provocatcur-blog

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LAST LEVEL

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Playing by miguel_opacic http://ift.tt/2hywf8X

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     appears on the mun’s birthday to just coyly look at everyone.

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The Marquise laxes into Roland’s broad frame-- like a cat who only trusts a certain person. The woman closes her eyes in utter delight as she enjoys the bout of much needed affection. Strong arms wrap around him as well, and her hands card through his hair and touch his tipped ears. “Sailing. Attempting more trade routes...” Seine shivers just so, and presses a tender kiss to the Bard’s cheek.

He nuzzles the side of his face against her own; affection soft and glorious and quiet in his love. His eyes close sweetly.

“Where hast thou been, beloved girl?” he asks, cupping the back of her head. “I hath missed thee, far beyond the wanting of the Moon in morning.” He breathes outwardly, heavily, encompassing in his hug.

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for u overwatch friends idk what seine’s verse is other than her name in OW is Fathom and she’s a cool assassin thing who can throw knives and use a spear thing with projectile spear thingies and a net.

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Master Baby by William Orchardson, 1886 (details)

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you know what i really want? unrequited love plots. i want all the heavy breathing when a character is sitting next to the one they love. i want all the paranoia of “oh my god, did they catch me staring? do they know i love them? oh my god, what if they find out?” i want the bitter jealousy of watching the one they love with someone else. i want the drunk confessions of “BUT I LOVE YOU. I HAVE LOVED YOU FOR SO LONG AND YOU ARE SO BLIND YOU CANT SEE IT” followed by complete embarrassment. i want the angst of a completely ruined friendship. i want the questioning of “how didn’t i realize it?” i want the pain of knowing one’s feelings ruined the best thing they ever had. i want the realization of “i was taking you for granted but i want us”. i want the wondering if those are just pity feelings. i want it all.

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Abigail: Henry. I must read this to you. It’s so romantic. Henry: A poem? Whose? Um, Wordsworth? Shelley? Byron? Abigail: Yeats, you old fuddy-duddy.

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    There were many nights where she hugged a pillow like child once more. Where on nights when sleep used to come so easy with him beside her none came at all. His scent invaded her senses and she gripped his cloth tighter. All threads she found familiar under the pads of her fingers. The gestures he made with his own. Seine raised a hand to press his palm to her cheek reverently.                         “Absolutely horrid without you.”

         fuck, if he hadn’t acutely felt her absence. the empty place at his side, the cold dip in his bed — these things he’d been entirely accustomed to until her. fenriel pulls back enough to tuck an errant strand behind her ear. ❝ how was the trip? ❞ 

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That earns a smile from the Marquise. And a chuckle.

          “It’s not tha’ worth of yer’ ass in question. My beatin’s are just too good ta’ put a price on.”

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          “What? I did nothing.”

        unfair! he wasn’t looking. ❝ ow. mean. ❞

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@tanadhal

Yoinks his braid.

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nurnberg by yana dolmatova

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cont from here.

@eritvita

The Marquise, back from yet another journey, takes it upon herself to cuddle her bard beloved. A much needed session of affection. She touches his face and kisses his cheek gently. “Good morning, Roland.”

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