#{{ prince of darkness : face }}

[borgialucrezia]

CESARE BORGIA ↴ causing hurt to his siblings while observing their shocked reactions (inspired by @borgiatargaryen's post)

[peachsayshi]

my favorite thing about suguru geto is that even though you fall for him first, the man falls 100 times harder. he’s so cool and effortless about everything in the beginning, but his feelings go so far deep that in the end he’s practically worshipping you at your feet.

anything you want is yours to have, your desires fulfilled, your heart kept so safe, showered with every ounce of love that his body can hold, and protected fiercely.

he loves being in love with you.

and everyone can see it - they see how he radiates with you around, how his feelings pour out of him uncontrollably because the vessel of his being can’t contain it all.

they can’t help but wonder if you know to what extent the depths of his devotion goes. can’t help but wonder if you know that you’re the beautiful, bright star that he slowly orbits.

[imminent-danger-came]

Stone motif?

[margareturtle]

Ash Morgenstern’s biggest fear is Julian Blackthorn

[milogreer]

Maybe Morgan's Beloved? I don't think we have that listener name yet

thank you morgan for having an easy to pixelize icon 🙏🏼 hope you like these! he's so purple to me

free to use with credit! template from blinkies.cafe!

[lady-quen]

Quaso

[milkbreadtoast]

shady guy...

[siriusbound]

Several new things in the shop :))

[peppermintslol]

cringe fail idiots

So silly

[tongues--and--teeth]

How much pain can you forgive? What would you do for those you swore to protect?

[im-totally-not-an-alien-3]

Dragon Quest VI/ Dragon Quest Monsters 3 au where Psaro just kidnaps Solo the moment he sees him in the village and takes him to Nadiria

Not to kill him, but to show him that not all monsters are bad and that not all humans are good. Solo and Psaro begin traveling with each other and Rose around Nadiria while avoiding human towns and villages due to the danger they would represent to Rose.

Needless to say, this was not what the Zenith Dragon had meant!

[ralseinumberonebiggestsupporter]

ralsei should die in an analog horror way ☝️

[pyrrhiccomedy]

THE WHITE DOOR

He never called her “the woman he loved” until she was dead in his arms. 

Her killer was a a man whom Bastian admired; but Bastian wronged him anyway, and he was savage and exacting in his vengeance. So: Bastian too is savage and exacting, and far less admirable. 

Though revenge provided no abatement of his grief, it was required by the circumstances.

It is not enough by far.

He readies his companions to set out for the continent of Death itself. He knows only one man who has been there, and that man returned blinded, bitter, and heartbroken: but the dark prince loves his wife, and a knife will not keep him from her. Nor will the endless miles of the white countries, nor the threat of mutilation, nor the will of any God.

He expects horror. He will bring it himself.

His wise wife, his fairy wife: he trusts she knows that he is coming.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 51

He didn't care, didn't marvel that he was soon to be airborne on one of those incredible beasts. Didn't care that tomorrow, they would all take on the dark army gathered beyond.

He'd fought in more battles, more wars, than he cared to remember. Tomorrow would be little different, save for the demons they'd slay, rather than men or Fae.

Demons like his former queen, apparently.

He had offered himself to her, had wanted her, or believed he did. And she had laughed at him. He didn't know what it meant. About her, about himself.

He'd thought his darkness, Hellas's gifts, had been drawn to her, that they'd been matched.

Perhaps the dark god had wanted him not to swear fealty to Maeve, but to kill her. To get close enough to do so.

Lorcan didn't adjust his cape against the gust of frigid air off the distant lake. Rather, he leaned into the cold, into the ice on the wind. As if it might rip away the truth.

There was no fear or pity on her face, her black hair gilded by the torches and campfires. Of all of them, she'd mastered the news with little difficulty, stepping up to the desk as if she'd been born on a battlefield.

"I didn't know," he said, voice strained.

Elide knew what he meant. "We have bigger things to worry about anyway."

He took a step toward her. "I didn't know," he said again.

She tipped her head back to study his face and pursed her mouth, a muscle ticking in her jaw. "Do you want me to give you some sort of absolution for it?"

"I served her for nearly five hundred years. Five hundred years, and I just thought her to be immortal and cold."

"That sounds like the definition of a Valg to me."

He bared his teeth. "You live for eons and see what it does to you, Lady."

"I don't see why you're so shocked. Even with her being immortal and cold, you loved her. You must have accepted those traits. What difference does it make what we call her, then?"

"I didn't love her."

"You certainly acted like you did."

Lorcan snarled, "Why is that the point you keep returning to, Elide? Why is it the one thing you cannot let go of?"

"Because I'm trying to understand. How you could come to love a monster."

"Why?" He pushed into her space. She didn't balk one step.

Indeed, her eyes were blazing as she hissed, "Because it will help me understand how I did the same."

Her voice snagged on the last words, and Lorcan stilled as they settled into them. He'd never ... he'd never had anyone who-

"Is it a sickness?" she demanded. "Is it something broken within you?"

"Elide." Her name was a rasp on his lips. Lorcan dared reach a hand for her. But she pulled out of reach. "If you think that because you swore the blood oath to Aelin, it means anything for you and me, you're sorely mistaken. You're immortal-I'm human. Let us not forget that little fact, either."

Lorcan nearly recoiled at the words, their horrible truth. He was five hundred years old He should walk away—he shouldn't be so damned bothered by any of this. And yet Lorcan snarled, "You're jealous. That's what truly eats away at you."

Elide barked a laugh that he'd never heard before, cruel and sharp. "Jealous? Jealous of what? That demon you served?" She squared her shoulders, a wave cresting before it smashed into the shore. "The only thing that I am jealous of, Lorcan, is that she is rid of you."

Lorcan hated that the words landed like a blow. That he had no defenses left where she was concerned. "I'm sorry," he said. "For all of it, Elide." There, he'd said it, and laid it out before her. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

But Elide's face did not warm. "I don't care," she said, turning on her heel. "And I don't care if you walk off that battlefield tomorrow.

"I have never heard Lorcan apologize for anything. Even when Maeve whipped him for a mistake, he did not apologize to her."

"And that means he earns my forgiveness?"

"No. But you have to realize that he swore the blood oath to Aelin for you. For no one else. So he could remain near you. Even knowing well enough that you will have a mortal lifespan."

The birds shifted on their feet, rustling their wings in anticipation of flight. She knew. Had known it the moment he'd knelt before Aelin. Weeks later, Elide hadn't known what to do with it, the knowledge that Lorcan had done this for her. The longing to talk to him, to work with him as they had. She'd hated herself for it. For not trying to hold on to her anger longer.

It was why she'd gone after him tonight.

Not to punish him, but herself. To remind herself of who he'd sold their queen to, how profoundly mistaken she had been.

And her parting line to him ... it was a lie.

A disgusting, hateful lie.

Elide turned to Gavriel again. "I don't—" The Lion was gone. And for the cold flight over the army, then over the sea of darkness spread between it and the ancient city, even that wise voice who had whispered for the entirety of her life had gone quiet.

[callumbabe]

I wanna know if callum suffered any sort of pain while using dark magic before he went to save rayla bec he never touched again since two years ago and the first time he was deranged/ incapable to do anything. Plus it’s the second time after 2 yrs, he had to feel some sort of pain or marks on his face from using dark magic but their isn’t…

[gauldheri]

[ spaghetti and meatball ]

“...repeat to me once more if you may, why is it a singular meatball if it is a plate for two?” Lambert eyed the pasta with a mildly judging gaze. It did look and smell good, definitely tasted good, but it was more of a ‘spaghetti with tomato sauce and one disappointing surprise’. Anyway, food was food, he wouldn’t complain much less refuse.

Though he did wonder…how did he end up sharing that meal with this boy- who seemed to be ominously familiar to him. It felt almost painful to look at the guy- that red hair and those fox-like eyes, the feeling that he must have seen those somewhere at some point in his life. A tall figure with a cold gaze, black armor, a living lanc-

-the pasta. Yes. Pasta.

“Actually if this pasta helps me make sure that you do not go out there and get your eyes clawed off by girls angry at your shenanigans, then I may use this sad pasta with single meatball as a defense mechanism. You stay here, young man.”

Sylvain is chatting to a very pretty caterer when time stops.

At first, he thinks it's Dimitri coming at him and he considers making a break for it, despite how rude it would be to the young lady. He hasn't even been here an hour yet - as much as he enjoys Dimitri's company he'd prefer to avoid a lecture. Put it off until he's at least done something to earn it. It isn't Dimitri though - the man is too tall and broad, his face gracefully but clearly weathered by time far more than the prince's. Not elderly by any means but far closer to his father's age than his own. Closer still, Sylvain clearly recognises the face before him as that of the late King Lambert.

He freezes in place, finding himself corralled to a table by the gentleman. Words, sentences, questions all bounce around his head but he can't actually seem to open his mouth. There has to be a more logical explanation.

The dead don't rise from the grave to attend parties.

"Shenanigans -- what shenanigans, sir? I was only complimenting her hairstyle," it's likely pointless trying to argue his case, as effective as if it was actually Dimitri who had cornered him. Still, Sylvain finds himself reeling in shock - since when did he call anyone but his father sir? He pushes the plate away, not sure whether he's annoyed or curious. If he wasn't speaking to the late King's face (even though it cannot possibly be him, that would be absurd) his tongue would likely loosen. Sylvain's words are still firm and direct but he can't quite bring the outrage and disrespect lingering in his stomach to voice. "What makes you feel so comfortable assuming authority over me anyway. This is a party and I'm here trying to have some fun. I'm a grown man, not an errant child on the loose. You don't need to babysit me when you could be enjoying yourself."

"You aren't my father, my professor or my prince. Just who are you anyway?"