streets-in-paradise

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nothing funnier to me than when AI does math wrong. like I get why it happens, it's a language model that's treating the numbers you feed it as words rather than integers and then giving you an answer based on how those words typically appear in a block of text instead of actually performing a calculation. but the one thing computers are genuinely incredible at. you fucked up a perfectly good calculator is what you did, look at it it's got hallucinations

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Like to charge reblog to cast

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I need him to absolutely knock the breath out of me

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Me to myself as I write fic: Lu, all your Conan fic ideas end up the same. Can't you think of a romantic scenario where they aren't laying down?

Meanwhile the show:

(Episode 1)

(Episode 11)

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Conan and his companions reacting to you being on your period mid quest:

Warnings: This was written from my fem cis perspective, while medically-wise the symptoms described are quite standard. The " everybody loves you" feeling comes from how this guys tend to canonically interact with the lady of the week joining them for the episode.

Note: The show had a campy episode where they asisted a woman giving birth on the road, then chaotically took care of the baby. They are perfect for a period fic scenario.

-You have been riding with them for a while, a circunstantial companion joining their quest out of common interest. From the beggining it was clear that this wasn't the only reason why the group took you in, only the strongest. Your beauty had convinced them of your honesty, but they have came to like you as time went on. Conan above them all, effortlessly charming you with his unusually tender disposition, while the others followed as if they already expected something would flourish between you.

-They are nicer than most warrior men you have came to meet, but quite unprepared for this. Usually no lady sticks around with them for long enough to make them gain awareness of this aspect from the experience. This men have all have been casted out of their lands, or escaped rejecting slavery. Their permanence in villages or cities is very brief, always cautious of the enemy hunting them down, and so is their contact with the mundanity of life for a woman. Even if Karella joins them and steals from them from time to time, they haven't find themselves in this sort of situation with her.

-They are grown adults, they know it happens, they just never had to deal with a menstruating person before.

- Like a curse from Hissah Zul, your period came earlier than expected that month and you find yourself in need to inform your requirements for it to them.

-While the overal mood is of cluelessness on their part, they express it in different ways. Bayu is the one most likely to feel disgusted by the talk about it, while Conan probably sees it like a sickness they should help you go through and Zzeben feels sorry for you. Otli will bring back memories from the concubines of his old wizard owner that he may have had to care for when they were unavailable for the master's enjoyment. As the better qualified for the emergency, he works all the others out of the panic.

-Suddenly, the little man is bossing everyone around the camp for you. He becomes the lousy, annoyingly funny echo of your discomfort; sending Zzeben to get fresh cloth for your bleeding, Conan to warm you water and Bayu to find you something to wear.

-Speaking of what, since he so often picks on Bayu for friendly bickering, it occured to him trying to make of him the group's sacrifice for your mood swings.

-If there is something he remembers well from the concubines of Yara, it was being mistreated by them given he was the one man in that castle they weren't called to respect. You weren't like them and he knew it, but if you would need to yell at someone he would rather handle you the friend he loved to annoy for that. As the most awkward one with the situation, Bayu is also most likely to get in your nerves and Otli only has to exploit this a bit further in order to grant that chaotic tension he considers a safe outlet for your altered emotions.

-To his shocked disbelief, this also meant he was the first one to be indulged when the softening of your temper would call you to apologise.

-However, the privilege of the sweetest comforts rested on their leader. His friends would amuse you, support you or provide for specific things, but it was Conan who managed the most intimate approach. The one you actively seeked when you wanted to be comforted.

-Even since Otli explained him that your appetite could turn more voracious than normal, Conan becomes concerned with keeping you well fed.

-From personal experience, he knows hunger gets him on a terrible mood. Hearing that your state may stimulate hunger means he would want to be sure he has secured enough food to meet your circunstantial needs as well as the others.

-To some extent, it also acts as part of his strategy to win you over. Showing his skills not only as a protector, but a provider as well is something important in this unsafe legendary Age.

-If you are on the wild, he hunts for more than usual. A pridefull, smiling Conan arrives back to your camping spot with a comedically big prey and shows it to you like a cat that brings inside a dead bird while Otli wonders how are they supposed to cook that much meat for just one meal.

-He keeps you at his side when it's time to eat and always remembers to offer you more everytime he serves himself back, insisting that you must be their priority because this monthly sickness demmands more strenght from your body.

-A mere joke about your sweet cravings ends up changing the route of the next stop when Conan convinces everyone of reaching the nearest tavern. Best chance for everyone to get better food, what he suddenly considers then so you can find a dessert.

-Your companions are invested in the drinks, but once you are there they see you get very excited about a bowl of honey being used as sweetener for fruit.

-From that strange reaction you get some more friendly teasing self parodying their cluelessness.

-" Should we allow you to drink grog? "

" That's only for pregnancy, Bayu. Of course I can drink. "

-Soon, the tavern maids start flirting with Conan and all the table becomes subtly expectant of you. As his friends, they know it's a frequent scene where the barbarian cheerfully engages enjoying himself with the attention of the beautifull women and they fear for your reaction.

-Thankfull as you are for everything he has done for you, acting out jealousy is the last thing you need. And so, you dedicate yourself to enjoy your sweet keeping carelessness for what's happening in front of you.

-To everyone's surprise, Conan's response is polite, but not encouraging. He finishes smiling at you before asking them to bring you another sweet treat.

-Suddenly, his friends are laughing at you and you both are defending yourselves from it taking opposite perspectives.

-You try to deny it, he blatantly admits it.

-" You all, stop looking at me like that! I don't care, it's not like he can do anything to me in this state unless he wants the bed to look like a battlefield."

" I stick to my word, i think you are beautifull. To bed someone else while my beauty is moon sick would be acting like a wizard that looks down at his unavailable concubines … I hate wizards. "

-He has no shame for letting you know he fancies you as he knows you do him, making you feel good at a time when you don't feel particularly charming.

-While everyone is nice to you, his gestures have an extra layer of care that comes from your mutual infatuation and this is why you seek his comfort above anyone's. Why you are not afraid of letting the intimacy escalate in ways you wouldn't consider otherwise.

-Overal pain and cramps tend to worsen for you at night, and in a particularly bad one you snuggled against him begging in whispers for him to help you out.

-Never before had the cimmerian hero been asked a similar thing, but he can't resist your soft plead or the sight of you in pain. With patience and kindness, he follows your instructions for pain relieving massages on your swollen lower abdomen and other sore parts of your body.

-His big hands learn quickly where it's good to press and where to be gentle, making you feel so safe and relaxed that you find no reason for shame.

-Despite the tension of your attraction remains there, the intimacy reached is not inherently sexual. He cares for making you feel better, getting to touch you is an unexpected perk of the process.

-" Mmm, I like this part of the treatment."

" I will make it up to you, once I get better I will give you a good massage. You never stretch those great muscles of yours, Conan! That must bring you pain on ocassions."

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State of Play (2009)

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I was not going to watch for the plot and the show kinda knows it. Got here for this two, but then all the other side characters turned out to be quite likeable.

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Patiently waiting for bird videos to be invented. Photo from my collection, 1956.

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Battle of the Barbies: Fantasy Playsets (Round 2)

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THIS WAS FANTASTIC 💕 💕 💕

I particularly enjoy how you handle the dialogue for Paris, it feels exactly as I imagine he would sound. The intensity, the almost poetic feeling in his every commentary when it comes to his beloved.

While at the same time, you explored through the smut an aspect rarely seen before. It's unusual and quite refreshing seeing him adopt a glimpse of dominance. You also managed this to happen in a way that felt organical, in tone with him, and contrasting to how he is canonically asociated with weakness.

Excellent job!!

switch it up — paris of troy

plot ; " paris could never be one or the other when it came to the bedroom; he was always a mix of a little bit of everything "

warnings ; mature content—read at your own risk, x reader, switch!paris, teasing, pet names (my beloved, beautiful, my queen ) oral ( f receiving ), p-in-v, missionary, paris goes from charming prince to babygirl lmao

notes ; in this alternate universe, the trojan war is ongoing for a different reason, and helen is still in sparta with menelaus; you are paris' wife

" You're tired, my love. " Paris spoke, large, calloused hands finding your soft cheeks. His thumb brushed across the apples of them, admiring the smoothness of your skin, the soft pinkish red of your blushing visage.

" I am weary, Paris. " Your whisper reaches his ears just barely, a subtle declaration from your soul, its confession that it was beginning to tire from the war.

He knew. He knew simply from the way your ever-so-graceful being faltered when you walked; no, glided, across every room you stepped in to. Still commanding the attention of every man and woman; he would say to you that even the Gods envied your beauty, your grace, your ethereal presence.

One of his hands slid to your shoulder; resting there, comforting, but also offering.

" Let me ease your burdens, my beloved. "

Paris was known for his cowardly personality. All bark and no bite, a man of great words, but a man who shyed away from battle when it came to his feet.

But with you? He was everything and nothing but a man, at your feet, at your service.

No, really. He had dropped to his knees before you, strong arms curling under your thighs to hold them, pulling you closer to the edge of your shared bed.

" Paris ! " Your gasp made him chuckle, as his hands reached to undo the confines of your robes.

" Surely you are not afraid of merely a prince, my flower. "

When the last of your clothing fell to the floor, leaving you bare and in your most authentic form, he paused, to admire. To stare up at you with those softened eyes that gave him the look of a doe. A soft creature, with fascination in its eyes at the extraordinary beauty before him.

" My Queen .. my light, my fire, my hope in this damned war. " He breathed out, warm air ghosting the sensitive flesh of your most intimate area.

He wasted no time, leaning forward and pressing his lips in a tender kiss to your core, before darting his tongue out; licking a long, slow, teasing stripe upwards the canvas of your sex.

The mere sight of him, worshipping you as if you were Aphrodite herself, was enough to make you tremble, and let out soft moans of pleasure each time his arms tightened their grip on your thighs; each time his mouth found your center again, like he was a starved man, and you were a feast laid before him. Every praise you muttered out left him nearly trembling himself, reveling in the pure ecstasy of hearing his love's approval.

" Please. " He whispered, a muffled beg. " Let me worship you, my beautiful goddess. Let me show you the unending depths of my love for every inch of your extraordinary self. " before returning to his pleasuring ministrations, leaving you a mess of pleas, cries, and broken whispers of his name, until he brought you to climax; legs shaking, fingers tangled in his dark, curly locks of soft hair, his eyes watching your every move; still softened with that almost impossibly pathetic, loving gaze.

In your panting afterglow, he rose to his feet, taking hold of you by the ankle and pulling you close.

Such as Paris was; never one, never another, but an ever-changing paradox, twisting and turning, switching and transforming between his complex, but beautiful way of balance; one moment, he was a worshipful servant to your every whim.

The next, he was a Prince of Troy; commanding, dominant, and strong.

He was quick to unfasten the ties of his trousers, letting them slacken and fall down his hips, revealing more of his toned, lean body. Paris was a coward, yes. But he was not weak. Slipping them the rest of the way down, he freed himself from the confines of his pants, already pulling you closer, and coming to overarch your body, his own muscular frame covering yours.

His hands found your hips, and he with ease and gentle carefulness, buried himself to the hilt inside of your warmth. You both let out simultaneous gasps of relieving pleasure, panting, his head resting against your shoulder, bodies already glistening with sweat. Rising his head to meet your beautiful gaze, he kissed you with the vigor of a man who believed you were going to disappear the moment he pulled away. Hips slowly beginning to piston back and forth, kisses deepening, his hands roaming every curve and crevice of your body he could find; like he was searching, searching for something he could only find by devoting himself to memorizing every inch of you, calloused palms squeezing over your breasts, thumbing the peaks, gripping your thighs.

" Gods.. " He whispered, panting, on the verge of his own release. " My Queen, my beloved, you are the only thing in this world worthy to me. " his fingers brushed your cheeks; the way he once did, hours before, when your interaction was still romantically innocent.

" Paris.. please.. I.. " You could only respond in broken sentences, gasping, moaning, crying out in ecstasy and pleasure as you both reached your peak; he spilled himself inside you with a groan of pure satisfaction, arms pulling you closer than you thought possible.

Lying in the aftermath of Paris' unadulterated love, you found yourself feeling less stressed, just like he promised. In fact, the only thing on your mind was his arms holding you oh-so close, like you would vanish should he lose sight of you.

" My beloved. " He whispered.

" Should this war take me; know that I will battle the Gods for eternity, to be reunited with you in the underworld; where I can hold you once again, just like this. "

" Don't. " Your whisper returned. " Do not speak of such things. You will return home to me. "

He smiled, ever-so-softly. So softly a man could confuse him for gentility itself.

" Then I will return to you. And once I do, I will hold you once again. "

Paris leaned in, placing a kiss to your forehead, tucking your frame into him, head resting beneath his chin.

" For you, I am everything and nothing but a man. "

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One of the COLDEST🥶shots from GLADIATOR (2000)

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Troy (2004)

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Gladiator (2000)-Timestamp Roulette

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I was initially planning on being a casual fan, but then I thought, why not just let it consume my soul instead? 

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Come with me, I want to show you something---