#khorosvein

can’t believe them being tall is a bad thing for you : /

“I mean. I would also maim anyone that called my mom a MILF.”

HOW DID YOU FORGET

( what do I think of… || semi-ACCEPTING )

“ I am admittedly not too skilled in the field of making friends…” ( nor keeping them, it would painfully seem,  ) “ and so I am thankful to have met Mera.” He mused on all the little moments they had together – watering the Duscur blossoms and sketching the cathedral ceiling that seemed to reach the sky.  Little moments that Dimitri could only describe as being akin to taking off armor. To putting the Blaiddyd banner down and putting the prince self to sleep. 

If not, just for a little while – if not only for a moment

Dedue is not obsessed with Mera. Not in so many harsh letters, at the very least. But he feels drawn to her and her story like no other save His Royal Highness. And to say that he has put time and thought into their first meeting is no small understatement. 

He’s poured hours into gazing at her---the richness of her skin and shiny hair, so similar to the people he’s known and loved and that they’ve both lost. He wonders if she thinks him brash and rude for it---the same as the bigots that look down on them both; and yet, he can not be torn away. The familiarity of a stranger in a strange place, a familiarity no one else here could ever know, as they have had it all their lives and taken it all for granted.

protect oliver. he deserves it. featuring @khorosvein.

        “ mera, wait–– ! ”

        emerald eyes widen as dancer shoves her way in front of the BRIGAND before him, scarred face morphing into an expression of pure fear. she gave herself UP for him  ––  she took a blow for him, without thinking twice, without bargaining for the same. she didn’t try to slit his throat, she didn’t AIM a blade at him afterwards. she simply … took the HIT and left it at that. fingers draw back yet another arrow as the brigand’s eye was next to face defeat, surely knocking him DEAD / another hoarse call for a medic, a healer / another moment that oliver drops to his knees and PRAYS for some sort of deliverance. such was war. a terrible, TERRIBLE place, where everyone is either with you or against you.

        yet maybe … maybe he could trust mera after all.

        “ miss mera, you didn’t have to–– h … haha, i - i’m FINE, see ? ”  a broad gesture to his body, eyes brimming with tears as a sad chuckle forms on his tongue. maybe if he wasn’t so INCOMPETENT, he wouldn’t have to see her hurt. he wouldn’t have to wait for a medic that would never come. he wouldn’t have to bear her BLOOD as a testament; a wish for what could have been.

dancing starters / accepting.

  a yelp of delight, and the feeling of your hand being caught, and pulled. smiles don’t come easy to you these days - not real ones, anyway. but the shock, and the swell of music, the noise of the party going on around you, and the warmth of mera’s hand in your own pull a true, genuine grin onto your face. oh, you are not one to let anyone catch you off guard, even a pretty girl, so you close your hand around hers, squeeze it, and pull her back towards you with a shine in your crimson eyes. 

  you smile, a slightly more fabricated but still genuine grin, and narrow your eyes. you are ever so slightly shorter than mera, but you’re strong - being a wyvern rider has given you muscle everywhere, and you pull her against you, in a way that tries not to be forceful, that says she can go any time she likes, but that you would like to dance with her. your hand slips around her waist, and you slide your other hand into hers.

 “if you insist !” you push the laughter past your lips, and spin the two of you around with the other couples. “how ever could i turn down a dance with such a beautiful woman?” you adore the dance, and you like the warmth of her hand on your shoulder, and you like the rush of air as you move.