Valentina’s part, seem slightly reluctant to see the both of them go.) They both skirt around the doorway and down the hall, where Cecil exhales, his shoulders sagging.

If they wish to still discuss such a topic, fine, if that is what will bring them ease in this environment. Everyone is on edge and wary, equally they are relieved and excited. He has seen how some shuffle around the new God, confused how to interact with the wisp. But if they wish to do it while the person they discuss is there, unaware, they are welcome to be his guest to explain to Venti why that topic involved which of the best ways to stab them in the back was—especially when there are more important issues that should be focused on! That warrior, in particular….

Urgh.

He squeezes Venti’s hand, placing his head upon their shoulder.

“My darling knight, I love you no matter what.”

…they squeeze his hand, ears flicking, and wings puffing once more.

[boltlightning]

# 30 for norribeth or just James and Elizabeth. Pretty please?

30. one more chapter request me a drabble!

The captain’s quarters in the Empress are hastily patched. The cannons from the Dutchman had struck above the waterline, and with the ship lightened of its burdens by Davy Jones’ crew, the Empress sails quick and easy towards Shipwreck Cove.

James is bundled in swaths of silk and wool upon the lone bed. His sleep is uneasy, incomplete, a thin veneer over the plunging depths of his pain. This is the fevered rest of a man barely tethered to life. The rise and fall of his chest is shallow, but even, and Elizabeth watches it with anxious intensity. 

She had questioned the necessity of so much bedding—surely, if his skin is running as hot as Hell itself, he would wish to be cool?—but she has learned to trust her new crew; they had kept James alive against all odds, after he was impaled, tossed unceremoniously overboard, half-drowned, and hauled gracelessly from the churning sea. He had been stabbed with a piece of wood torn off the Flying Dutchman, and the cold of the water had nearly killed him before the infection could, but by the tenacity of the crew, he lives. Elizabeth had seen men succumb to shock and cold in much more favorable conditions and could no longer doubt their medicinal methods. 

The throes of James’ fever had not released him yet. In his few moments of wakefulness, he has not been completely lucid, and does not seem to register Elizabeth’s hand brushing his burning forehead at all, much less as comfort. His tenuous fate does little to settle her nerves with the congregation of pirate kings fast approaching. 

She thumbs the token Sao Feng had given her, kept secure around her neck. It would not do to sit idle and will James to wellness.

Elizabeth peruses the chests left after Sao Feng’s death. She uncovers weapons, elaborate clothing, gold, jewelry, unfamiliar herbs and jars of preserves. Of most interest to her is an impossibly heavy chest filled with books. There are several titles in English and French she recognizes. Much of it is philosophy, Locke and Voltaire and their like, but some literature is present as well. Chaucer, Defoe, Milton, Shakespeare…

Elizabeth selects the latter. She prefers the tragedies and had never read his sonnets. She does not think she can handle another tragedy now.

Careful not to disturb James, she sits on the edge of the bed with the book in her lap. The quiet in the cabin is not true, only the sort that a ship can offer: the creaking of the planks, the susurrus of the water, the lyrical murmur of the crew, and immediate to her attention, the rasp of her closest friend’s breath. Elizabeth draws a breath of her own and begins to read aloud, if only to give her ears something else to hear.

His condition does not improve over the journey. Elizabeth continues to read, telling herself that if he dies here, she has at least given him a comfortable bed in which to do so, with poetry as his accompaniment. The thought makes her stop abruptly mid-stanza. She closes the book and breathes deeply, enough to steady her to stand and set it in the latched cupboard beside the bed.

From the other side of the bed, James stirs. He mumbles something that could plausibly be her name slurred into two syllables, the end lifted in a question. She drops the book in haste and scrambles back to his side.

“Oh, thank God you’re alive,” she exclaims, forgetting herself.

“Barely,” he croaks.

Elizabeth reaches over to brush damp hair from his face. He is cooler than he has been, and his eyes are clear, if bright with pain.

“What can I get you? There’s—well, it’s not brandy, but it’s this clear concoction that's just as strong, and—I can put tea on, just—”

“Water, maybe,” James suggests hoarsely. “No, ah, don’t get up yet.” He shifts to sit up, then hisses at the pain. 

Elizabeth gently pushes him down by the shoulder. “Stay there. What do you need?”

“One more?” He flicks his eyes towards the sonnets, which slide page-down across the floor with the tilt of the ship. “Please. It…it keeps the dreams away.”

He lifts a hand to set it to her arm. He looks nothing like himself, the fever and pain having wasted him away; even his expression is uncertain, vulnerable as she had never seen before. Yet Elizabeth looks into his face, and recognizes him, and feels relief as certain and true as the moon’s tides.

“One more,” she agrees. When she looks away to pick up the book, it is with reluctance.

[lemonlokkich]

Writing prompt idea: the Chain is in Skyloft and Sun is being mischevious and encouraging the Links to do daring/risky things like paraglide off Skyloft or catch and ride a wild loftwing

Thank you for the prompt! Hope I did the vision justice.

Divine mischief:

When Legend met Sun he had expected her to be the picture of grace and patience. Perfect in every way as Sky had eagerly described her.

As perfect as a goddess and as wise as any Zelda.

Legend had realized that this rosey view of the girl was quite false as he watched Sun shove Sky off of the floating island right In front of their eyes upon their sweet reunion.

Sky had screamed.

Sun had laughed, no, not laughed, cackled.

It was a terrifying few moments before a streak of bright red shot through the sky and caught their chosen hero, who apperantly had forgotten to mention his loftwing could catch him on command.

Apparently the direct incarnation of the goddess Hylia had quite the mischievous streak to her, and Legend had no issue sitting back and watching it all unfold.

The first victim after Sky had surprisingly enough been Time. Sun had a talent for convincing, and convinced she did.

Their sort-of leader stood on the very edge of the skyloft, a padded tunic wrapping around his body to keep him warm against the harsh winds instead of his usual armor, there was no need to be armed to the teeth in such a lofty place.

The one eyed man had been conversing with Sky's sweetheart (much to Sky’s jealous grumblings) not even a moment before, and now they seemed to be watching the bland open expanse of sky like hawks.

Time seemed suspiciously tensed, as if preparing for something-

Sun shouted something, pointing.

Time jumped.

Nearby, Legend heard Warriors scream.

Legend would never admit that he tensed, sitting up slightly from where he had laid in his appointed lawn chair watching it all unfold.

What was Sun thinking?

Better yet, was the old man thinking?

Time didn't have a loftwing like Sky did.

Not even a few moments after, something giant, feathered and brightly coloured shot upwards and beyond skyloft, a certain blond man seated firmly on its bare back.

He met Sun's eyes and she winked at him before jumping off of the sky islands herself and flying after time on her own purple loftwing.

Legend shuddered, wondering who the next victim would be.

. End .

If you're in the mood to read more silly stories of mine don't hesitate to send me a funny Lu prompt in my ask box or visit me over on my AO3 account: LemonLokkich!

Thanks for reading!

[kuzcosources]

Astarionisms!

Gods, how are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

What in the sweet hells were you thinking!?

I was right there!

Gods. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?

Well, apparently there's a limit. Somewhere between a nice summer's day, and the FULL CONCENTRATED POWER OF THE SUN!!

That was the least you could do after dropping a building on me!

I admit I like this one's approach. A little genocidal, but effective.

You just want to team up with some blood stained killer? Because I'm fine with that.

So much for the cavalry riding to our rescue.

Well, that's a little dramatic, don't you think?

Why, she sounds positively demented. I love it. Let's tell her everything.

Now, I can't help but notice that one of us is positively drenched in blood, so...

Of course, what fun! I'm going to fucking kill you.

You have a manner of irresistible desperation about you... I like it.

Oh. Oh dear.

Rawr.

If the opportunity arises for me to become a more magnificent bastard than I already am, why turn it down?

If you're trying to encourage me, you're failing miserably.

Please, don't mind me. I'll just watch.

My only complaint is that you didn't want to share.

Nothing like a little camp drama to spice up the evening.

Wait, don't interrupt them. Let me do it.

I don't need a reflection to know this looks fabulous/

And to think people say size doesn't matter.

_____ wouldn't put up with this shit.

[appleciders]

Warrior Nun (any characters) and "Stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Camila, stop." Beatrice grabs her by the arm, twists it behind her back. "Stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

"Let go," Camila yells, furious. She bucks and struggles, kicking and biting, and Beatrice barely manages to restrain her.

"No," Beatrice says, firm.

"Bea, let go! Let me go!"

Grim, Beatrice keeps her grip.

"Get off me!" Camila hisses, guttural, her throat tearing. "I need to get it out! Why don't you fucking understand that?"

"I do," Beatrice murmurs.

"No!" Camila bucks again, the back of her head smacking Beatrice in the jaw. Beatrice bites iron, sees yellow-black spots.

Still, she holds.

"Get it out," Camila demands, raw. "Get it out," and now the phrase burns with sobs, "get it out, get it out."

"We will," Beatrice swears. "Camila, we will."

"Now!" She lunges her weight forward, to where the knife had clattered to the floor. Her body is sweaty against Beatrice's, her curls mussed. Snot and saliva make a mess of her face as Beatrice rolls her into her chest. She beats a fist against Beatrice's shoulder. "Let me go."

"Listen to me," Beatrice says, tightening her arms around Camila's torso. "If you cut open your neck, you will die." With a bluntness terrible to her own ears, she repeats, "You will die."

"I want him out," Camila gasps.

"I want him dead," says Beatrice.

The vicious honesty slackens Camila, for a moment.

"I want him dead, Camila." She braces her sagging weight. "Not you."

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: consider a hoshina x a VERY clingy reader that keeps hugging him from his back and nuzzling their head in his neck (bonus points if they're a tad taller than him)

notes: slightly taller reader, no warnings I think?, IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO RIDICULOUSLY LONG its also rather short.... but it's finally here THANK U FOR REQING !!!!

wc: 600

Your clinginess especially on slow afternoons wasn't something that started today. Rather, you had always been this way, especially when both of you were home and free to relax. You'd wrap your arms around him from behind his back and nuzzle your head into his neck and nape while resting your chin on his shoulders from time to time. It was a very simple gesture, but it was sure to melt his heart every time.

“Missed me?” he asked, teasing.

“Yeah,” you said, voice muffled as your face was planted in his shoulder.

Gosh. If only you knew how you made him feel.

He loved the way your arms wrapped around him. Your comfy hoodie was a soft contrast to his solid build you could feel under his baggy shirt. It was a warmth he wasn't used to at first, but soon became unable to live without. The way he could feel it when you talked into his shoulder and the way you stuck close to him like this was all you've ever wanted— your every action meant so much more to him than you'd think.

Subconsciously, he brought his hand to your head to run his fingers through your hair. You recognized this gesture as a cue that he wanted a kiss. It was a habit of his— although you weren't sure if he knew about it. You lifted your head from his neck and looked up at him without letting go of him.

A frustrated yet flustered expression painted his face and immediately he went in to kiss you. He hated that you knew even when he hadn't even processed it himself.

“I missed you too,” he finally said after a few more kisses.

You were already burying your face in his shoulder again but he could feel you smile against him.

“Love, I want to see your face,” he said.

“Well, I don't want you to,” you replied. “It's embarrassing.”

Gosh. It wasn't like this was new, but he'd probably never get used to this. In front of others you were someone everyone would depend on, someone always on top of their work. No one would ever believe him if he mentioned that you were like this when the two of you were alone. Not that he would ever. This version of you was for him and him alone.

He loved when you had your head on his shoulder— he could lean his head on yours and run his fingers through your hair. He quite liked that you were slightly taller than him, but this was rather nice from time to time.

He pulled away from your embrace and you looked up, only to feel him kiss your forehead. He continued to pepper soft kisses on you face and you couldn't help but smile.

“It tickles,” you said and he grinned then gave you more.

“Soushirou, I missed this,” you said and he finally stopped for a moment. He did too. Everything had been a little too busy lately. There had been no time for the two of you to just… sit down and spend an afternoon together.

“Yeah,” he said. “I did too.”

“We should start making time for this,” you said. “Find time for this.”

“Yeah, I'd love that a lot,” he said. “I'll promise to make time.”

“But will they let you, Vice-Captain Hoshina?” you asked, knowing it wasn't that simple. He would've made time long ago if it was.

“I will!” he said and you laughed.

Yet, later you'd find out he really would keep his word.

[hero-of-the-wolf]

I see them opossum Hyrule requests 👀

May I have him just kinda vibin with some fairy's? Maybe Time too if you want but mostly the fairy's :)

Have an captain crunch day/night :D

Hyrule leaned down to greedily sip at the water. He didn't have access to any of his items in this form and he was so thirsty; but worse than that, he couldn't tap into his own magic either. He was completely and utterly helpless.

That was not a feeling he was used to, not since he’d been given his first sword. As bad as things got, even when he brushed a little too close to death, he took great comfort in the knowledge that he could always fight back. He’d nearly forgotten what it’d even felt like, to be completely unable to do anything, until the first time his life spell had failed and he had been able to help his brother as his life faded before their very eyes. And now here he was again, trapped in an unfamiliar body through his own carelessness and completely and utterly alone. But he could still fight even without items or magic. He would fight, and he would save his brothers or he would die trying.

He froze at a sudden ringing sound, hunkering low to the ground and straining his ears to make out what it was. A light drifted into view, soaring gracefully overhead, and Hyrule immediately felt all of his tension melt away.

It was a fairy. He’d stumbled upon a fairy spring.

The fairy noticed him and, with a chime, came to rest on top of his head. He smiled to himself (as well as he could, anyways) as the warmth of her magic spread through him, easing the ever present chill running through his veins and soothing his tumultuous mind.

“Thank you, friend,” he whispered to her.

[leclvrc]

“you don’t know what you do to me.” + charles, please? i love your writing ♥️

You're in his motorhome after a race, pressed up against one of those flimsy walls as his hands make their way over your thighs all the way over your stomach. He loves touching you, loves tasting you but most of all he loves to see you arch into his eager hands.

It's easy too, giving in to his desire and yours when they align so well. Beyond the wall are mechanics, still high off of a well deserved win and the way Charles drove all the way through the field to claim the championship lead by the end of it. You're high off it too, off of the atmosphere and the way he sprayed you with champagne when you decided to join the team when they took photos and when his hand snuck its way to your hip and lower during one of those very photos you knew it would end with you and him in his motorhome.

Not like you'd ever complain about that. He's already got you stripped down to the underwear and that last piece of clothing quickly joins the rest before he turns you around, lips busily sucking a bruise into the back of your shoulder. The wall is cold to your front, makes your skin tingle pleasantly as you hear a zipper come undone.

You bite your lip, hoping to stave off some of the more embarrassing sounds from slipping off your tongue, but then there's one of his wide palms around your chin and two of his fingers in your mouth and that's probably the most effective of gags. You swirl your tongue around the soft pads of his fingers like they're something else and then hear him groan behind you.

"Fuck," he curses. Heat travels all the way up your neck at the tone in his voice and then he kisses his way over your shoulder and to your neck. Bites the shell of your ear softly. Your eyes flutter shut.

"You don't know what you do to me," Charles whispers into your ear, voice hushed. You swallow and then he pulls his fingers -- now slick and shiny with your spit -- out of your mouth. He trails them down your chest and between your legs and then he's slowly teasing your cunt with those very same clever fingers. They warm easily between your legs and by the time he pushes them in, you feel desire almost overwhelm you.

He's quick with his fingers, like he can't wait to fuck you but doesn't want to give you too much too quickly. The last of his concerns melt away when you push into the fingers he has in you and then he moans quietly as he pulls them out. You feel achingly empty already and so damn cold, but Charles is nothing if not considerate and a moment later, he plasters his bare chest against your back and then it's easy to part your legs further. Always easy for Charles.

He didn't take off his fireproofs completely, but you enjoy the feeling. The way the thick fabric chafes against your skin. Maybe they'll leave a trace of him behind beyond the kisses he bit into your shoulder. His tip teases over your slick entrance and you're just about to complain, mouth already fallen open around the words when he finally pushes in. He's quicker than he usually is, doesn't take the time he likes to take to make you really feel him, but it's pure bliss. There's no greater feeling than feeling him around you, in you.

Sometimes, you don't know how either of you ever gets anything done when you could spend all day like this. With him filling you up, snug and warm beneath his body. Fuck. The thought alone makes you shudder.

His thrusts are fast from the beginning. Real momentum behind every single one of them. The smell of sweat and sex lies in the air and the way your skin slaps against his makes the coil in your lower stomach tighten. One of your hands easily finds its way between your legs and to your clit and the added pressure there makes your legs weaken.

You could come so easily like this; with Charles at your back chasing release in your body and your hand between your legs. So, you do. But Charles doesn't stop. Instead, he holds you tightly by the hips and fucks you through your orgasm. Through the shudders and quiet moans resembling his name.

Your hand falls away from between your legs, but is soon replaced by his own and that's when you know that he's far from done with you. The thought makes a smile tug on your lips.

[chihiro-mcdonaldz]

HI its me from the server :3

uhhh. giv…. byakuya fluff…….. with chiaki….. can be romantic or platonic idm either way, i just love them interacting ;w;

yes I can actually

steam letter to my 13 year old self!!

silly pencil divider

byakuya and chiaki being cuties together

platonic

they def have the sleepy and dgaf dynamic

except chiaki also doesn't gaf

chiaki probably falls asleep next to him and he's like

"oh my god will you wake up already?"

byakuya is 100% done with her (in a good way)

they def slay together tho

"heh.. I win. :3"

"w-what?! h-how?! i-i am the heir o-of tHE TOGAMI FAMILY-"

probably the way they talk

byakuya can NOT handle the sass /hj

romantic (I'm aroace so sorry if it's bad)

chiaki just messed with him sometimes

"kuya!! have you heard of the new currency???"

"what? there's a currency and I don't know?"

"dabloons! do you have any???? :0"

"no, chiaki. I do not have these.. 'dabloons'.. that you speak of."

"oh.. well you're broke I guess ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯"

"wHAT?!"

yea.. like that

I like to think chiaki would occasionally fall asleep on byakuya

rarely though

she plays games while he counts cash

I know it because I am the cash

def have a very cute relationship, others were surprised but definitely approve

they go on the cutest dates

objectively olive garden (I've been craving olive garden for weeks)

"woah!! they just.. give you bread?"

"oh sweet heavens.. yes.. yes they do."

yea, they're super cute together

chiaki lit asks for olive garden all the time (I'm not projecting I'm not projecting I'm not projecting-)

yea

your honor, they're lovers!!

that's it!! how ya like it? sorry if it's bad, I've sat on the idea for a hot minute.. also I'd appriceate if you'd send me olive garden /j

bye ily thanks so much for requesting!!

[yyawnjun]

GUYSSS me and lia were drafting drafts, and now I need y'all rec on what to focus first ! I'm not gonna add too many details, just pick what you feel the most.

I will start working on that fic after replying to all of the various asks that i have (AND im loving)<33