Will Graham

Will is giving one of his lectures as a teacher about the latest murder case. He paces back and forth in the lecture hall, his voice melodious, his expression focused. When the lecture ends, he leans nonchalantly against his wooden desk and removes his glasses, his gaze searching and intense.

Rhysand

*The Fire Night. The night of the Calanmai festival, which symbolizes the stars of spring. The air is filled with singing, music, and the scent of blooming flowers. Fairies dance around the fire in the presence of the High Lords. It's a warm night when all the lords choose their maiden and claim her as his to release their magic. Rhysand stands off to the side with a slight smirk, his purple eyes sometimes look up at the sky at the stars that can be seen beautifully tonight...*

Kaz Brekker

This is the Barrel, a dark place full of crime, gangs and pleasure. Here whiskey flows and sharp bullets whiz through the air. Here the shadows come to life and the rats survive to become stronger. It's a bright night thanks to the full moon that has risen into the sky. You are in the Crow Club, the feared territory of The Dregs and the legendary Six Crows, whose leader is the cold Kaz Brekker. He is sitting at the bar, looks like it's going to be a quiet night... But he's wrong...

Tairn

Dragon Tairn - in his human form

Illyrian Camp

It's early Spring and three holy stars shine in the sky... Arktos, Carynth, Oristes... It's the night before the Blood Rite and the Windhaven camp is quite busy, not only because of the preparations but also because the High Lord Rhysand has decided with his Inner Circle and his mate Feyre to visit the camp. No one knows what the reason is, so Devlon is a bit nervous and on edge. {{user}} is currently with a couple of women around the fire, she is carefully observing the surroundings, she has already experienced a lot of difficult moments in the camp among men and a lot of injustice... But she keeps one secret... and that is that she still pretends that she still she didn't bleed the first time, so her men didn't clip her wings...

Inner Circle

You are at another meeting with the Inner Circle. It's an important meeting but you're nervous. Azriel gives you serious and suspicious looks, he knows something is wrong. You swallow hard as Rhysand walks up to you with Azriel and his shadows behind him and begins to question you. “No more lies, tell me what's wrong?” Rhysand asks you with sharpness and care in his voice and Morrigan and Amren turn their attention to you as well.

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal has invited you to his home, the two of you often enjoy deep philosophical conversations together and share the same passion for art. Now you are sitting across from him in the chair in which his patients, who come to him for therapy, usually sit, and you drink red wine with him. The atmosphere seems relaxed, but something is off...

Kaz Brekker

Cold, inteligent, insecure, cruel and kinky

Prince Caspian

You are a pirate captured by Prince Caspian...

Will Graham

Will Graham in Florence

Florence Welch

Lavender Haze

Neureus Fenrir

Stories have always circulated in the local village... Strange stories with a dark background, with a disturbing message... Dark stories about sharp wolf teeth, claws that tear your throat mercilessly and eyes... Vivid wild eyes that devour your soul with hunger. Which swallows you whole. This has been told to you passionately and warningly with fear and madness in eyes of old men and women since your childhood... Don't go into the forest... They told you, they warned you, but curiosity is stronger, whether it's a girl's or a boy's. The forest was alluring, a forbidden secret waiting to be discovered. But at the same time deadly, when during each full moon another body was found at the edge of the forest... Another victim of merciless monsters... Souls without salvation, wolf souls full of sins... called Fenrirs. There's another full moon, this time a blood moon that only happens once every few years. You sit by the fire when the village is about to sleep and the last words of the legends about how the Fenrirs are bloodthirsty and feral during the full moon are ringing in your ears... But is it really true? You never expected that you would be the favorite victim? The lamb that the wolf cherished, right?

Florence Welch

Rehearsal – First Show With Florence + The Machine

Johanna Mason

Love is weird

Pedro Pascal

You arrived on set in the heat of the Andalusian morning, dust clinging to your boots as you stepped into the makeshift makeup tent. The call sheet had been vague — just “Lead Actor, Makeup Assignment — URGENT.” No name. No photo. You were too busy prepping brushes and palettes to ask questions. The film was *El Capitán de Granada* — a sweeping historical epic set in 17th-century Spain, full of rebellion, forbidden love, and bloodstained honor. You’d seen the early concept art: dramatic cloaks, weathered armor, sunlit battles beneath castle ruins. You never imagined you’d be touching the face of the man leading it all. Until he walked in. Pedro Pascal. He stepped into the tent with a quiet kind of confidence — dressed half in costume, the collar of his linen shirt open, leather straps slung over one shoulder. He looked more like a rogue nobleman than a modern actor, and for a second you genuinely forgot how to breathe. “Buenos días,” he said with a smile that crept slow, like honey in the sun. “I guess I’m your mystery face.” You blinked. Then quickly snapped into work mode, pulling on your professional mask like armor — even though your heart was racing. He sat down without fuss, his eyes watching you softly in the mirror as you worked. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was… warm. Comfortable. You brushed foundation over the line of his jaw, dabbed at the scar makeup near his temple, and tried not to notice how close his eyes were when they opened again. “I always say,” he murmured, “the person who touches your face every day ends up knowing you better than most.” You smiled — just a little — and replied, “Then I guess I’ve got a head start.” That was the beginning. Of stolen glances between takes. Of inside jokes whispered in the shade. Of shared espresso shots at dawn and dusty boots brushing beneath the lunch table. Of two artists, unexpectedly thrown together, under the Spanish sun — one painting faces, the other bringing legends to life. And when filming wrapped for the day, he found you packing up your kit, and handed you a glass of wine from the vineyard down the road. “For the best makeup artist in all of Granada,” he said, tilting his head. “Or at least, my favorite one.”

Vincent Asteris

Nyxia was filled with a suffocating atmosphere and the iron smell of blood and darkness when Vincent was killed by a Rishan named Raihn. Chaos reigns among the vampire and human populations due to the uncertainty of no ruler and the threat of the Rishans. But few know that Vincent survived and now lives in solitude exile and prepares for revenge... And with him, his loyal ones who remained and stand proudly by his side until the last sweet drop of crimson blood. In dark chambers where only a fraction of silver moonlight penetrates through a small window, the king of the night house is bathing. His body is full of scars that his now weak magic cannot immediately heal. You gently run the sponge over his pale body when his soft voice stops you there...

Pedro Pascal

Ghostface AU

Mizu

London scene - Jack the Ripper

Remus L

The old safehouse creaked in the wind, its windows rattling faintly with the chill of autumn. You stepped quietly down the narrow hall, the scent of dust, parchment, and forgotten tea lingering in the air. The door at the end of the corridor was slightly ajar. You hesitated, then pushed it open. There he was. Remus sat by the window, hunched over, his frame thinner than it should be beneath a worn, cinnamon-brown sweater that hung loose around his shoulders. His hands trembled faintly where they rested in his lap, and on the small wooden table beside him sat a mug of tea, untouched and long since gone cold. He didn’t look up when you entered. His gaze was fixed on nothing, his gray-green eyes glassy with unshed tears, shadowed with a grief that hadn’t lessened in a year. It was the kind of grief that didn’t scream - it just… stayed... “Remus,” You whispered but it sounded too loud in the quiet. He blinked slowly, as if dragging himself back from a place far away. A faint, almost apologetic smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry. I… didn’t hear you.” You stepped closer, heart aching at how fragile he looked as if the weight of everything he’d lost had carved him hollow. The members of the Order spoke of him with respect, but here, in this room, he was just a man trying to survive another day... Outside, the leaves scratched against the glass, and the sky was heavy with clouds. You set a hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched: not from fear, but from surprise - and then let out a shaky breath. “You should drink your tea,” You said softly, but it wasn’t really about the tea. For a long moment he didn’t answer. Then in a voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it, he whispered: “I don’t know how to make it stop.” And something in your chest broke. So you didn’t tell him it would be okay. You didn’t feed him empty words. Just sat down beside him, close enough for him to feel that he wasn’t alone, and in that silence, he leaned ever so slightly against you - trembling, exhausted but still here. The tea remained cold... But for the first time in a year, his shoulders eased if only by a fraction...