poweir-archive

[poweir-archive]

◞  ❛  ⚔️  —  darian  had  dreamed  of�� this  moment  a  hundred  times  as  a  boy .  a  reckoning .  a  storm  to  wash  the  past  clean .  he  had  dreamed  bitter  dreams  and  hopeful  ones ,  tangled  in  the  quiet  ache  of  longing .  but  never  this . not  a  man  fumbling  over  words ,  groping  for  something  that  had  long  since  withered .

he  had  never  had  a  mother .  just  a  ghost ,  a  whisper ,  a  name  no  one  dared  speak .  he  had  a  grandfather  once ,  stern  and  proud ,  who  called  him  boy  and  lad  and  cuffed  him  when  he  misbehaved  but  never  turned  him  out .  then  the  old  man  died ,  and  with  him ,  the  last  tether  darian  had  to  something  whole .

he  was  fourteen  when  he  learned  the  truth .  a  bastard ,  but  not  just  any  bastard .  the  king ’ s  get,  born  of  some  long - buried  sin .  they  told  him  as  if  it  were  a  gift ,  but  what  did  it  ever  bring  him  but  scorn ?  the  lords  of  court  looked  through  him ,  past  him ,  around  him .  their  sons  sneered  when  they  thought  he  wouldn ’ t  see ,  and  laughed  when  they  knew  he  could .  he  was  too  baseborn  to  stand  among  them ,  too  noble  to  crawl  back  to  the  gutters  where  he ’ d  been  raised .  so  he  drifted  between ,  belonging  nowhere ,  a  blade  without  a  sheath .

the  king  had  put  a  roof  over  his  head ,  yes .  but  he  had  never  once  placed  a  hand  on  his  shoulder ,  never  called  him  son ,  never  spoken  his  name  unless  duty  demanded  it .  and  now ,  after  all  these  years ,  after  all  the  tears had dried , after the battles ,  after  all  the  blood .

the king — his  father — stumbles over  the  word ,  as  if  it  tastes  strange  on  his  tongue .  darian  feels  it  like yet another  knife  between  the  ribs . his knuckles tighten . his jaw sets . " after all this time . . . now you want to talk ? "

" if  it  pleases  your  grace , "  he  says  at  last ,  quiet ,  measured .  a  knight ’ s  voice . he  bows ,  just  enough  to  hide  the  sharpness  in  his  eyes .  " i  am  ever  at  your  service . "

Ram, uncharacteristically, felt a sort of change within him after the disastrous end to the ball in Valtolia. The thought of the Bergian prince losing his life to mindless violence reminded him of his own son —the one he enthusiastically cast aside— all those years ago, and...

Perhaps the time had come for him to make up for his cruelty. Just a little bit.

"Yes, I did," Ram confirms, turning to face the other. Darian really did remind him of himself; he did not himself look dissimilar at the young man's age. A bit smaller in frame, of course, but that was true of most people he encountered.

"I—" he begins, measuring his words. "I'm not unaware of the unfair treatment you've been given since we first formally met. You've landed on your feet alright and made a name for yourself, yes, but as your fath—"

Another pause.

"Would you be amenable to open a regular dialogue with me? Meet at frequent intervals to... talk...?"

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ 🦌 —   edric  has  always  been  ice — but  here ,  beneath  him ,  against  him ,  around  him — there  is  fire . heat  radiates  from  the sun ' s bare , golden  skin ,  feverish  and  all - consuming ,  burning  against  his  lips ,  his  hands ,  his  tongue .  he  traces  slow ,  deliberate  circles  around  the  prince ' s tight  ring ,  reveling  in  the  way  it  clenches  beneath  his  touch .  he  presses  a  kiss  there ,  teasing ,  before  letting  his  tongue  slip  past ,  flicking ,  tasting .  the  heat  is  intoxicating — spiced ,  rich ,  summer - like . something  he  was  never  meant  to  indulge  in .

the  body  beneath  him  shifts ,  writhes ,  chasing  his  touch ,  and  edric  smirks  against  flushed  skin as the prince moans , before allowing his  fingers  follow  the  path  his  tongue  had  taken before .  slick  and  teasing  as  they  press  against  the  tight  heat ,  just  barely  breaching before starting to curl ,  coaxing  the  fire  to  open  for  him ,  to  welcome  him .

" fuck . " his own cock aches , throbbing and demanding his own release . but he takes his time , circling his wrist with his fingers inside the prince with ease , as a minstrel would his instrument . searching , stretching , teasing . " you part so beautifully for me . "

[ @poweir sent in: 47. for lucy - ft . dealer's choice. ]

this, if found out, would cause commotion. two crowned princes, laid naked and bare, devouring one another as if the hunger has taken hold to the point that nothing and no one else matters. that's lust, lucealyx thinks, all consuming.

they're both young men, survivors of the war, and destined for the throned. they're allowed to be consumed, allowed to do as they please within reason.

lucealyx's breath hitches as edric pryor, crowned prince of bergia, licks a stripe along the tight rim of his hole. the prince's hand wraps around his cock, hanging hard as stone, between his legs and strokes him as he does it. "fuck." lucealyx moans out low, like his throat is full of gravel. he rolls his hips back, hands fisted into the prince's sheets as he spreads himself open for the prince.

one feast for the other to devour before lucealyx's own hunger gets the best of him.

[poweir-archive]

M / M GIF SMUT STARTERS PT 1.

send a number to my inbox and i will write a starter based on the gif you sent. feel free to sneak to see if the gif suits your needs, or send it blindly for a surprise!

gifs are not mine. simply collected them.

01.   /   02.   /   03.   /   04.   /   05. 06.   /   07.   /   08.   /   09.   /   10. 11.   /   12.   /   13.   /   14.   /   15. 16.   /   17.   /   18.   /   19.   /   20.

21.   /  22.  /   23.  /   24.  /  25. 26.   /   27.  /   28.   /  29.  /  30. 31.   /   32.   /   33.   /   34.   /   35. 36.  /   37.  /   38.  /   39.  /   40.

41.   /   42.   /   43.   /   44.   /   45. 46.  /   47.   /   48.   /   49.   /   50. 51.   /   52.   /   53.   /   54.   /   55. 56.   /   57.   /   58.   /   59.   /   60.

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ 🪷 —   “ oh ,  no ,  it ’ s  nothing ,  truly , ”  lian  murmured ,  his  cheeks  blooming  pink  at  the  stranger’s  words — cutie .  the  flutter  in  his  chest  was  strange ,  a  mixture  of  unease  and  something  warmer ,  though  he  couldn ’ t  quite  name  it .  he  took  the  man ’ s  hand ,  the  calloused  skin  brushing  his  own makes him aware of his own ' s softness .  the  warmth  lingered  a  fraction  longer  than  necessary ,  and  lian  quickly  withdrew ,  as  though  the  touch  had  burned .  “ you  didn ’ t  hurt  me . . .  i ’ m  fine . ”

his  gaze  flickered  back  to  the  man  standing  before  him .  he  was — well ,  handsome .  sharp  angles ,  dark  eyes ,  an  unshaven  jaw ,  and  that  grin . . .  he  looked  like  something  out  of  a  song — a  rogue  knight ,  perhaps ,  or  an  exiled  prince .  handsome  in  a  way  that  unsettled  him ,  that  made  his  stomach  twist  with  an  unexpected  warmth ,  both  flustering  and  captivating  all  at  once .  he  quickly  looked  away ,  forcing  his  thoughts  to  settle ,  and  focused  on  the  bustling  city  around  them .  the  streets  hummed  with  life ,  a  tangle  of  color  and  noise ,  everything  new ,  everything  thrilling .

“ the  colosseum  is  just  this  way , ”  lian  said ,  his  tone  steadying  as  he  gestured  down  the  street .  it  wasn ’ t  until  the  words  left  his  lips  that  the  weight  of  his  situation  truly  struck  him — he  was  wandering  the  streets  without  a  guard .  and  here ,  outside the palace walls ,  in a city hosting foreign courts , that  was  dangerous . he  was  supposed  to  meet  his  family  at the colosseum .  showing up alone would  raise  too  many  questions — questions  that  would  end  in  a  reprimand  from  his  father .

it  isn ’ t  proper  for  a  prince  to  wander  unescorted .  perhaps ,  if  this  man  accompanied  him ,  they  could  pretend  he  was  a  member  of  the  royal  guard ,  and  his  father  would  be  none  the  wiser . 

“ though ,  it ’ s  easy  to  lose  your  way  here , ”  he  added ,  his  smile  softening ,  more  out  of  courtesy  than  anything  else .  “ i ’ d  be  glad  to  show  you . ”

@poweir

"Man...This   place   is   sick."   A   big   grin   is   on   Pierre's   face   as   he   observes   the   area.   Pierre   has   only   heard   tales   of   Argonia   and   has   never   even   thought   of   what   the   city   would   be   like.   He   expected   it   to   look   more   like   ruins   then   anything.   But   damn…These   buildings   still   look   surprisingly   sturdy   and   well   looking.   Still,   the   thrill   of   competition   and   excitement   was   washing   through   the   wandering   witcher.   He   turned   a   corner   and   ended   up   bumping   into   someone.   “Ah,   shit,   my   bad   cutie.”   Pierre   apologized   with   a   grin   as   he   held   a   hand   towards   the   other.   “Need   help   up?”   Pierre   asked   with   a   charming   grin   on   his   face,   blissfully   unaware   that   he   just   bumped   into   (literally)   someone   of   royal   heritage.   “Was   trying   to   find   my   way   to   the   colessium   and   got   a   little   lost.”   He   admitted   with   a   chuckle. 

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ 🪷 —  the  colosseum,  with  its  towering  stone  walls  and  the  murmurs  of  the  crowd ,  was  a  spectacle  unlike  any  lian  had  ever  seen .  he  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  royal  box ,  wide - eyed ,  his  breath  catching  in  his  throat  as  he  watched  the  fighters  below .  the  air  was  thick  with  the  mixed scents  of  sweat , oils , and perfumes .

lian ’ s  gaze  wandered  over  the  sea  of  spectators,  the  nobility  and  royalty  alike,  all  dressed  in  their  finest  garments.  it  was  grand ,  it  was  breathtaking ,  and  yet ,  as  much  as  he  wanted  to  be  swept  away  by  the  sheer  beauty  of  it ,  his  heart  fluttered  with  a  strange  mixture  of  excitement  and  unease . there would be blood , and men would fall . he had never witnessed that . would his lungs close ? would his stomach revolt at the sight ? he exused himself from the royal box for a second , and then --

the  sudden  collision  startled  him ,  and  lian  instinctively  took  a  graceful  step  back ,  his  body  recovering  with  a  smoothness  born  of  years  spent  learning  composure .  he  looked  up  to  meet  the  pretty stranger ’ s  gaze ,  his  polite  smile  a  reflection  of  the  careful  manners  drilled  into  him  since  childhood .  but  there  was  something  else  in  his  eyes — amusement ,  maybe ,  or  perhaps  curiosity .

“ there ’ s  no  harm  done , ”  lian  assured ,  lifting a hand to steady his guard . his  voice  soft  and  quiet,  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  someone  at  a  noble  gathering ,  not  in  the  midst  of  such  a  chaotic  event.  his  gaze  dropped  briefly  to  his  gown,  half-expecting  to  see  it  tangled  with  the  stranger ’ s  cloak .  “ i  should  have  been  more  careful - are  you  injured ? ”

lian  paused ,  letting  the  bustle  of  the  arena  fill  the  silence  between  them .  his  gaze  lingered  on  the  stranger . he  spoke  again ,  his  tone  genuine ,  almost  shy.  “ i  don ’ t  believe  we ’ ve  been  properly  introduced .  i  am  lian  of  argonia.  and  you ? ”

@poweir [ for lian ]

Alphaeus most certainly did not want to compete in the colosseum games. He abhorred violence, and would have much rather spent his time in Argonia doing literally anything else.

(This seemed to be one major point of distinction between he and his father, and his brothers for that matter as well.)

There was, however, one fighter he held some interest in. The one he ran into a bit earlier, while he trained for the event. Tried as he might, he could not get the handsomely threatening (and threateningly handsome) man out of his head. The way he so easily attacked the sandbags, wielding his weapons as though they were tools of his trade, sweat glistening down his muscular physique—

And then Alfi slams into another person, seemingly also en route to their designated seats. Typical clumsy Alfi.

"Oh, I am so sorry—" he says, immediately apologizing. "I am such an fool, I should have seen you coming... are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ 🪷 —  the  night  air  was  cool  against  his  skin ,  carrying  with  it  the  distant  hum  of  music  and  laughter  from  the  city  below .  from  the  tower ,  the  lights of the town  shimmered  like  scattered  gems ,  casting  a  golden  glow  over  the  winding  streets .  it  was  a  beautiful  sight — one  he  had  longed  to  see  up  close ,  yet , the king of argonia had bidden his youngest son to remain  within  the  palace  walls . . .  and  then ,  of  course ,  there  had  been  the matter of the prince ' s  health .

“ tassian , ” he had barely turned from the window when tassian strode into his chambers . his scent of wind and air , as if he had brought the great skies with him . his presence a gentle breeze — unexpected , yet undeniably welcome . yet ,  surprise  flickered  across  the prince ' s  features  at his entrance , before  giving way to something  softer .  it  had  been  days  since  they  last  spoke .  perhaps  he  should  have  sought  him  out  sooner . 

" a  whole  week ? "  a  small  smile  touched  his  lips .  the  mention  of  nuvem ,  of  their  shared  concern ,  stirred  something  quiet  in  his  chest .  mayhaps  tassian  would  not  say  it  outright ,  but  he  had  come  because  he  worried .  " i  did  not  realize  i  had  kept  you  waiting  so  long . "

“ the  market . . . ”  lian  glanced  past  him ,  toward  the  lights  beyond  the  palace  walls .  he  could  picture  it  already — the  world  unfolding  beneath  them ,  the  wind  threading  through  his  hair ,  the  streets  glowing  like  a  river  of  firelight .  it  was  indulgent .  reckless ,  even .  but  oh ,  how  he  wanted  to  go .  his  gaze  lifted  to  tassian ’ s .  “ if  you  do  not  mind  waiting  a  moment  longer ,  i  would  very  much  like  to  see  it  with  you . ”

Tassian knew this could cause trouble but what really did he care. The arrogance of youth pulsed in his veins as he stepped off his dragon onto the balcony of Lian. He hadn't really seen the prince since the other families had come to their land. He wasn't really sure if that was due to him being busy or the other wanting to hide away. Either way the dragon rider didn't like it. He was glad the door to the other's room was unlocked as he walked in. "I don't think have seen you in a whole week and Nuvem said if i didn't come to check on you then he would roast me alive." The joke wasn't far from the truth. His dragon hadn't threatened his life but did want to make sure the prince was doing well. "have you taken a tour of the market yet its dark out but all the lights make it look like sea of stars. If you arent busy we can go for a ride to look at it." Time to get the prince out of his room. And if the other held on to him as the sat on the back of his dragon so be it.

@poweir

[poweir-archive]

◞  ❛  ⚔️  —  amongst fighting men and fellow knights he ' s just darian . not ser darian the daring , nor darian viridian , not the king ' s bastard . that ' s all for the public . down here , there are no courtly masks , nor heroic grace . his  gaze  sweeps  over  the  golden  choker  at  the  man ’ s  throat ,  the  myre colors clinging to his frame ,  yet  no  sword  at  his  hip ,  no  dagger  at  his  belt — naught  to  mark  him  a  warrior ,  but  power  clung  to  him  all  the  same .  something  else ,  something  unseen .  mage ,  or witcher ,  perhaps . one  thing ’ s  certain :  he ’ s  dangerous .

“ don ’ t  know  who  i ’ m  fightin ’  yet , ”  darian  muttered ,  his  voice  rough  with  the  scrape  of  years  spent  in  battle .  “ don ’ t  much  matter .  the lot o ' them all  look  the  same .  eager .  hungry .  tryin ’  to  carve  out  a  name  for  themselves .  but  once  the  blood  starts  spillin ’ ,  that  hunger  don ’ t  last  long . ”

“ the  crowd,  huh? " he  tilted  his  head ,  a  smirk  ghosting  across  his  lips .  “ the roar will  set  your  blood  to  boilin ’ ,  stir  it  all  up  inside  you .  but  it  ain ’ t  just  that ,  is  it ? "  his voice is low , inbetween knowing and amusement . " for me , for example . . . it ’ s  feelin ’  ‘ em  watchin ’ ,  waitin ’ ,  hangin ’  on  every  move .  that  rush . . .  gods ,  it  makes  a  man  feel  like  he ’ s  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  matters .  gets  under  your  skin ,  makes  you  burn .  almost better than a good fuckin ' , aye . . . almost . ”

where: themys, argonia. whom: @poweir [ darian ]

while he's not known the knight of casther, at least on a friendly basis, he knows of him. kovider, beneath the colosseum, where some of the others that would be fighting have gathered to await their turn for glory in the sand pits. kovider is dressed in his medesian clothes, golden orange and black, strung over his shoulders, golden choker around his throat. his hair is dampened from the heat and no weapons hang on his hips. he does not need them, after all.

seeing the castherian man, a man from where he was told he was born but has no true connection to, he looks at him and then the men around them. "do you know your opponent yet?" he asks him, arms folding over his chest. "hearing the crowd cheering gets the adrenaline going, doesn't it? makes my body feel alive."

[poweir-archive]

the winner takes it all - abba . shuffle starter call .

when : post concord . where : the hand ' s solar . whomst : lord lucien & lord atticus ( @clashingcrowns )

◞ ❛ 🦚 — " no  more  ace  to  play .  we  gave  them  peace ,  atticus .  served  it  on  a  silver  platter .  hand - fed  it  to  them  like  suckling  babes . " a  wry  smile  curled  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth ,  a  flicker  of  flame — anger , exhasperation — behind  usually  distant  eyes .  he  himself had  doubted  the king ’ s  vision ,  questioned  the  frail  peace  between  the  nations  of  metia .  but  skepticism  was  one  thing .  for  strife  to  be  brought  to  their  doorstep ,  under  their  hospitality — that  was  another .  " and  what  did  they  do ?  they  put  a  knife  in  it. "

" i have  no  love  for  the  bergians ,  you  know  that .  but  this — "  he  gestured  vaguely  toward  the  window ,  where  the  maze  had  stood .  “ this  was  a  line  crossed .  and  now ?  now  we  may  all  have to bleed  for  somebody  else ’ s  foolish schemes . ”

[poweir-archive]

not strong enough - boygenius . shuffle starter call .

when : to be defined . where : a private solar . who : ser darian & king ram ( @courtiings )

◞ ❛ ⚔️ —  the people  cheered  his  name  in  the  streets ,  the  butcher ’ s  son  and  the  beggar ’ s  child ,  the  smith  and  the  stablehand ,  all  of  them  calling  him  their  own .  ser darian the daring . the  champion of the people .  their  sword .  but  here ,  within the palace walls , amongst nobility who spoke of his victories with tight mouths , and averted gazes , he  was  nothing  more  than  what  he  had  always  been — a bastard in borrowed steel .  a  reminder of the blood they ' d rather forget .  the crown  would  wield  him  when  it  needed  him ,  but  never  as  a  son . always  an  angel ,  never  a  god . 

“ you sent for me , ”  he bowed his head , just enough , the deference practiced and careful . he knows the king would not ask for him , probably would not remember his existence were it not to ask something of him . steady  words ,  quiet  words .  a  knight ’ s  words .  " so . . . what is it that you would you have of me , your grace ? "

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ ⚔️ —   “ gold  suits  you ,  lord  hugh . " his  gaze  flickered  past  hugh  for  a  moment ,  catching  sight  of  a  few  highborn  men  murmuring  behind  their  goblets ,  eyes  darting  between  the  two  of  them  like  crows  waiting  for  scraps . picking apart every glance , every word no doubt to recount to their feeble friends later in the night .  he  met  their  stares  head-on ,  and stepped closer to lord waynwood . daring them to say something .

“ below you ,  am  i ? ”   his  voice  dipped ,  playful ,  dark eyes  flickering  up  beneath  long  lashes.  “ seems  to  me ,  last  time  i  was  beneath  you ,  you  were  singin ’  a  very different  tune . ”

“ still,  ‘ tis  a  shame .  i  rather  liked  you  in  steel . ”  he adds casually when the gilded whelps had finally turned away . a  beat .  a  flash  of  something  almost  akin to  nostalgia .  he  batted  hugh ’ s  hand  away  from  his  chin ,  before stepping back . though  the  smirk  on  his  lips  lingered . “ and  i  liked  you  even better  when  you  weren’t  whisperin’  in  my  ear  like  a  bloody  court  lady . ”

“ oh ,  aye ,  i ’ m  livin ’  the  dream .  swappin ’  swords  for  silk ,  battlefields  for  ballrooms .  ain ' t  it  just  the  life ? ”  he  scoffed ,  shaking  his  head .  “ i ’ d  rather  be  gut - deep  in  the  mire  again  than  stand  here  listenin ’  to  a  bunch  of  lords  toastin ’  to  victories  they  never  fought  for . ”

“ our  dear  king , ”  voice  tight ,  gaze  darkening . king he might be , but he had never been much of a father .  " he talks of peace , but he doesn ' t talk of the cost — blood . ours . our brothers . spilled so these lordlings could drink their wine a little easier . ” his smile faded , mood turning somber as he raked a hand through his head . “ aye .  i should  thank him — for all his kindness . maybe even drop to my knees and sing his praises while i ' m at it . ” 

he was used to white, gold was a new thing, mostly. in dinner tables, feasts, events like this one. draped over his clothes and all over the palace his father had. over the chambers that were once his brothers. it was an adjustment, of a sort but not one that he ever considered rejecting. yes, the finery was annoying, the fabric was restrictive were he was used to freedom of movement and the weight of chain mail. they weren't supposed to wear that at the dove concord though, they said, they came in peace, to celebrate it they said, while his brother's (for all the little love there was between them) bodies were not even done rotting in the ground yet.

a bunch of stuck up, silver spoon foolish nobles and royals. if hugh could speak his mind... it would get him nowhere, so he smiled, and made nice, and ignored the way their drinks twist his stomach into knots. this would not last.

"why..." he retorted, the familiar voice ringing in his ears, taking him back to barracks and mud, and blood sopping up his face. "did you think that was reserved for pretty bastard boys like you, pup?"

"i am sure they will whisper if they see me loitering around with the royal misstep," he said, jesting was a common weapon to shield them from the harsher attacks made on them, he could already see the lingering eyes, the snickers. it was through sheer will he controlled the sneer coming across his face, "but do not worry, i pay no mind to such small minds." he leaned in to whisper on his ear, "even if you are yet again below me, ser darian the pretty." he chuckled, caressing his chin for effect before he leaned away.

"i take it you're not having the time of your life celebrating the peace your father, our dear king," that last part was said louder than necessary, "secured?"

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ 🦌 —   it had been foolish from the start . a witcher appointed to guard a secondborn prince was uncommon . brows bound to be raised , and whispers bound to be spread . a single man assigned to protect a member of the royal family ? unheard of . he had protested against the arrangement , loudly . another point of contention between iskander and himself . but his brother was stubborn , and the queen had always been soft when it came to the secondborn . together , they could convince the king of anything . even something as absurd as appointing a witcher as a prince ' s sole protector .

a disaster waiting to happen , edric had said about the assignment . the bond between iskander and his witcher was thinly veiled — there for all to see , if not in name in everything else . in the way they talked , in the way they looked at eachother . one needed only know where to look .

a man cannot protect that which he cannot see clearly , his father had told him once . they were too involved . iskander was not daven ' s charge , and daven was not iskander ' s guard . . . a childhood friend now something else .

and so , because daven had grown within the walls of falreig , because iskander had wanted it , and because his mother had allowed it , here they were . and a disaster had come to pass . " no one questions your devotion to the prince . though it is not the one that is asked of you to complete your duty , ser . "

" enough ? " he repeats after the witcher . a beat . twisting the word . sharpening it into something cruel . the crown prince laughed . mirthless . as cold as frost . " you ask of me not to question your competence . . . and yet , the case makes itself , ser . my brother lays bedridden and you remain unscathed . do not kid yourself , daven . you are not enough . you have never been enough . you will never be enough . "

in  his  exterior,  daven  was  stalwart,  his  face  hewn  from  the  very  stones  of  old  bergia,  expressionless.  in  his  interior,  he  felt  …  nothing.  hollow.  where  a  heartbeat  should  be,  there  was  only  a  long,  sustained  note  of  sound  that  rang  on,  and  on,  and  on. 

so  even  in  the  face  of  edric’s  anger,  he  showed  no  sign  of  reaction.  shell  shock  had  taken  hold  of  his  entire  body,  seized  his  bones  like  a  terrible  frostbite  that  refused  to  be  thawed  out.  he  heard  little  of  the  prince’s  reprimand.  he  cared  little  of  his  fury. 

but  at  the  words protect, then failure, daven  flinched  as  if  he  had  been  lashed.  the  truth  of  them  smarted  him.  he  had  indeed,  very  much  indeed,  failed  to  protect  the  one  person  he  both  legally  and  intimately  sworn  to  forever  guard.  “the  only  explanation  is  that  they  were  one  step  ahead.  that  is  the only,”  he  spat  the  word  out,  “explanation.  if  they  were  but  a  second  slower,  i  would  have  had  them.”

his  hands  clenched  into  fists.  “you  do  not  need  to  question  my  loyalty  and  devotion  towards  protecting  iskander,  prince  edric, and neither my competence.  where  you  have  a  battalion  of  guards,  he  only  has  me.  that  had  been  enough  for  the  past  year.”

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ 🪷 —   by  the  grace  of  the  gods ,  old  and  new ,  i  present  to  you  PRINCE LIAN  of  ARGONIA .  the  gods  have  blessed  us  with  their  presence  for  TWENTY ONE  years .  the  people  of  the  kingdom  have  known  them  to  be  COMPASSIONATE ,  HOPEFUL ,  IDEALISTIC  and  while  it  is  not  always  shown  to  the  masses ,  it  is  said  they  can  also  be  DEPENDENT ,  GULLIBLE ,  PASSIVE .  what  will  their  tale  in  the  story  of  metia  be ?

IDENTIFICATION .

full name : lian of house argos .

title : prince of argonia .

gender: demi - male .

pronouns : he & they .

sexuality : homosexual .

age : twenty - one .

date of birth : third day of the third moon , 981 me .

place of birth : argia , argonia .

nationality : argonian .

FAMILY

parents : king ____ & queen ____ ( deceased ) .

siblings : prince zhiyuan , prince yizhu & prince ____ .

extended family : house ____ ( maternal cousins ) . 

family history : house  argos  has  ruled  over  argonia  for  nineteen  hundred  years  when  the  legendary  hero ,  argos ,  founded  it  after  defeating  several  creatures  and  saving  his  lover  from  the  grip  of  the  mighty  kraken .  they  are  best  known  for  producing  some  of  the  greatest  heroes  and  minds  throughout  history .  being  closed  off  from  the  rest  of  metia ,  house  argos  has  become  conservative  with  anything  they  do .  their  sigil  is  a  gold  phoenix  on  a  black  background ,  which  is  also  their  house  colors .  their  motto  is  ‘ there  is  no  darkness  without  light ’ .

PHYSICAL EXAMINATION

face claim : gong jun .

hair : long , flowing black hair , smooth as silk and often tied back in the traditional styles of argonia . his hair is his pride , and he takes meticulous care of it .

eyes : deep brown eyes filled with warmth and longing . the eyes of a dreamer gazing beyond the horizon .

height : 5 ’ 10 "  ( 178 cm )

physique : there is an air of delicacy to the youngest prince of argonia . slender , and graceful . lian was born with a minor affliction to his lungs , they tire easily and cannot endure prolonged physical exertion . while he carries himself with all the poise and grace expected of a prince , his breath sometimes comes shallow , forcing him to pause and gather himself . his body is untouched by the demands of labor , nor the scars of a war . he reflects a life of luxury wrapped in silk rather than steel .

demeanor :  gentle , courteous and composed . lian posesses an innocent idealism , cherishing dreams of romance and honor , of a world waiting for him beyond the argonian borders .

distinguishing  characteristics :  a renowned beauty in the kingdom of argonia , prince lian is ethereal in appearance , almost faeborn . long black hair that contrasts against smooth pale skin . high cheekbones , and a defined jawline --- his features are sharp , yet soft . as if sculpted by delicate hands .

PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION

zodiac  sign :   pisces sun , cancer moon , libra rising .

meyer - briggs : infp : the mediator .

enneagram :   type 9 wing 2 : the peacemaker .

moral  alignment : neutral good .

positive  traits : adaptable , altruistic , compassionate , creative , dreamer , empathetic , gentle , hopeful , idealistic , loyal , optimistic . 

negative  traits :  avoidant , dependent , gullible , indecisive , insecure , passive , self - doubting , sensitive , vulnerable .

character  parallels : aang ( atla ) , aladdin ( aladdin ) , ariel ( the little mermaid ) , arthur ( the sword in the stone ) , belle ( beauty and the beast ) , edmund pevensie ( the chronicles of narnia ) , faramir ( lotr ) , haku ( spirited away ) , meg march ( little women ) , sansa stark ( asoiaf ) , snow white ( snow white and the seven dwarves ) 

STORY

prince  lian  was  not  born  to  rule ,  nor  to  fight ,  but  to  be  cherished .  a  fourth son ,  born frail ,  a deficiency in his  lungs . the healers said it would be a miracle if he made it . too  weak . but the queen refused to listen to them .

while  his  brothers  swung  swords  in  the  yard ,  he  was  kept  within  the  castle  walls ,  wrapped  in  silks  and  soft  words .  his  mother  doted  on  him ,  cradling  him  close ,  whispering  songs  of  love  and  chivalry ,  of  noble  lords  and  fair  princes  who  lived  and  died  for  honor ’ s  sake .  he  was  raised  not  for  war ,  but  for  beauty ,  trained  in  music  and  needlework , taught  to  run  a  castle  and  read  the  hearts  of  men .  he  was  not  the heir ,  nor  a spare ,  he was meant  to  be  a  prize ,  a  jewel  to  adorn  another ’ s  crown ,  to  stand  at  his  husband ' s  side  and  make  him  shine  all  the  brighter .

his  world  was  one  of  ballads  and  poetry . he  dreamed  of  love  the  way  others  dreamed  of  glory ,  imagined  himself  a  consort ,  a  prince ' s  cherished  treasure ,  adored  and  protected .  he  had  read  the  stories ,  believed  in  them ,  longed  for  the  day  when  his  knight  in shining armor would  come . 

when his mother died , he was eight . too young to understand the weight of grief , yet old enough to feel it ' s grip on his home . her passing left a hollow place in his heart , and in the hearts of those who remained . his brothers , once close , grew distant . his father , once indulgent , now turned away , as if looking at him were too great a burden . and so , lian remained in the castle . among tutors and courtiers , lonely . filling his days with music . fine clothes , and finer clothes but little love . for most of his childhood and adolescence , het  his  mind  drift  to  distant  shores  and  foreign  courts ,  to  sun - drenched  gardens  where  lovers  whispered  beneath  marble  arches .  he  was  raised  to  be  perfect ,  to  be  pleasing ,  to  be  wanted .  and  he  let  himself  believe  that  would  be  enough .

NSFW

position : bottom . 

size :   6 "  ( 15  cm )

kinks :   romantic gestures , power dynamics ( submissive ) , gentle and slow touches , verbal affirmation , emotional connection , light bondage , chivalric affection , gentle dominance , fantasy themes .

anti-kinks :   non - consensual  themes ,  violence , humiliation , public displays of intimacy , cruelty , mistreatment , forceful acts , manipulation , dishonesty , disrespectful behavior , rough or intense physicality , lack of emotional intimacy , pet play , infantilism .

[poweir-archive]

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : tag dump .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : intro .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : starter .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : script .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : memes .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : answered .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : aesthetics .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : mirror .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : musings .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : dynamics .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : nsfw .

◞ ❛ 🪷 ⋮ 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐬 : wants .

[poweir-archive]

when : the dove concord . where : the royal palace of veneca . who : ser darian & lord hugh ( @viridianlord )

" well , well . . . " his voice was low and amused , no malice in it — just the easy mockery of a friend . he could hardly recognize hugh . draped in fine silks and velvets . a far cry from the man who had fought by his side . covered in mud , and blood . " won ' t you look at you now . a lord , eh ? fancy ring and everythin ' . . . never thought i ' d see the day when a bastard like you ' d be rubbin ' elbows with all these highborn pricks . "

darian stepped forth , unsteady but sure as he moved towards hugh . the valtolian red in him made the room spin a bit — but it didn ' t dull the sharp edge of his amusement . it all seemed so absurd , this highborn life . but here they were — surrounded by courtesies and finery . one a lord , and one a knight , but both punished for the crime of their birth . both still standing at the edge of the gathering , two men who had fought for the very peace they celebrated , now cast aside by the nobility they bled for .

" should ya ' even be talkin ' to me , my lord ? " a mock bow , lip curling into a grin . " surely you shouldn ' t be seen keepin ' such lowly company now . "

[poweir-archive]

when : the afternoon after . where : iskander ' s bedchamber . whomst : prince edric & prince iskander ( @iskanderpryor )

◞ ❛ 🦌 —  the  door  creaked  as  the  crown  prince  stepped  inside .  herbs ,  poultices ,  and  something  akin  to  burning  thick  in  the  air .  fingers  tightening  at  the  handle  of  the  small  basket  he  held .  multebærkakers .  freshly  made .  a  nightmare  to  source  in  these  foreign  lands ,  but  they  had  once  been  his  brother ' s  favorite .  he  remembers ,  both  of  them  young  and  careless ,  getting  chased  out  of  the  kitchens  of  falreig  by  misha ,  the  cook ,  their laughter echoing down the stone halls .

but  that  was  then  ,  before  edric ' s  responsibilities  had  become  heavy  to  bear  and  he  had  withdrawn  .  before  their  participation  in  the  great war  ,  before it had carved it ' s lines into them , and  before  the  world  had  split  them  into  two  intrinsically  different  people .  before  there  was  a  tundra  of  ice  and  snow  between  them  .  that  was  then ,  and  this  is  now .  when  even  the  scent  of  the cloudberries  and  honey  doesn ' t  keep  edric ' s  stomach  from  turning  and  knotting  at  the  sight  of  his  brother  .  bedridden .  pale .  fragile .

he  doesn ' t  know  what  to  say  to  him .  how  to  take  back  the  words  spewed  at  hsi  brother  in  cold  anger  the  night  before .  he  hadn ' t  meant  them  --  not  truly ,  he  wanted  to  tell  himself ,  but  he  had  in  that  moment ,  in  the  way  siblings  often  do .  then ,  he  had  almost  lost  him .  he  sets  the  basket  of  treats  at  his  brother ' s  bedside  before  taking  a  seat  at  his  side . a tentative smile .  "  you  look  like  hell  .  "

[poweir-archive]

when : after the attack . where : outside iskander ' s bedchamber . whomst : prince edric & ser daven ( @metianfolklores )

◞  ❛  🦌  — edric  stood : cold fury radiating from him like the bitter winds that howled across bergia ' s northern mountains . his gaze , hard as stone . fixed on daven with a chilling intensity . burning with an anger so pure it could freeze the very air . any trace of warmth , any trace of the courtly crown prince he was known to be , gone . in his stead , a man of ice and fury . one hidden away , and not seen since the war ended .

" were  it  up  to  me , ”  he  said ,  low and cold . each word a shard of ice aimed to hurt . his fists clenched at his side . knuckles white with anger . formalities lost , he addresses the witcher as the child he once knew . the meek squire that followed at his brother ' s heel like a lost puppy . “ i  would  have  you  deposed . stripped of any positions . gone . ”

" you were supposed to protect him . " a slow , deliberate step . his presence a storm pressing around ser daven . tall , and imposing . suffocating . there was no mercy , just cold judgement . " and yet , when the moment came , you failed . you let him be attacked , and he was almost killed . "

" have you anything to say for yourself , witcher ? " his gaze does not waver . eyes narrow ever so slightly , as though daring him to talk back . the tension in the room palpable . " an explanation for your failure ? "

[poweir-archive]

◞  ❛  🦜  —  sorian 's  breath  hitched ,  just  barely ,  a  shiver  rippling  down  his  spine  as  aurelius ’ s  touch  wandered  lower .  heat  curled  in  his  belly ,  deep  and  slow ,  igniting  like  embers  coaxed  to  life .  he  exhaled ,  lips  parting  in  something  between  a  moan  and  a  knowing  smile ,  his  weight  pressing  subtly  into  the  king ’ s  palm  as  if  to  say ,  yes ,  there — more .

“ and  you  are  mine . ”  the queen ' s  words  were  soft ,  reverent ,  a completion to their mantra : he spoke it  like  a  sacred  promise .  his  palm  rested  on  the  king ’ s  cheek ,  holding  him  in  place ,  grounding  him .  the  kiss  that  followed  was  slow ,  deliberate ,  a  gentle  press  of  lips  at  first ,  almost  tentative .  but  then ,  as  if  the  world  had  narrowed  to  just  the  two  of  them ,  it  deepened ,  a  whisper  of  heat ,  a  mutual  surrender . 

they had been so young — the early days had been unsteady , love a distant thing , buried beneath sharp words and colder nights . but desire had bloomed between them , slow and relentless , winding through the cracks of what was once reluctant obligation . now , there was no room for doubt , no room for hesitation . " i choose you now . "

the queen ' s hips began rolling just so — in response to his king ' s touch . to be held , to be had . an offering . his entrance teased at his king ' s hand . he wants more . a breathy moan . " take what is yours , your grace . "

aurelius  had  many  partners.  that  much  was  no  secret  between  the  two,  whose  marriage  first  existed  as  but  a  political  ploy.  and  yet,  over  time,  the  king  had  begun  to  favor  his  queen’s  touch  over  all.  his  queen’s  body  too,  as  warm  as  the  medesi  sea  in  their  wild  summers,  now  lapping  against  his  own.  he  breathed  in  slowly  the  scent  of  the  other,  sweet  and  intoxicating. 

“you  are  my  chosen,”  aurelius  whispered,  a  secret  mantra  between  the  two.  “despite  whatever  forces  tried  to  push  us  together,  i  chose  you  because  i  found  you  divine.”  reminders,  uttered  low  and  under  breath. 

when  sorian  asked  his  question,  aurelius  had  already  guided  a  hand  under  the  other’s  silks,  meandering  down  the  curve  of  that  shapely  ass.  “hm,”  he  hummed,  “no,  allow  me.”  a  finger  curled  up,  found  the  warmth  between  the  cleft  of  sorian’s  cheeks.  “let  me  indulge  in  you.”