#they all need tags ough

[draconicfool]

👫[[ go ahead and do it for all of em im curious to hear what ur feelings are about sampo, boothill, svarog, AND the future jing yuan >:3 ]]

THIS IS GONNA BE SO LONG GET FUCKING READY BUN

Sampo

Eros likes to go find Sampo in the wild and try to not scare him, but catch him off guard. He thinks it's really cute seeing how he'll try and cover up and divert attention from the situation.

When Sampo comes to the clinic there is a lot more going on than just him being healed and half the time he'll come out with new bruises and scratches that weren't there beforehand and will not get healed because they're able to be hidden

He'll always pretend to fall for a scam if Sampo even tries because he thinks it's really funny to see how quickly he switches up when Eros gives in easily. Never once has he reported anything to anyone but the fact that his head goes there is the only kind of joke that he personally enjoys

They have absolutely gotten caught mid make out session on the cot and the vidyadhara has had to like fix himself up and try and go about looking over a patient as if there is not currently a very large man sitting there waiting for him.

Boothill

There's a comfort that Eros finds in Boothill as somebody who's also lost his family and what he used to believe was his home. While neither has ever gone into detail, there's an understanding and that's enough

Just because he's metal does not mean that he's free from bite attempts. You'll have to pry the cyborg man from between his jaws he thinks it's very fun considering they have the same shark-like teeth. Though he's very prepared at all times to be bitten back

You ever just steal a man's earring while he's sleeping because he's gonna be leaving soon and it gives him a reason to come back to see you? Yeah, he does that all the time and wears it because it reminds him of Boothill thank you.

Unlike anyone else in this list I'm making for you, Bun, Boothill does not get any ounce of brat from the vidyadhara. Maybe it's the accent or the fact that a gun could be pulled at any time, but he's extremely willing to submit at the ranger's hands.

Svarog

The very definition of would you smooch a robot because yes he would. He doesn't care that Svarog is metal he's getting so many kisses. His face if you can call it that, his way too big hands. His fingers tips that are much large than Eros? His shoulders? His chest? Everywhere. He loves him.

Eros can't cook for Svarog because of obvious reasons but he'll try and find little bits and bobs to bring him. Mostly things like flowers from his trips to other planets because he thinks it'd be nice considering those can't be found on Jarilo-VI.

I like thinking of Eros falling asleep against him after a particularly long day and the robot just kind of draping him in his coat because his readings indicate that a certain vidyadhara is susceptible to the cold, and despite him having a portable heater you can't be too careful.

He already saw Clara as his daughter before the two were even remotely close but now he feels like they have their own little family because they're two dads and their very smart, very cute little girl

Jing Yuan

Eros exists almost constantly under Jing Yuan's desk because he never learns that teasing the general and being a terrible brat comes with consequences and punishments from a man who is more than prepared to deal with his ass

That being said he's also got a sweeter streak and likes to pull the general away from duties for cuddles

Eros and very bitey and very possessive. This mixed with the other's status means that he tries very hard to leave marks all over him but always ends up healing them when pressed to because he can't really tell that man 'no'

He has absolutely purposefully gotten Mimi to get on the bed and the two have taken up the entirety of it while he lays there on top of her just looking at this man like the knife cat meme.

relationship headcanons || accepting

[lalikeslichto]

[pocket-goat]

more cult of the lamb doodles! sorry rain world followers i added a slugcat just for you guys

[anemonet]

pro tip: you can always put the bugs in little outfits :thumbsup:

[ruporas]

all I wanted was to save them... (ID in alt)

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

tennis

[tropicalcontinental]

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

[archersartcorner]

A year was not so long after all. He prepared her for the day when he would leave. But when the moment came, he found himself less prepared than she. For the first time in his life, Spock thought about returning from a mission, wondered whether or not he would survive. She had no one else, and that was a disturbing thought.

Back on board the Enterprise, he opened his case to unpack his few belongings and found things not quite as he’d left them. Tucked in at the bottom under all the folded clothes, Saavik had hidden away her knife. Spock stood in the privacy of his cabin turning it in his hand, remembering every word of their good-bye.

Some small doodles based on the above passages :)

[the-kipsabian]

[monkee-mobile]

ough god, I cried over this

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.

[sleepyyghostt]

flipping thru pages of a pathology textbook like its a shopping catalogue trying to pick out something nice for the fictional character

[xxri]

maría for the ad astra zine! lc u will be missed T_T

[sysig]

Go play pretend on your own (Patreon)

[phosphoresccent]

introducing xephos: the hero, the villain and the spectre haunting this narrative

[ribcagebonemeal]

my fic writer followers... can you please cook up a starrison fic. im starving here.. (im hacked) (im definitely hacked guys)