#SHOW: GOLDEN HORD

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in The Golden Hord

Как ты смеешь глаза поднять на князя, холоп!

[candyskiez]

so, you've heard shows be recommended because they had gay characters. you don't really know what they're actually about though, and don't know if they'd be something you'd be into and are worried about spoilers. here's spoiler free plot summaries of em!

The Owl House

The Owl House starts out as a typical teenage girl goes into a fantasy realm story, but with a twist. Actions have consequences. The protagonist is a girl named Luz Noceda, who was being sent to a camp to make her behave normally by her mother after causing too much trouble at school. She ends up finding a place she's always dreamed of: a fantasy world. A world where everyone's so much weirder than she is. And she thinks, maybe if I don't belong out there, maybe people will like me here. Maybe I can be special here.

It's a story about found family, propaganda, erased history, living with disability, religious trauma, and neurodivergence. It's fundamentally a show about people who's brains work differently finding each other and making a family that treats them right. Definitely my favorite of the ones on this list. It's about people who've been oppressed being pissed about it and about finding yourself again after giving up on everyone around you for so long. It's basically a show about being a minority and trying to be understood and to understand yourself in the process. It's about growing up neurodivergent and how isolating it feels and figuring yourself out. It's about repairing broken relationships and parents who fuck up. And it's just. Such a love letter to anyone who was the weird kid in school. It's sad and heartbreaking and also so hopeful, and it's wonderful.

Content warnings: Abuse, Death, Grief, Animal Death, Suicidal thoughts, Vague suicide attempts, Depression, blink and you'll miss it s/h, body horror, religious trauma

She Ra and the Princesses Of Power

Adora was raised in the Horde since she was a baby, being fed propaganda about how cruel the princesses were. After learning how the horde actually was, though, she defects. But there's one problem. Her best friend, Catra, stays behind. Adora finds a sword that can transform her into She Ra, and might be the key to figuring out who she really is, while Catra takes her place as force captain.

It's a story about abuse, at the end of the day. Adora and Catra were stuck in a golden child and scapegoat dynamic, despite how much they care about each other. This leads to them knowing everything about each other but not understanding it. There's a fundamental disconnect between them, because both of their traumas are completely different. They have complete misconceptions about each other. Even in their initial split, they both have completely different perceptions of what's going on and why the other is upset. It's not a story about magic princesses, it's about the cycle of abuse and what makes it so complicated. Does it have flaws? Yeah. But ultimately I really really enjoy it, and when it does something right it does something RIGHT. Get through season one, it starts kids show-y but it gets very good during later s1.

Content warnings: Abuse (obviously), body horror, gaslighting (and I mean actual gaslighting, not what the Internet thinks gaslighting is), suicide, depression, flashing lights and eyestrain during the finale

Steven Universe

Steven Universe is a sins of the father story. Steven is the son of the leader of the rebel group The Crystal Gems, who's name was Rose Quartz. He navigates the confusion of being half gem and half human, as well as trying to figure out the mess of the rebellion and what his mother left behind. He's constantly in her shadow, for better or for worse.

It's a story about grief. How it impacts relationships, how it taints history, how it impacts family. It has some definite flaws, but ultimately it's about very flawed people who have lost so many people in their life trying to cope with it. Trying to handle what they lost and trying to adjust to life without them. It's about how expectations fuck a kid up and about agency and just a show about complicated relationships in general, at the end of the day. Also, it has some FANTASTIC music.

Content warnings: Grief, Abuse, body horror, very creepy people I don't know how to tag, heavy allegories for homophobia

Nimona

Nimona is a story about a guy who gets framed for murder. His name is Ballister Boldheart, a commoner who hoped to become a knight. It seemed everyone was waiting to watch him fail, so it was no surprise when he was the immediate target. Heavily injured and away from the man he loves, he's left alone trying to figure out a way to prove his innocence- until a strange kid comes into his life. This kids name is Nimona, and while he is intent on proving his innocence, she gave up on being anything but a villain a long time ago.

It's about deconstructing the model minority myth, trans rage, propaganda, and with a healthy dose of "FUCK the police".

Content warnings: Heavy injury, on screen suicide attempt, flashing lights

feel free to add more shows! just remember to keep the summaries as spoiler free as you can and add content warnings!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s your first time wearing that skirt. You’ve had it in your closet for two years. At least. You’re not really a skirt person but it’s cute. The floral on black with the zipper up the front. It drapes nicely enough though you’re not used to wearing anything so short. You have a trusty pair of shorts on just in case. 

You don’t go out either. Definitely not to places like this. You keep an arm across your middle, gripping your other as the hordes of people make you dizzy. The shining gold accoutrement of the decor along with the waft of low music over the noise of tables and voices add to your vertigo. 

The casino is busy and bright and loud. You stay close to your sister as she leads you across the carpet; ivory with golden curliques patterned across them. You’re no gambler either but you’re not there to play cards.  

“I think it’s upstairs,” Roxie says as she looks at the tickets in her hand. “Gala Room B.” 

“Oh, right,” you murmur and smile at her, “what’s the band again?” 

“Don’t worry about it the tickets were free,” she chirps as you look up at her. You feel even more a child beside her; your height often adds to your inferiority complex. Historically, you think, those characteristics have been often intertwined. 

“No, but--” 

“You need to get out of mom’s place more,” she chides, “I could’ve brought Katie instead, but I chose you, sis.” 

“I know, er, thanks,” you run your hand up to your shoulder and rub it nervously. 

“Show doesn’t start for another hour. Let’s get a drink,” she insists and turns, strutting towards the long bar at the other side of the grand space. You trail after her, shrinking down even further. She turns back to you as she leans on a tall stool, “what d’ya want?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t really...” 

“I know, it’s one drink, how about a vodka-cran?” She suggests, “you love cranberry.” 

“Um, sure, if you think that’s good.” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s the wild one, not you. You know you bore her and since your parents’ divorce, years ago, you haven’t really hung out together. She went with your dad and you with your mom, since then, it’s all been a bit fuzzy. 

She orders as you stand back, not wanting to get in the way of the people all around you. You lean back, rocking nervously as you glance around. You feel underdressed as you see women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. Even your sister is a stark contrast to your overly casual attire; your favourite purple cardigan and the skirt you’ve never worn. 

Your eyes scan the room, admiring the golden sconces of bulbs that resemble candelabras and the gilt trim all along the wall. The more you look around, the less you belong. You don’t even know why you said yes. Well, your mom pushed you into it. Just like your sister, she keeps saying you need to get out more. 

You rub your lips together and feel around your small tassled purse. It’s used, like most of your things. The thrift store is as much as your mom can afford and you still haven’t found a solid job. You worked at the grocery for a summer before they laid off half of you then did a one-day stint at a polling centre for the last municipal election. Even if you wanted to go out, you don’t have the money for it. 

You pull out your chapstick and smear it around your chafed lips as you sway back the other direction. You stop short as you nearly slam into another body and you stumble out of the way of the man in his black-and-white suit. Embarrassment creeps hotly up your cheeks and you cap your lip balm and stand out of his path. 

He’s taller than you. Well, everyone is. But to you, he seems huge. His suit is finely tailored to his figure though his hair seems to clash with the refined style. It’s almost to his collar but neatly parted, a shank falling forward to frame his sharp cheekbone. His square jaw is trimmed thickly with a dark beard, peppered with strands of silver and patch along the dimple of his chin. You’ve never seen anything as blue as his eyes, they are almost inhumanly vivid. 

“Sorry, doll,” he touches your arm as he passes and smirks, swiftly turning his sights ahead of him. 

You gulp as your shoulder hits someone else. You spin to face your sister as she offers you a glass. You take the red concoction with the short black straw sticking out over the ice cubes. You thank her as the chill seeps into your hand. 

“Oof, look at him,” she leans to watch after the man in his dark suit, “damn.” You frown and look in the other direction. She scoffs and nudges you, “come on. That guy is totally stunning. Even you can see that.” 

“I don’t wanna gawk at him,” you mutter, “he’s a stranger.” 

“Oh, whatever, not like he’d notice,” she snips. 

You scrunch up your lip and tuck your chapstick away as you peer toward the man. He goes up to a table, sliding in next to a taller woman with honey-blond hair and a shimmery dress. He rests his hand along her lower back as he chatters to her and the rest of the players around the leather trim. 

“Sheesh, he’s fine,” she puts a twang on the last word, “mmph. If I wasn’t with Tom...” 

“Right,” you look down at the drink and sip from the straw. You make a face and cough. 

“It’s not that strong,” she slaps your back, “don’t be dramatic.” 

“I know,” you clear your throat, “I just wasn’t expecting the taste.” 

“Let’s go upstairs,” she points above. 

“Uh, okay,” you agree to her sudden diversion. You suppose you really are boring. 

You follow her up the curved stairs and along the railing that overlooks the lower casino room. Arched windows let in the night and the glow of the facade. You lean on the polished wood and peer down at the first floor; it looks even more resplendent from there. You sister puts her elbow on the railing as she looks around. 

“We could stick around after, lose some money,” she says. 

“I don’t... mom only gave me a twenty and I owe you for the drink.” 

“Pfft, whatever, I’ll spot ya. Tom gave me some extra with the tickets,” she trills, “it’ll be fun. Play some black jack. It’ll be an experience. You could say you’ve actually done something.” 

You smile, closed-lipped and tight. She isn’t wrong. It’s your first concert, for some cover band, and your first time at a casino. It’s not an exaggeration to say this is the height of your life experience. 

Your eyes wander down and meet another pair. You wince. It’s that same man. He walks towards you, a certain swagger in his stride. As he peers up at you, his cheeks dimple and he winks. You wrinkle your brow and look behind you. When you turn back, he’s gone. Right, you’re imagining things. 

Roxie slurps as her straw turns hollow. She’s already drained her cocktail, meanwhile you’ve barely taken a sip. She stirs the ice and hums. 

“Wait here, I’m gonna get a refill,” she raises her glass. 

“Oh, I can come with you--” 

“Nah, just stand here,” she insists. “You’ll just slow me down.” 

“Sure, uh, okay.” 

You curl your shoulders inward as she walks away. Great. All alone. You avoid looking anywhere but your glass. You face the railing again and balance your drink on it. It’s not bad, tarter than you’re used to and a little burny.  

You play with the black bracelet around your wrist, the band they stuck around it when they scanned your ID at the door. You suppose it’s a good idea but they wouldn’t be letting kids in here, would they? Oh yeah, the hotel is attached. 

As a kid, you never went on vacations like that. No hotels, no casinos, no shows. It seems like Roxie is catching up on all of that and you’re just there. The world is so much scarier when it’s all a mystery to you. 

“Excuse me,” a deep voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking it’s merely a passerby, “miss?” 

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you barely save your cocktail from spilling over the edge. You clutch the glass with both hands and face the stranger. It’s that same man, with the suit and the long hair and the oceanic eyes. Something about him is familiar beyond your few earlier glances. 

“I think you dropped this?” He holds up a chip with a golden 100 on it. You blink and shake your head. 

“No,” you scrape out of your throat, “I don’t-- I didn’t--” 

“I swear I saw it fall out of your bag,” he looks down at your purse. 

“Really, I’m not... I don’t gamble.” 

“Ah, well, if it’s just hanging around, might as well use it, huh?” He keeps his hand out, “maybe it’s your lucky day.” 

“I couldn’t. If someone lost it...” your voice doesn’t want to go and he leans in to hear you, adding to the heat spreading through your chest. Is it the alcohol or him? 

“You’re sweet, keep it,” he shoves the chip toward you. 

“Please, I... I... can’t...” you wipe a hand on your skirt and clutch the fabric. 

“Doll, I can’t hear you,” he says as he grabs your hand and dislodges it from your skirt, “here.” 

He presses the chip into your palm. You stare at his tie then look down at the white chip with gold detailing. His hand brushes yours before he rescinds his touch. 

“Erm...” you murmur dumbly and shake your head. 

“My treat,” he growls. 

“But...” 

“Like the skirt, by the way,” he surprises you as he pinches a fold, “cute on you.” 

Just as quickly as he appeared, he strides away, leaving you blankly staring after him. His broad shoulders move beyond a thick marble pillar as you hold up your drink and the chip. You just look between them. 

“Hey,” Roxie approaches again, “oh, what’s that?” 

“A chip...” you state plainly. 

“Duh, I know. Where’d you get it?” 

You look at the floor. Would she even believe you? “The floor.” 

“Ooo,” she plucks it from your fingers, “awesome, “now we’re definitely having some fun tonight.” 

“Rox,” you swallow and look up at her, “we should hand it in. It’s a lot of money. If someone lost it--” 

“If they lost it, they can afford it,” she bobs her neck as she speaks, “live a little,” she sneers and taps your glass, “and finish your drink. Maybe that’ll loosen you up.” 

You nod and recede into yourself, cradling the glass again with both hands. You put your lips to the straw and drink until you can’t anymore. She gulps straight from the brim of her glass and sighs, wiggling as she peers around. 

“I almost don’t even want to see these old men play music,” she snickers as she takes in the expanse of tables flashing lights. 

“Oh?” 

“Relax, we’re going to see the show. You’re a horrible liar and mom will see right through you,” she sneers, “besides, I told her I wouldn’t get you in too much trouble.” 

[reidmoony-toast]

Orange Juice. ౨ৎ

"Feels like I've been ready for you to come home for so long"

Spencer x fem singer!reader

The two times they miss each other, and the one time they don't

content: no use of y/n, so much fluff, pining

cw: literally nothing!! <3

wc: 2.6k

an: This has taken me SO LONG and I'm not very proud of it 😭 Anyways hope you enjoy, ily xx

| pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | series masterlist ౨ৎ

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She was dreaming of him when she woke up. She groaned, burying her face into the crisp white mass of her hotel pillow. Sun filtered through the large windows, dust motes dancing in between the rays of light.

The sky was a vibrant blue, only a select few clouds scattered across its expanse. The trees on the opposite side of the street swayed in a gentle breeze, looking content and greener than ever.

For Virginia, it was beautiful weather. A perfect day. Usually, on a day like today, she would be bounding out of bed to start her morning bright and early. But, she had been dreaming of him, and that wasn't something she wanted to wake up from.

She was back in Virginia to record a few songs for her new album—it was, apparently, filled with a few too many sad songs, mostly about her previous breakup.

Her producer had told her to ‘go away and write some more upbeat songs’ to give the album more variety, and to make it more like her last album.

She cringed just thinking about it. What the hell was she supposed to write about? No immediate inspiration had struck, and she was starting to think that she wasn't cut out for happy songs anymore. And that was a depressing thought.

She gave up on going back to sleep, instead getting up slowly, with another groan, as her limbs protested from the sudden movement. She stretched, yawning, as she tried to recall her dream.

It had been good, she remembered that, but the details were fuzzy, becoming less and less clear the more time she spent awake. Curse her and her weak memory recall—it was especially bad when it came to dreams.

Another thing that didn't help with her little obsession, was a multitude of videos that were making the rounds of her and the ‘mystery man’, as her fans had dubbed him.

The comments were filled with theories and speculation, wondering if she had a new boyfriend, and so many more itching to know his identity.

As much as she wanted that information herself, she was glad his face was hidden in shadow from every camera angle. She didn't want his privacy invaded by hordes of her craziest fans.

She sighed and headed to the bathroom to shower and make herself at least a bit presentable for the cameras that were likely to appear in the most unexpected of places.

~☆~

She would say that when it came to her performance in her line of work so far, it was beyond satisfactory. One might even go on to say she was the peak of professionalism.

She loved her fans; interacting with them during concerts, as well as meeting them in her day-to-day life always made her feel better, but she remained detached to a certain extent to maintain a healthy relationship with her fans.

Fans. She had those now. The very idea was improbable to her. She still couldn't believe all of her dreams had come true. The bright and glittering sheen of success and fame had not even dimmed a bit, and she felt like she had almost everything she could possibly want in life. Until, she saw him.

She didn't believe in love at first sight—but a tangible connection had been instantly formed when their eyes had locked. She felt sparks shoot through her very soul, the golden thread between them snapping taught, dragging her towards him like a moth to a flame. Maybe that was why she did what she did.

She had interacted with so many crowds in so many different cities; seen so many handsome guys–who were most definitely into her by where their lines of sight were—but she had never once willingly touched a fan at a show. Not like she had with him.

She was mad at herself for letting it get so far, as she always prided herself for her unwavering rules and restraint. Professionalism.

He was just… different.

Even a month later, she couldn't stop thinking about the mystery man at the concert—brown eyes, big and wide, staring into hers with awe, messy hair slicked back and tucked behind his ears, the perfectly pressed shirt that she took pride in rumpling and the most kissable lips known to man.

It was unfair, really, how gorgeous he was.

He didn't even know the lyrics to any of her songs, but instead of finding it bothersome, she had found it oddly indearing.

He plagued her waking hours, as well as the ones she was asleep for. Many a dream, not just the one from that morning, consisted of him; frequently enough that it made her question her sanity on more than one occasion.

The elevator ride down from her hotel was quiet, her manager staying silent as they descended the levels.

She was glad—she had hardly gotten a wink of sleep the night before, due to being up half the night writing a song she had been working on for a few days now, ever since she was told to write about ‘happier’ things.

She had gotten the instrumentals down, but she couldn't figure out the lyrics. It was downright impossible.

This frustration kept her up into the early hours of the morning—she kept trying different approaches, but none of them worked. This was partly to blame for her less-than-stellar mood today.

They stepped out into the foyer, only to be met with the sight of paparazzi outside the hotel entrance door. She outwardly cringed. The paparazzi were her least favourite bit about this lifestyle. She knew she would never get used to them, no matter how long her stardom lasted.

She put on a brave face, a smile too wide for her at such a young hour of the morning, especially with her mood. See? Professionalism.

The glass doors were propped open for her as she walked through, and she gave the men holding them a nod and a thank you. She stuck close to her manager as they headed for the tinted SUV that would take her to the airport.

Camera shutters went wild as she waved and flashed them a bright grin. Questions were thrown at her from the crowd, although she didn't answer any. The curb neared as the car door was opened for her.

At that moment, she felt a prickle on the side of her neck, coupled with the profound urge to turn and look to her left. She swivelled as she reached her destination, scanning the street for something. Something important.

There, walking down the main road, satchel slung across his body, coffee in one hand, was the man of her dreams. Literally. His hair was tucked behind his ears and he wore a simple button up and dress pants, but a pair of worn converse sat on his feet; not matching with the rest of his business attire whatsoever.

Her dreams had not done him justice—he looked even better than she remembered.

Her eyes widened comically at the utterly creepy coincidence. She squeezed them shut before quickly reopening them, assuming she had finally gone insane, and that he was a mere figment of her imagination.

When she looked again, though, he was still exactly where he was a moment ago.

She was completely frozen, mouth falling open in surprise, and unhearing of the loud shouts of the paparazzi right in front of her. He glanced up from the ground at the disruption in the otherwise quiet early-morning street and her heart leapt clean out of her chest.

Those sweet eyes flicked from the mass of cameras, to the car, to her. His sure steps faltered at the clashing of their gazes, wide eyes stared back into her own shocked ones.

He was still a few yards away, but she could make out his rapidly rising chest, and his hand as it tightened on the flimsy coffee cup.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, all of her words stayed firmly lodged at the back of her throat. She stumbled forward a few steps, intending to just go over to him, but the swarm around her had other ideas.

They moved in tighter, and her manager swiftly grabbed her forearm, guiding her into the back seat of the black car before she was squished between the hordes of paparazzi and their oversized cameras.

She protested, her view of him was obscured, but she was unceremoniously shoved into the SUV nonetheless, her objection unheard in the fray.

The door was shut in her face when she made to get back out, and soon enough, her manager joined her in the back, buckling his seatbelt as they pulled away from the hotel.

She tried to get another glimpse, but all was obscured by the paparazzi. Another of many reasons for her to hate their guts, she supposed.

Her stomach sank in disappointment. Her second chance, ripped out of her grasp—there would never be another opportunity to see him again.

It was foolish to even think such a thing. Twice was a stretch, but three times? She knew that was almost mathematically impossible. Probability was a bitch.

She sighed, and sunk further into her plush seat, staring glumly out the window at the passing street.

~☆~

When she arrived home, her first thought was to write. Music and lyrics were swirling in her head and she needed to write it down before they disappeared completely.

She closed the front door quickly, kicking off her shoes haphazardly, and raced to her studio. She plopped herself down, picked up her guitar, and sang.

The words flowed immediately like never before, and she grinned to herself as she finished the song that had been plaguing her all day and night. It was exactly as she imagined, and exactly what she felt in those moments.

Next to that car, surrounded by paparazzi, and on stage, surrounded by her fans. Those moments where all she could focus on was him. All other distractions, other thoughts, other feelings faded into static—background noise—when they had locked eyes.

It was perfectly pathetic of her to write such a sappy song about a man she had never properly met, but pathetic seemed to be her brand these last few weeks— and the song was good, there was no denying that.

She hit record on her phone, intending to send the audio clip to her producer for approval. She knew the song would go across well with her team. From when she had first sung it, it felt right. Like it had been bubbling under the surface for some time now, waiting patiently to be let out.

“Your eyes whispered, "Have we met?"

'Cross the room your silhouette

Starts to make its way to me…”

~☆~

She finished a song, and cheers rippled toward her from every angle, surrounding the stage. She tipped her head back, basking in the warmth flooding her body as she beamed in exhilaration. This feeling. This was why she did what she did.

To know that her and hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of people were all connected by one thing. Music. Her music, that she had written about her own life, hoping that others could relate, too.

Hoping others would enjoy listening to it as much as she enjoyed writing it. She was incredibly blessed to have this job, and she couldn’t think of something better, more fulfilling, than this.

The crowd was especially loud at this point, because they knew what was next. She would play a song that wasn’t on the setlist—one of hers, or sometimes, a song from another popular artist. Her fans dubbed them as ‘surprise songs’, and it had become somewhat of a novelty.

She waited for them to quiet down a bit, before she spoke. “So… I have something a little different for you tonight.”

The room went wild. She laughed, before waiting once more to speak. “It’s an unreleased song that I wrote a few days ago.” Screams of excitement bounced from floor to ceiling.

“And, if you guys like it enough, I might just release it as a single, how does that sound?” She grinned cheekily at the deafening cheers. “So… how about I sing it for you?”

She slung her guitar strap over her shoulder, from where a stage hand had conveniently placed it, and stepped up to the mic, ready and waiting to start.

“Now, I wrote this song about a very special someone.” Again, the crowd whooped, clearly ecstatic at the mere thought of romance.

“And I hope they hear this song, and-” She strummed the first chord. “Well- understand how I feel.”

The venue went berserk, and she smiled out at them, amused. And then, she sang.

“There I was again tonight

Forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place...”

The music flowed over her, before seeping into her very bones, filling her with reverence. With peace.

“Walls of insincerity, shifting eyes and vacancy

Vanished when I saw your face

All I can say is, it was enchanting to meet you…”

Her eyes stayed closed throughout the whole song, fingers finding the strings with practised ease. In the inside of her eyelids, she saw an imprint of him.

That man, the one that consumed her dreams, the one who hijacked her songs. The one with the soft, kind eyes—that really looked at her, into her, like he saw all of her fears, aspirations, and every waking thought.

Those two encounters, as brief as they were, somehow etched themselves right into her brain. As pathetic as it sounded, she couldn’t think of anything else, and it was eating her from the inside out.

She begged to whatever deities existed to put them back into each other's path once again, no matter how improbable that was.

“Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you.”

The last chord faded, and she broke from her reverie, shaking herself out of her stupor. Was she really begging to meet that guy again? That was seriously next level. She didn't know his name, had never even said a proper word to him, and she was fawning like a schoolgirl.

She stifled a groan. She had definitely lost the plot.

She plastered a smile back on her face, and continued her show without a hitch, pointedly choosing to not think about the mystery man, and instead focus on her music.

It was more important. Always and forever. She couldn’t afford to pine over a man she had only seen twice. No. Her music was the most significant factor in her life, not silly things like love and romance. She had tried that, and it never ended well.

Her most recent ex was a perfect example of why relationships aren’t worth it. She threw away three years of her life to that lying, cheating scumbag.

For now, she was sticking to perfecting her craft, and nothing would distract her from that. She would just have to force herself to forget about the mystery man. Erase him from her brain.

Pretend he never existed in the first place. It's not like she would ever see him again, anyways, no matter what higher beings she tried to appease.

~☆~

By the time she returned to her hotel, ‘Enchanted’ was available for streaming as her newest single. So far, it was a hit, but there was an overwhelming amount of speculation about who the song was about. She was, honestly, wondering the same thing.

She had told herself that she would completely forget about him, but he was still there, in the very back of her mind, intruding in her thoughts. She couldn’t make him leave, no matter what she tried.

She fell onto the bed, took one of the crisp, white hotel pillows, and pressed it into her face, before letting out a shrill scream.

Yeah, she was most definitely going insane.

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Thank you for reading, feedback is appriciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @reidmania @navs-bhat @iheartshopping @dreamsarebig <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[qingxin-dream]

“The Afterparty”

summary | lyney is the face of fontaine’s entertainment industry, stealing hearts with every flourish of his magic. however, in the night, lyney tends to entertain a different kind of crowd.

warnings | written pre-4.0, ooc lyney, light yandere themes (stalking/manipulation/obsession), a sprinkle of smut (creampie/implied dubcon) [18+, MDNI], brief mention of drugs/alcohol, reader is neutral but wears a dress, lyney uses a little french

genre | yandere, slight smut

word count | 1.6k

pairing | lyney x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It’s no mystery that the Great Magician of Fontaine is a man of many talents. His shows are famous across Teyvat for their grandeur and flare. Beautiful venues draped in red curtains frame the scene before a sea of velvety theater seats, skilled acrobats maneuver themselves among rings suspended in the air. Blazes of fire erupt from the stage dramatically. A master of misdirection, the audience falls for his tricks every time as he effortlessly makes the impossible possible.

Lyney is incredibly perceptive. He knows how to read people, as a showman can read his audience, a small smug smile crinkling the corner of his eyes if you’re paying attention. It’s an art form—the way he flips through the pages of your soul, licking his fingers to reveal the next juicy detail with ease. Rarely ever does anyone truly surprise someone as cynical as him, who has been personally privy to the vile nature of the Fatui.

A life of fame is never kind to anyone. The planning and training for shows is incredibly rigorous. Executing the stunts in front of a live audience is equally thrilling and terrifying. Without fail, the crowd is mesmerized and the show ends in a shower of roses and marriage proposals. Rinse and repeat. Though, this is only what Lyney allows the public to know of him.

It’s after hours, when the theater is empty and the stage is dim, when the mask begins to slip.

Lyney is the lead, the star, and as such he maintains his appearance by rubbing elbows with the elite of Fontaine. You’d never catch him amid the nightlife of the city, no. You wouldn’t believe the sheer grandeur of the dazzling, flamboyant parties thrown every night at the country’s largest mansions.

It was Arlecchino who insisted that he attends these lavish parties, rampant with the city’s darkest vices between drugs, alcohol, and sex. But Lyney is a cynical man, so this much is to be expected of wealthy aristocrats.

It was all a façade, couldn’t they see? It sickened him, how gullible people were and how obsessed they were with status. Not to mention the inevitable hordes of women who threw themselves at him.

Nevertheless, Lyney played the game well and with a bewitching, handsome smile. Eventually he had learned to take pleasure in this little game.

As fate would have it, you let your friend convince you to crash one of these extravagant parties with them. You had heard whispers of what takes place at night behind the golden gates of Fontaine’s richest residences. Why wouldn’t you want to have a taste of the finest wine, dressed in designer, getting lost in the magnificent corridors of a packed mansion of partygoers?

It’s something straight from the movies.

You emerged from the bushes to sneak inside, which wasn’t that difficult surprisingly. You wore your best dress, not knowing what to expect. It was a floor length, silky black dress with a sexy slit that traveled all the way up to your mid-thigh. You had a lovely string of pearls dangling from your pretty neck. A classic choice.

Unfortunately for you, Lyney is a man who is extremely attentive to his surroundings. After all, an illusionist must be a master of his environment as well. The moment he spots you, a mere reflection of something new and fascinating for him to discover, he gravitates to you smoothly.

“Mm, I don’t believe we’ve met,” his voice is an alluring, a well-practiced approach. Before you could even answer, Lyney had already taken note of your little mannerisms and nuances just in these few passing moments. He had already adjusted the figurative mirrors of misdirection in this little trick, assuring your undivided attention.

You glance to your friend, who isn’t there. Oh. You had been cornered without even the opportunity to explore the party.

More of a wallflower type, you found yourself struggling to conjure up a confident answer. You were acutely aware of who this gentleman is, and his egotistical demeanor was already a huge turn off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am,” he chuckled lightheartedly, yet there was a peculiar undertone hidden beneath. It was hard to place. He kisses your hand. “Lyney, the Great Magician.”

You withdrew your hand, unable to hide the way your eyebrows crinkled together with disinterest. Perhaps you should’ve been more prepared for these guests to be more brazen and unapologetic when they see something—or someone—they want.

Taking no for an answer is not even in the realm of possibility for these people.

The party continued on, gorgeous partygoers dancing and drinking to their heart’s content. All the while, Lyney kept his eyes trained on you. It wasn’t necessarily out of admiration; rather, it was curiosity. Why didn’t you bat your eyelashes at him like a good girl? Bite your lip when he kissed your hand?

He followed you like a ghost, slinking through the crowd tactfully to observe you. You were a rare creature indeed. None of the other women could hold a candle to you. Archons, he felt this unsettling churning in his stomach everyone your glimmering irises met his. His heart would tense instantaneously, threatening to explode within his chest.

You saw through Lyney from the moment he kissed your hand, and he hated it.

Through the night, you both danced this delicate tango around the massive mansion, a palpable tension tethering him to you. He was equally appalled and fascinated by you, never wasting any opportunity to slip in an innocent question or two to learn about you.

“A beautiful lady like you in a place like this… Do you feel lost in Wonderland yet, Alice?” Lyney had persuaded you to follow him to an unoccupied balcony, closing the French doors behind him.

He stalks toward you, his soft lavender irises cool and calculated. In an ashy flourish of embers, a deck of onyx cards materialized in his gloved hands. It had taken all evening, but just enough wine had passed beyond your lips to give Lyney the opportunity to disarm you.

“Not scared of a little fire, are you, love?” His voice was warm and inviting as a hearth, though it held a hint of mischief like that of a crackling inferno. Each mysterious card in his hand is shuffled with a distinct flick.

You were much more susceptible to his charm now more than ever, allowing him to weave glittering silk strands of harmless sweet nothings to entice you. Had you taken a step back, you would’ve seen the web for what it is. The grand reveal was imminent.

“Now, now, don’t fret. I won’t let anything harm you, chérie,” Lyney chuckles lightheartedly, as if he hadn’t been playing and pawing at you like a cat ready to pounce all night.

Your poor little breath hitched at every whisper and touch he gifted you. It started by fatefully picking the Queen of Hearts from his custom deck of cards. You should’ve known better. Maybe you should’ve picked the one next to it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

Lyney’s lilac eyes spark with intrigue at your choice. How fitting. Had you paid any attention to the magician’s sneaky maneuvers, you would have seen that every card in the deck was from the suite of Hearts.

The illusion of choice.

He takes this as an opportunity to step closer, his hands reaching forward. Your chest is beating wildly, begging for relief from how he intoxicates you with just a flutter of his long lashes.

Lyney rests his hands on the marble railing on either side of your hips, drinking in your anticipation, your fear, and your desire. A small, smug smirk pulls at the corner of his pretty lips. He takes the liberty of helping you meet his gaze by bringing his wrist to his mouth, white teeth tugging to remove his glove. Your body feels weightless when he lifts your chin with his bare index finger and thumb.

The Great Magician would argue that he took extreme precautions to ensure the success of this escapade. It was all carefully calculated and orchestrated according to his whim. He had you exactly where he wanted you, blissfully unaware of how deep these exhilarating feelings for you had rooted themselves into his guarded heart.

“Do you feel the magic in my fingertips? Hehe, tonight’s show will be a private event for only for you, mon trésor.”

The night was a blur. Fading in and out of consciousness, one moment you were dancing with him in empty halls and the next you were enveloped in his embrace against a wall. Lyney would pin your hands above your head before pushing you onto the bed, catapulting you into his next breathtaking trick like one of the acrobats in his show.

The silhouettes of your frames were shadowed in the moonlight that bathed the sheets in silver. Lyney skillfully unzipped your dress. Clothes fell to the wayside, vanishing in a flourish of passion. There was no denying it. He had to have you, and you were such a willing participant in his performance.

Of course, the wealthy partygoers were none the wiser, the echoes of pleasure the Great Magician was able to rip from your lungs were easily deafened by the music of their own opulent fantasies.

What is a magician if not an artist who must mark what is rightfully his—painting your womb with a decadent display, a growl escaping his throat.

However, Lyney is a perfectionist. When he catches a glimpse of his seed spilling out of you, he is quick to stuff his slender fingers into your overstimulated hole and seal the masterpiece with a final kiss on your bruised lips.

“Magnifique…” ❤️

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[st-just]

Less Boring 40k Demon Prince Ideas than 'Bigger Angrier Chaos Space Marine'

Unspeakably ancient eldar who was one of the decadent hubristic imperial magnates so good at murderogries they caused the birth of Sleanesh, happily sold out the rest of the species

Sisters of Battle canoness/living saint who was actually genociding people for Khorne instead of the Emperor (took multiple campaigns for anyone to notice, very embarrassing)

Demon Prince of Nurgle that literally is a zombie apocalypse plague, their consciousness distributed throughout the Resident Evil/Left4Dead-style horde and monstrous mutatioons

A Sauron-among-the-Numenoreans disciple of Tzeetch, appears as a normal looking charismatic savant genius who shows up and givens a world's leaders everything they need to start a glorious new golden age (eventual rebellion and/or disastrous collapse can be assumed)

Corrupted machine spirit of a titan (with bonus entire crew of the titan still eternally bound within it)

Just like, any aliens tbh.

[lizardkingeliot]

Congrats on your freedom from the mess!

I'm having a craving to read a scene where Louis is defending Lestat to someone. I'm not particular about the context but I hope that we'll get some "that's my husband and only I can talk shit about him" energy from Louis in the show too. But I'd settle for a few hundred words from you! ❤️

Okay. So. When I started writing this I challenged myself to keep it under 500 words and... lmao. Well. It ended up being almost 1500. Because of course. But ANYWAY I hope you're here for some Rockstar Lestat and Photographer Louis because that's what this ended up being. The urge to turn this into a longer fic is STRONG but I'm resisting for now. After I finish my current wip I might come back to it and fill it out and pop it up on AO3. IDK... we'll see lol.

Anyway I'm sticking most of this under a cut. Thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope you enjoy it!

—

Louis emerged from the dressing room first. Leaned against the wall outside the door and started fiddling with his camera. Checking over the pictures he’d taken just moments ago. Lestat—a ring of vanity lights like a halo around the mirror behind him. Lestat—purple leather pants, lime green crop top, the word Slut scrawled in sparkly cursive on the chest. Lestat—golden hair gleaming in the artificial light. Eyes on the camera, on Louis where he stood a safe distance away beyond the lens. Pink mouth slightly parted just so, just so…

Lestat walked out not a minute after Louis and was instantly surrounded by a horde of people. His tour manager, his agent, Daniel Molloy, a handful of nondescript faces attached to bodies Louis didn’t know. Lestat scowled and waved them all away from him at once, muttering his annoyance under his breath in French.

Lestat’s whole body swayed as he walked. Pants sitting low on his hips. Hips like weapons, swell of his ass like a homing beacon. And Louis almost forced himself to look away when Lestat stopped, and turned back. And met Louis’ gaze across the distance. His eyes lined in smudgy black lighting up in exactly the way they’d been when Louis viewed him through the lens of his camera moments ago. Mouth quirking up in a secret smile meant for Louis and Louis alone.

Louis smiled back, couldn’t help it. Stomach doing some truly impressive acrobatics when Lestat turned away and disappeared in the direction of the stage. He was grateful for the wall for reminding his body to stay upright. He forced a breath, was just about to turn his eyes back to his camera when the muffled conversation two roadies were having over by the loading bay invaded his senses.

“Did you see what he’s wearing now?” Roadie Number One asked with a self-satisfied little laugh. The sound of it was instantly grating. It was such a pompously human sound. “For fuck’s sake, man.”

“Like I said before,” Roadie Number Two offered in a casual, gravelly tone. One hand on a flight case, the other fiddling with the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear. “The whole fruit basket, that one. Talk about shoving it in your face.”

Louis tipped his head to one side. Watched them both with big unblinking eyes as they started moving down the hall in the direction of the stage. His pulse beating slow and steady inside him. Moving the blood through his veins at a calculating, almost predatory pace.

—

After the show, backstage was the usual chaos. A sea of people and their sounds. Lestat’s team, his band, his groupies. Equipment being rushed back out the way it had come in. And though Louis had been standing just off stage and watched with his own two eyes as Lestat made his exit following his second encore. Had snapped one final picture in the split second before Lestat passed by and their hands—very intentionally, on Lestat’s part at least—brushed together. Suddenly, Lestat was nowhere to be found.

Louis screwed the lens from his camera, tucked everything away in his case and slung the strap over his shoulder. The moment he lifted his head, he saw them. Roadie One and Roadie Two. And hunger grumbled deep inside him. And it dawned on Louis all at once that he’d been so busy tonight he hadn’t actually fed.

He could have just let it go. He should have. Human beings—what did they matter? But Lestat wasn’t around and the thought that he was off with some groupie getting his dick wet pissed him off just enough for the hunger to spur him forward. He moved without even thinking to, and in a blink he was standing in front of Roadie Number Two. Crowding him against the flight case he’d been hauling. So close their noses nearly touched.

“Hello,” Louis said. Roadie Two’s eyes went wide as two big moons. “I have a question for you—”

“Hey, man, what the f—”

Louis choked off the man’s voice with a thought at once. Vampiric power working like a hand around his throat.

“Don’t be rude when your elders are speaking.” Louis took a single calculated step back. Roadie Two was trembling in his black jeans. Louis didn’t even have to hold him in place. Frozen with terror, the man couldn’t move. And Louis grinned. “Now—my question. And I do think you of all people can help me with this one.”

Louis listened to the tangle of thoughts in his head. A litany of curses. An endless slew of fear and dark and what the fuck what the fuck. People were rushing all around them. Louis thought, distantly—maybe—that Daniel was saying his name.

“Do you happen to know where I might find a fruit basket in this city?”

Louis laughed, a dark and wobbling sound. The hunger had him by the belly. He had to fight against his fangs to keep them from popping out.

There were tears in Roadie Two’s wide moon eyes that didn’t blink. He found the strength to reach up with one hand and paw uselessly at his own throat. Thick rasping sounds falling out of it as he fought against the Dark Gift’s suppression of his breath.

Louis laughed again.

“Yeah,” Louis said, and tipped his head to one side. And watched the artery throb with blood on the side of the roadie’s thick neck. “That’s what I thought. Not so easy to get those smartass words of yours out now, is it? You know, next time maybe you should try sayin’ that shit to—”

“Louis.”

Lestat. Behind him. Heartbeat like a siren. Warm, gushing sound of life like a song inside his veins. Louis’ mind stumbled over itself for a fraction of a second and he lost his hold on Roadie Two’s throat. And the man crumbled down to his knees in a coughing fit in an instant.

“Louis,” Lestat said again. And Louis spun around. And—

Smudged eyeliner. Pink mouth. Golden hair skimming bare shoulders. At some point between the stage and right then, Lestat had lost his shirt.

“Lestat.” Louis straightened his neck, gripped the strap of his camera case just to have something to hold onto. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he knew Lestat could hear it. “Hey, uh, so—”

“Cheri, I know you’re hungry, but I believe it would be ill-advised to eat the roadies.”

Louis drew a breath, huffed it out, distantly aware that Roadie Two was half-crawling, half-running away behind him. “Wasn’t gonna eat him. Just—” He huffed another breath. “And please don’t call me—”

“You were sticking up for me.”

Smudged eyeliner. Blue eyes shining in those messy rings of black. Louis’ heartbeat was a kick pedal drum inside his chest.

“Just didn’t care for his tone, is all.” Louis tried for casual, but the words came out all wrong. Like suddenly he was the one being choked. “He said—”

“I know what he said, cheri.” One corner of Lestat’s mouth twitched, amused and annoyed all at once. “Excusez-moi—Louis.” Head tipped to one side. Eyes sweeping appraisingly over Louis’ face, down to his chest. Blue eyes limned in so much black. “They always say these things. The two of them. Like school boys. They cannot help that they are wildly attracted to me.”

At that—Louis instantly started to laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Smudged eyeliner. Leaning close. Lestat put his hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Well, yes,” he said very quietly. Voice a husky rumble pouring from his throat. “That is what they tell me.”

Warm breath on Louis’ neck. Lestat pulled back, and all the people rushing around them suddenly melted away. And it was just the two of them. And there was a glint in Lestat’s eyes like he’d just won a game neither of them had even realized they were playing. Or that they’d both been playing with their whole chests, and now their chests were caving in. And the game was over.

And Lestat was clutching the prize with both hands.

And Louis was going to let him have it.

“Yeah, so—anyway.” Louis took a slow, deep breath. Slowly, slowly let it come rushing back out. He begged his heart to stop selling him out and to settle. “I’m starving. You wanna hunt?”

Smudged eyeliner. Pink mouth falling open with just the tiniest hint of his fangs poking out. “I would love to hunt with you, cheri,” Lestat said.

[whencyclopedia]

The Bright Ages: A New History of Medieval Europe

"The Bright Ages" dispels the common myth that the Middle Ages were dark, backward and brutal. The book weaves a new history of the Middle Ages, examining over a 1000 years from the 5th to the 16th centuries, arguing that the "Dark Ages" are a modern ideological myth and that the Middle Ages were far more luminous, tolerant and diverse than they are commonly believed to be.

Each chapter of the book examines key developments in time and space across Medieval Europe, starting and ending in Ravenna, Italy. It covers:

the late Western Roman Empire

the Byzantine Empire,

the Goths,

Anglo-Saxon Britain,

the Franks,

the Vikings,

France,

the Black Death,

the Crusades,

Christian-Muslim-Jewish relations in Spain,

the Caliphate,

Hildegard von Bingen,

monastic orders,

the Golden Horde,

the Black Death

and much more.

The book centers on several compelling arguments that are not commonly considered when thinking of the Middle Ages.

First, the authors argue that the Roman Empire did not fall in the Middle Ages. The so-called "fall" of the Western Roman Empire was not understood by medieval people to be an end to the Roman Empire. It was merely a shifting of the centre of power from Rome to Constantinople. In the medieval mind, the Roman Empire was alive, powerful and respected (until it finally fell at the very end of the Middle Ages in 1453). Equally, various rulers in the Middle Ages claimed a connection to the Roman Empire to justify their rule.

Second, the book argues that the Middle Ages were far more diverse and interconnected than most people believe. People moved freely and frequently between countries and cultures, both within Europe and between Europe, Africa and the Middle East. With them came ideas, knowledge and goods. The idea that, during the Middle Ages, Europe contained "purer" nations is an ideological fantasy conjured by nationalists:

Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, imperialist European powers and their intellectuals (often the forerunners of, or scholars in medieval studies themselves!) sought a history for their new world order to justify and explain why whiteness –a modern idea, albeit with medieval roots– justified their domination of the world. They found the proto-nations of the Middle Ages useful as a past to point to for their modern origins, pointing to both medieval connections to Greece and Rome and the independence and distinct traditions of medieval politics. These modern thinkers used the fiction of Europe and the invented concept of "Western Civilization" as a thread to tie the modern world together.

Third, the book highlights at several points that power was less concentrated in male authority than commonly believed. Throughout the Middle Ages, women held positions of power and their power is attested in medieval primary sources. Abesses could be superiors of monks, kings wrote to Hildegard von Bingen for advice, Leif Erikson's sister led an expedition in Newfoundland, and some Queens were responsible for the Christianisation of kingdoms, to cite a few examples.

Finally, the book argues against the connotation of the term "medieval" signifying "backward". In fact, the authors show that even though religion played a more central role in society than in the modern era, the Middle Ages was a humane society concerned with what is moral and good, despite the cruelty that occurred in this era like in any other. The epilogue suggests that European colonisation represented the real "dark ages" by recounting a debate about whether the natives of the New World could be considered human and what rights the Spanish crown and landowners had over them.

Overall, The Bright Ages paints a new picture of the Middle Ages filled with nuance and diversity. Unlike popular Medieval tropes, the Middle Ages were far more complex and less dark than we commonly believe. The myth of the "Dark Ages" is a modern one, and to truly understand, we must dissociate from it.

Matthew Gabriele is a professor of history at Virginia Tech, and David Perry was a professor of Medieval History at Dominican University. The book is written with the general public in mind and is easy to read. Each chapter is engaging and many of them refer to key events in Medieval history that most readers would be familiar with. However, a reader with no knowledge of Medieval history might find the book hard to follow.

Continue reading...

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

“What's your pleasure, master?”

Tech x F!Reader One Shot

Summary:

Your main objective as a gift for this battle celebration is to make sure everyone is visibly enjoying themselves... it would insult the king after all if any one were to look bored or uninterested at HIS party. So this tall, goggled soldier... one specially invited no less, with his head buried in a data pad sitting quietly by himself is a bit of a problem. Possibly a political one. You need to get him enjoying himself before any one takes note.

WC: 3,612 - Read on Ao3

Content Warning:

Smut. Tech losing his virginity to a(n implied) Sex Slave. That's it, that's the plot. Oral (m and f recieving), unprotected piv and creampie. The rest of the squad briefly being embarrassing. Orgy mention.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The sash on your hips jingled as you made your way through the floor, serving drinks from the golden tray chained to your wrists. 

You offer the tray to a well dressed diplomat chatting with local royalty. Their speech faltered as they took the drink, eyes lingering on your bare breasts almost resting on the tray as you lifted it to them. You rolled your eyes as you turned to the next group

Off worlders.

A few more drinks, a bit more idle chatter, and plenty of ogling from the visiting Republic Politicians and their veritable horde of soldiers… and your tray was empty. The guests were mostly upper Command but a few squads that distinguished themselves in battle received special invitations. Your neutral planet could import supplies again because of them. 

You returned the tray to Minara and she undid the locks on your arms with a tiny key. 

“Look there,”

She pointed with her chin to a darker corner of the plushy gala hall. 

Sunk into one of the deep sofas, trying not to look conspicuous it seemed, was a tall, slender man. Hair slicked back, goggles turned down at the holopad he was attempting to hide with his body against the arm rest. 

Someone prefers to read at functions…

“Make sure all our guests are enjoying our hospitality.”

She pushed you in the direction of the corner, before turning to circulate more drinks onto the floor. 

As you approached you scanned around the lone soldier… he must've been a soldier, clothes scruffy, the look hastily assembled for a party well above their pay grade; but they were rarely alone. Didn't take long to spot the rest of his squad, not too removed. The big one was making a loud show of picking up girls two at a time to bounce on his flexing biceps to much giggling. The others were already sunk into the couches, arms about their own party favors. 

Finally even with the slim one you sank onto the ottoman before him clearing your throat. 

Sharp eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“What's your pleasure, master?”

“I'm fine, thank you.”

His tone was dismissive, looking back down without even a consideration. Either he was completely uninterested or incredibly shy. 

“I can fetch a male if you prefer…”

You glance back to the more involved squad members wistfully… they're preferences seemed varied… but at least they were eager. 

“I said I'm fine.”

More tension in the voice now, that's the opposite of what you needed. You glanced back to the floor manager and she caught your eyes, scrunching her brow in the direction of the unreceptive man in front of you. You sighed,

“You're going to get me reprimanded, master…”

He put the data pad down abruptly. 

“Excuse me?”

“You're not accepting the King's gifts… it can be seen as an insult, … I can't let that happen, at least let me sit with you,”

You pouted, batting your lashes exaggeratedly. He looked up with real attention now, scanning the crowd and catching the questioning glances from the locals. 

“Ah… I didn't realize, there were some mention of the gift culture of this planet but I didn't expect…”

He trailed off, eyeing you sitting in front of him, naked besides the belled sash tied around your hip. 

“Is that a yes?”

A gulp, a nod, and he tentatively picked his data pad back up; shifting slightly to make a space on the sofa. You rose your brow, and instead sat in his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Oh…”

A flush was working up his cheeks. Uninterested or shy? 

You leaned casually, careful where you put your weight on his legs. 

“Why don't you rest it here?”

With gentle hands you guided him to set the data pad across your breasts, acting as a podium for his… you looked at the pad upside down, biology of megafauna notes?

“..uh-em…”

He was flustered but seemed at a loss, mind racing behind his eyes as he tried to plot a course of action. With a small whine he frantically started to hit buttons on the data pad, pausing when he remembered your breasts on the other side of the translucent screen. He had pulled up a brochure to your planet. You weren't sure that was going to help. 

“It'd be easier to ask, master,”

“...right. Uh, What am I expected to… do… uh, with my gift?”

You tilted your head, glancing at the rest of his squad already leagues ahead in the festivities. Surely he understood the… concept. 

“I'm here for your use, what that may be is for you to decide… baring anything a bacta tank couldn't fix,”

His eyebrows flew up at that, imagination no doubt running wild. That earlier flush was starting to turn a deep red over his ears and cheeks. 

It can't be that…

You glanced back at the squad, comfortable with themselves and the situation, and then back down to the blushing man under you. 

“Tell me, master… have you not celebrated your manhood yet?”

“You could… certainly word it like that,”

His face went completely red now, sinking into the sofa and away from you, clutching his data pad to his chest defensively. 

“No, no, love, this is exciting…”

You soothed, cupping his hot cheeks. 

“I can show you how, as slow as you wish, master …”

“I was… under the impression,”

He looked away,

“The first time should be with someone special…’

You glanced back at the other soldiers. 

“Was that how it was for them?”

“I think they thought so,”

“And how special are those first people now?”

His brow furrowed, deciding how to process your logic. 

“Has there not been someone special for you?”

“I'm… No. I'm not sure how to quantify this… ‘special’ variable…”

You turned his face back to yours, trying again,

“Special is a changing energy, unstable, I think feeling safe is more favorable for… such decisions,”

His speech patterns were difficult for you to mimic, but the little manipulation seemed to be working; the tension in his thighs relaxing under you with the comfort of false familiarity.  

“How does safe apply in this context?”

“Well… it's a rather vulnerable state, and needs a lot of experimentation,”

“... Experimenting…”

It was low, under his breath; but you caught the flicker of interest finally stirring behind those lensed eyes as something clicked for him. You smile softly, picking up the direction to steer him.

“And I'm meant to feel safe with you?... You're a stranger…”

You raised your hands in surrender,

“I exist to please, not to judge or harm, and I have the experience to guide you…”

Eyes behind amber lenses narrowing in thought.

“You seem like you have a healthy curiosity. There must be a few questions I can help you…answer?”

His disposition was changing fast though some reservation remained as he glanced about the wide hall. The cushioned and draped space was filled with people, slowly dissolving into a chaos of flesh as the night grew deeper and the alcohol flowed. 

“Does… does it have to be here?”

He asked in a small voice, glancing at his squad mates who had started to take notice of you straddling their comrade. The silver haired one nudging the inked man next to him to turn to you as well. 

“We can go somewhere private, if you wish? Master…”

“Please…”

You slid from his lap, gently prying a hand from where it was locked to the data pad to lead him away with you. You caught an approving nod from Minara as you disappeared with him into the back hallways. 

Turning into a standard room, low lights, burning resins, and a soft platform at the center of the room piled with large, silky pillows. You closed the door behind you and the lock clicked as the door swished shut. 

He looked at you and you looked at him in the dim light. Tall- and now that you really considered him… quite handsome, standing more confidently away from prying eyes. Your pulse quickened at your luck. 

“Is it okay if I record this?”

“Oh, um… Yes?”

He made no move to change anything, leaving you to guess the goggles he sported were already recording long before you approached him. Clever… they weren't likely to take a seeing aid from you at the door. 

The real question though, was where to start. 

“Would you like to get undressed?”

You approached his back, running your hands over his hips from behind. 

“Would you like me to undress you?”

He stiffened at your touch, an involuntary twitch from the v of muscle over his waistband as your fingers brushed against it through the thin shirt. 

“Ah, um no… clothes. For now.”

He stepped out of your hold, putting some distance between you and you held your hands up disarmingly,

“As you wish… do relax though,”

You made your way to the edge of the low bed and sat. 

“You're in control here, master… nothing will happen unless you want it too,”

He took a deep breath,

“Sorry…”

“No need,”

It was clear you'd still need to hold the reins a while,

“Are you more curious about me or yourself?”

He considered the question,

“How so?”

“Do you want to know more about pleasuring yourself or a woman?”

The more direct question had him blushing again,

“I've uh… I know, I mean I've… released before,”

You clenched your jaw to keep from giggling at his fluster. It was rather cute, but you didn't want to frighten him any more than he was. 

“Sit, master”

You patted the bed next to you,

“Tech…”

“Hmm?”

“Call me Tech… master doesn't feel…”

“Okay, Tech,”

You patted again, more insistently.

He sat, far more upright than need be. You moved to the floor to kneel between his legs, looking up at him and he gulped. 

“We'll go slow, you already know yourself… we'll take it one step further. To start,”

You winked up at him, once again making for his pants fasteners. 

“Is this okay?”

He nodded, jaw clenching as he watched you undo the fly of his slacks, breath catching as you reached in to stroke his cock before withdrawing it. 

“Already feels different, doesn't it?”

He nodded again, content to observe as you stroked his hardening length. His eyes were darting between watching your hand and then watching you, watching him. Every time his eyes meet yours the member in your hand twitches, hardening rapidly under your attention. It was time to escalate. 

Holding his eyes deliberately, you lowered your mouth to him, licking slowly over the swollen head in a move that made his breath hiss between his teeth and his eyes to widen. 

“Maker…”

Positive reaction. You continued running your tongue over his sensitive glans to work him into a pant. His hands found their way to your hair. Good, his instincts were kicking in; evidence in the little bucks of his hips as the need to be in your mouth started to overtake him.

You obliged, opening wider and letting him thrust forward. His eyes shut at the sensation of your warm mouth wrapping around him. You sucked gently, maintaining the bulk of control so that he didn't overwhelm himself. His composure broke with a wispy moan as you bobbed on him. His thigh pressed against you began to shake subtly and you slowed freeing him from your mouth with a pop, continuing gently with your hand. 

“Do you want to come like this, m- Tech?”

He took a shaky breath, hands tightening for a moment in your hair. 

“No… I'd like to… if I can?”

He was looking away. His shyness was indeed cute, he knew well enough what you were here for. 

“Of course. How would you like to have me?”

Silence as the pressure of such a decision weighed on him. 

“Would you like to lay with me as if a lover?... Or would you prefer a position where you could see what's happening?”

…

“I’d… I’d like to see,”

Somehow you knew that's what he’d choose. 

“Switch with me then.”

You moved to sit back on the bed, perched to the edge this time, and spread your thighs, making your bare sex beneath the tied sash obvious as he knelt on the floor in front of you. His eyes were moving over you swiftly, from shoulder to knees and everything in between; trying to take in every detail. You raised a brow as he reached forward, fingers hesitating just before your folds. 

“Can I… can I examine you?”

“You can. First time being so close?”

Just because he hadn't consummated it didn't mean he's never seen a naked woman. 

“... It is, I’d… like to take some time if that's okay,”

“This is for your pleasure, do what satisfies you,”

He relaxed, once again reaching out for you. The touch was very clinical at first. Prodding the less sensitive lips that hugged the rosy petals, pulling them away with his thumbs, spreading the pink folds to see the shape of them. He pulled the hood away from your clit, brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves as he went. You squeaked at the sudden contact to the exposed button, twitching slightly and drawing his gaze back to your face. He touched it again, gently, watching how your spine tightened. Then again, pushing much harder.  

“Ah! Careful,”

You gasped, the rough press jolting through you. 

“Sorry… does that hurt?”

“Not really, it's just… a strong sensation,”

He looked down between your legs again, and then, leaned in to flick his tongue against the spot. 

You gasped again, but lighter, almost a moan as his soft tongue pressed against you. Tentatively, mimicking the motions you used on him moments ago. Your back arched slightly, already turned on, but something about the way his eyes caught you, held you… you felt a more desperate heat start to build at the look in his eyes. He'd found something interesting to investigate. 

He was testing methods, swift flicks, long hard drags; each time watching to see what it did to you… it was hard to believe he hadn't done this before. 

“You're a fast learner…”

He scoffed, harsh breath hot against where he was still pressed to your quim. 

“I am an exceptional learner.”

The sudden arrogance threw you a moment, but it barely registered as he sucked you into his mouth causing a wave of pleasure to crash into you. How'd he know to do that? Almost as if to prove his point he licked hard and rhythmic driving you to an edge…

“How?”

The notion was lost as you came. Your back was arched, and your head thrown back but you knew he was still watching, still studying the effects of his motions. As the surge of ecstasy ebbed from you, you pushed away from him, gasping. 

“Stop… stop for now…”

“What happens if I don't?”

He had folded his arms on the edge of the bed where you were moments ago, resting his chin on them to gaze at you, waiting. It was a genuine question.

You caught your breath, trying to figure out how to explain. 

“When you've taken care of yourself before, how easy is it to do one right after another?”

“I do not know. I've never needed a second release so soon.”

You must not get bored often…

“Uh… it's intense. The strong sensation can be more… painful, if you're not careful.”

“And if you are careful?”

“It can still feel good, I can still come… faster even.”

“So why stop?”

“It's overwhelming.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'm not sure you will till you… experience it I suppose,”

“Hmm, and you don't want to be overwhelmed… now?”

He was subtly reaching for your ankle making to draw you back. You weren't sure how to say you didn't need to be kriffed silly on the clock. 

“There's other things to cover…”

…

“I agree.”

You let him grab your leg tugging you eagerly to lay over the edge of the bed again. His fingers found you once more, this time concerning himself with the opening beneath the slick petals. He slipped a finger inside, tilting his head at the way your muscles squeezed around it. 

“I fit here…”

He wasn't addressing you, talking to himself softly in a tone of wonderment. 

“Are you ready? Tech?”

He blinked, looking to you again he withdrew his hand, raising on his knees to bring his cock back into view. He held himself, soothing his aching length by massaging the precum that started to leak out into the throbbing head. 

“A moment…”

He paused, pulling his shirt off and tugging the pants the rest of the way off, kicking them away.

“Now I am.”

He positioned himself against your dripping entrance, angling his face to watch what he was doing as he started to push into you. 

You let out a pleased groan as he filled you, slowly, meticulously watching his length disappear into you. He swore as he bottomed out against your thighs.  

“It's so…hot.”

He was still, eyes closed, cock twitching, face calm as he contemplated the sensation of warming his cock in a woman. You found yourself enjoying his… methods. The slow, contemplative way of operating a welcome change to the usual rushed rutting of your work. 

“I'm going to move now.”

“Would you prefer me to stay still or move with you?”

…

“Still… for now.”

He took hold of your hips and rocked back, pulling his cock out almost fully before thrusting back in, only slightly faster than before. 

“Mm”

His eyes flicked to your face a moment as he withdrew again. A shorter, harder thrust, pulling a moan of pleasure from you. 

Small nod to himself and he repeated the motion, moving his hips more confidently as he was rewarded with more pleasant noises from you. It was hard not to rock your hips against him, the feel of him against your sensitive walls easing a fuzzy feeling of bliss into your mind, urging you to chase it. 

“You can move now… I can feel you trying too…”

He let go of your hips, leaning to plant his hands to either side of you on the mattress. Grateful, you reached out wrapping your arms about his ribs to pull him down to his elbows and wrapping your knees about him to give yourself leverage. He groaned as he felt your legs tie around him, triggering that primal instinct he had held at bay till now. 

No longer concerned with observation, he gave in, wrapping his arms about you to hop your body further up the bed against the silk pillows climbing the rest of the way on with you. He crashed against you, bare chest pressed against your breasts as he kept snapping his hips against you. Tech was whispering to himself, little observations you decided to take as compliments as he lost himself in you. You scooped your hips to meet him, intensifying your own stimulation. 

“Just like that, Tech, you're doing so well…”

His breath hitched at the praise and then his lips were on yours, the kiss unexpected and hungry as his thrusts became a hammering flurry. 

It was too much and your muscles snapped tight. You moaned into his mouth as your orgasm crashed through you. He was moaning too, gasping against your lips as his focus started to dip. His hips stuttered as a brief moment of clarity broke through…

“Inside?”

“Mhmm, come for me Tech,”

He buried himself to the hilt, pressing his lips hard against yours as if to hold you still again. The feral instinct to fill you satiated itself as thick loads of cum poured from him; You could feel it shooting from his twitching cock, hot little jolts rushing through you. A sense of pride filled you, knowing you had received his first spilled seed. 

Your lips were released with a gasp and he rolled off you, attempting to catch his breath a moment, hand yanking his goggles off to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. 

Shifting to the side, you watched him, his eyes closed, breath slowing… hand still clutching the goggle strap draped over his brow. He really was handsome.

His eyes fluttered open, and you could tell they were brown now as they slid up your body to meet your gaze once again. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“...very much…”

He pulled his goggles back on, moving to gently spread your thighs, watching as his cum leaked from your twitching sex. 

Suddenly there was a pounding at the door making you both jump, followed by raucous wolf whistles and whooping from the other side in the hall.

Tech groaned, leaning his head against your thigh. 

“Tech, Tech, Tech!”

It was his squad mates, but how'd they figure the room… you were sure they hadn’t followed. 

“Don't tell me you have a tracer as well…”

You hissed at the man at your hip, once again a wonderful shade of scarlet. 

More pounding and whooping from the door. 

“They're going to get thrown out!”

“Knock it off, I'm coming!”

He shouted at the door. 

“I bet you are!”

A loud, gruff voice boomed back. 

~~~

You watched as the group of soldiers were escorted back to the entrance by security. As you had hoped, Tech looked up and around before they were pushed out the foyer. 

You wiggled your fingers at him in farewell. 

His squad mates were clapping him on the back, playfully kissing his temples and ruffling his hair. 

He smiled goofily back at you, bright red… but standing straight and tall. 

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in The Golden Hord

HolopAU

[irithnova]

Oh yes I'm aware of this lol I just think Russia (the hetalia character) would have answered to the Golden Horde and would not have had a strong parental relationship with Mongolia, let alone live with him, which is the main point. I said that I think that Russia and Mongolia did but have a significant relationship or met, not that no prince ever visited the Great Khan and no I personally don't think Russia would have joined the travel to Karakorum with those princes but you're welcome to headcanon that he joined them yourself.

From the source in the Wikipedia article "the khans were recognized as suzerains of the Riurikid princes. Within the Rus' lands, however, they exercised their authority primarily through the dynasty. But the khans appointed and confirmed individual princes within the dynasty for each ruling position. Riurikid princes were, accordingly required to appear personally before the khans to pay obeisance and receive their patents to rule."

From a story telling point of view I, again, don't think Russia would have accompanied all of these princes. Individual princes were chosen to by the Khan for certain positions in power and I personally think these princes were sent to visit the Khan independently of Russia to be appointed their positions and then returned home upon receiving them. There was a number of principalities and a number of princes that visited so no, I think it was more so those princes were sent over to be appointed their roles independently or even travelled to Karakorum of their own volition (as seen in the article you screenshotted) and then returning with new titles rather than Russia joining each prince each time.

They were temporary business endeavours that they would embark on and then return home after said meeting was done, the distance would have been immense to travel back then for something that Russia at the end of the day had no personal control over.

I think the distant relationship between him (Golden Horde) and Mongolia and the actual distance between them meant that Mongolia did not care to meet Golden Horde's subjects on a personal level as they were mainly his business, however Mongolia did care at least if said subjects rulers were showing submission. If the nation personification was not showing submission he really didn't care about, Golden horde could deal with that.

Again from my original post I said "Mongolia didn't care about Golden Horde's subjects, only that they paid tribute." Meaning Mongolia didn't care about Russia or anyone else for that matter individually, he cared if they (or moreso their rulers) behaved. Russia's princes coming over to Karakorum to show submission was of more importance to Mongolia than Russia himself coming over because let's face it, nations pretty much have to follow what their bosses say even if they disagree. So the princes being told to come to the Great Khan all the way in the East made more sense than wasting time bringing Russia along with them because it's not as if Russia was calling the shots and Mongolia did not care about Russia individually. That was Golden Horde's business.

If anything Mongolia was even less so interested in Golden Horde's subjects than say, Ilkhanate's subjects because I headcanon that Mongolia has a rocky/distant relationship with Golden Horde (figuratively and literally) and even between Khan's of the Golden Horde and Yuan/Great Khan, things were rocky. Mongolia would have been more familiar with Ilkhanate and Chagatai Khanate's subjects because 1) Distance 2) I hc Golden Horde as being the most self isolating.

Anyways it's really creepy how you made a whole new account dedicated to just reblogging this post to tell me I'm wrong ? I scrolled through your account and not only is your name suspect but you follow no one and have no likes and your blog looks like it was set up in a matter of minutes. I'm blocking you after this

It seems to be a popular headcanon that Mongolia met Russia during the 13th century? I really do not think that is the case. Without a doubt I think Russia would have had contact with the Golden Horde, but not Mongolia himself.

The territory of the Golden Horde was in Central Asia and Eastern Europe, the Mongol heartland/yuan dynasty was in East Asia, that was where the great Khan resided. The difference between the "Great Khan" back at home and the Khan's of the Golden Horde, Ilkhanate and Chagatai Khanate is that the Great Khan held supremacy over the rest of the Khans (well before the Mongol Empire split and then the supremacy became more symbolic/waned out). This was because the line of the Great Khan was established after Genghis Khan died and his empire was split between his sons. Ogedei was his official successor and "Great Khan" of the overall Mongol Empire, Jochi and Chagatai were Khan's of their own Khanates but were not Great Khan's.

Mongolia himself would accompany the Great Khan and his children obviously would accompany the different Khan's of the Golden Horde, Ilkhanate and Chagatai Khanate. It's much more likely that Russia had contact with the Golden Horde than Mongolia himself, as Mongolia was all the way in East Asia dealing with business over there and once the Yuan Dynasty was established by Khublai Khan in 1271 the Empire already fragmented and on the road to becoming more and more apart from each other in the decades ahead when they'd squabble with each other (there was already some infighting).

So. Russia and Mongolia having a relationship back then, let alone meeting each other? I personally don't see it. Mongolia didn't care about Golden Horde's subjects - whatever relationship he had with them was his business. He only cared if they gave tribute on time and if Golden Horde would stop being so emo.

I made this post mainly because I wanted to get it out there and partly because honestly I was slightly irked by the amount of people who think that Russia lived in Mongolia's palace or something or that Mongolia had a parental relationship with Russia because I'm huge on Mongolian history (if you couldn't tell already) and it literally doesn't make sense to me at all

[wrinniewrites]

A Fool's Gambit | Manon Blackbeak

SUMMARY ↣ in a world with little hope, you find solace in the gold, dead eyes of manon blackbeak.

WARNINGS ↣ smut, blood, injury, mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, suicidal ideation, allusions to sa, death, and worst of all—hope.

WORD COUNT ↣ 5.6k

PAIRINGS ↣ manon blackbeak x fem!reader

“My uncle will be displeased with me should he learn it is I who takes up all of your precious time.” Elide Lochan murmurs from where she sweeps the already spotless floor beside you, a task unfit for a lady of her status. 

“Then I shall have to unleash the wrath of Adarlan upon him,” you quip, watching her intently. “Besides, who else might I conspire with.” The black haired beauty manages a faint smile at that.

“What is it that you plan this time, Princess?” The Lady of Perranth inquires, trying, and failing, to conceal her growing interest.

“Nothing grand,” you beam, eyes darting to the horde of wyverns that enter the aerie one after the other. However, your attention is fixed upon the white haired female standing amongst them, stance alone commanding respect.

Elide pales, glancing between you and the host of witches. “Please tell me this scheme of yours has nothing to do with the iron-teeth witches I fear may kill us for looking at them wrong?” She all but begs, face scrunched up, already knowing the answer upon catching your mischievous grin.

“I make no promises, Lady Lochan.”

And before she can blink, you are already sauntering toward the thirteen. She reaches for your arm in warning, but you simply brush her off. To her absolute horror, you stroll past each and every witch, paying no heed to their stares.

Instead, stopping right before the Blackbeak Elide did not dare even look at.

“What.” The white haired witch barks out, and the Lady of Perranth flinches at the sound from across the room. You, however, remain steadfast. Your friend feels her chest tighten as yet another witch appears, this one with golden hair, staring appraisingly.

Uncaring of the burnt gold eyes burning into your soul, you only tilt your head curiously, smiling a pretty smile.

“This one might be mad,” you hear one of her thirteen mutter, a grin in her voice.

The wing-leader shoots Vesta a warning glare, not bothering to glance your way, only breezing by you boredly.

It is your voice that halts her step.

“I wish to ride,” you announce, not looking back as the white haired witch turns to face you once more.

Elide almost passes out from where she stands.

Manon’s eyes narrow, following your gaze to Abraxos. She smells not an ounce of fear on you, remaining unsure whether you refer to witch or wyvern.

When you meet her gaze over your shoulder, the glint in your eyes makes her wonder if the answer might be both. The witch barely allows a smirk to grace her lips as you hold her stare before spinning on her heel without another word.

Elide dares not breathe until you are safely back at her side. Your lips bearing a wide grin as you approach

“Perhaps one day, I too shall fly.”

If Manon is surprised to find you seated at Duke Perrington’s side during her private audience, she does not show it.

It is only after his speech is at its end does he notice her gaze flicker to you.

“I suppose I should introduce you,” the man grumbles in his seat.

“Wing-leader, this is the Princess of Adarlan.” His words are dull as he offers a lazy gesture in your direction. “You may do with her as you please during your stay, so long as she remains in one piece.”

Manon notes the way your jaw tightens at his statement. So you were an unwilling guest, she deduces.

The witch does not deign him with a response, nor make the mistake glance your way again. She simply continues pressing him about the Wastes; her home. Even when she feels your curious gaze on her, she does not turn.

It will be days before the wing-leader even sees you again. But the hollow eyes of Adarlan’s Princess do not cease to haunt her.

It is late when Elide stumbles upon you in one of Morath's corridors, almost crashing into you with the force of her fear, shoulders shaky and eyes watering.

Your strong grasp holds her by the arms, keeping her steady as soft inquiries fall past your lips. Hushed whispers float through the stone castle as she speaks of her interaction with the white haired witch, your gaze hardening as she continues.

You are grateful she is too caught up in her own fear to see the tear in your dress, the bruises lining your forearms. Just as you are thankful for the distraction she provides.

With a snap of your fingers, your cousin is at your side. Ordered to guard and contain you by Duke Perrington. Though you suppose he is no longer Roland Havilliard. He does not speak as you command him to escort Elide to her rooms, and you do not watch as he mindlessly obeys.

You ignore the visions of depthless black eyes and dark collars that rise to your mind. Instead, finding yourself making the reluctant journey up the tower’s steps, muscles aching with each movement.

The wing-leader appears before you as you reach the top, likely having scented you. She does not speak as you welcome yourself into her quarters, watching you with caution.

“Do not trouble Elide with your ventures,” you begin, features impassive to your thoughts. “She is innocent in this war.” Are the only words you speak in explanation, and the witch raises an unimpressed brow.

“And you are not?” Is all she asks.

“Few are.” You answer vaguely.

Her burnt gold eyes travel your body from head to toe assessment, and you resist the urge to cross your arms over your chest.

“You know, most would not dare to speak to me as you do.” She takes a threatening step forward, eyes glinting when you do not back away.

“I am not most,” you answer grimly. Curiously, none of the excitement —hope— she found the day you gazed upon her wyvern lingered.

“No,” she agrees. “But I suspect that means you taste far better,” her iron nails shoot out. Perhaps that might get a reaction out of you. And how she did love playing with her food.

“Kill me if you wish,” your tone remains flat as she stalks toward you, “it would be a mercy.”

Manon smirks at that. “I do not wish to kill you,” her tongue darts out to swipe across her iron teeth. “Not yet, at least.” 

Your brows furrow, but you do not balk as her nails dig into your chin, tilting your head so that you may forcibly meet her gaze.

“What do you say, Princess? Do you still wish to ride?” She rasps, her lips a breath from yours.

You still for a moment, shoulders tense. “If I say yes,” you pause thoughtfully, “will you do me a favour?” Your eyes drift to her lips, and Manon knows she has you, but she still bites.

“And what might that entail?” 

“Freedom,” you speak softly, and her grip tightens.

She raises her thumb to brush over your bottom lip, “we’ll see.”

“And if I say no?” You dare to ask, leaning into her touch all the while. It had been so long since you’d found any semblance of pleasure in this cruel life.

The witch grins. “You won’t,” and in a flash her lips are pressed to yours in a bruising kiss. The hand at your jaw travelling to your neck, eliciting a gasp that parts your lips for her tongue.

She walks you backwards until your back is pressed to the cool stone wall, pinned by her hips. A whine escapes you when Manon squeezes her hand around your throat, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. It is only then that she pulls back, burnt gold eyes hooded as she tugs your bottom lip between her teeth playfully. 

You barely have a chance to catch your breath before her mouth is at your neck, tongue swiping over the blood that trickles from where her iron nails punctured your skin. She hums, pleased when you tilt your head back and a moan parts your lips.

“You do taste nice, Princess ,” Manon murmurs as her teeth scrape your neck. Hands roam your body freely, her knee parts your legs with ease, settling between them. You reach blindly for her riding leathers for support, heat pooling between your legs.

She grins at the way your eyes widen when she uses her iron claws to tear a line right down the centre of your dress. You shiver when an icy breeze caresses your bare breasts, nipples hardening. Manon makes quick work of bringing her lips to them, sucking and biting, you arch into her touch.

“You’re dripping,” she purrs, removing her fingers from your core in spite of your complaints. Instead, you watch, enamoured, as she brings them to her own lips, tongue darting out to suck them clean. Moaning at the taste, she crashes her lips into yours a second time, forcing you to taste yourself on her tongue.

She allows clumsy hands to strip her of her own leathers, finding enjoyment in watching you attempt to focus as she rakes her nails over your thighs and stomach teasingly. You are reduced to pathetic whimpers when her fingers slide between your legs and you clench around nothing.

Her eager mouth swallows your sounds greedily as her fingers return, slipping between your legs once more. Finding your bundle of nerves with ease, she circles vigorously. You are embarrassed to admit you almost came from that alone.

“Manon,” you plead when she slows her pace tantalisingly. “Please,” you beg, bucking your hips to seek friction. The witch only raises an unimpressed brow.

“Please, what?” She demands.

“Please,” you say again, hands reaching desperately for her, pulling her closer. “Please fuck me.” She smirks, and for a moment you think she’ll abandon you entirely for daring to touch her, leaving you high and dry.

Instead, a moan loud enough to echo through Morath is ripped from your lips as two fingers plunge into you. All while her thumb continues to rub at your clit. At first, her strokes are slow, gentle even, agonisingly so. But when your own nails dig into her skin with need, she thrusts into you knuckles deep, hard enough to have you falling over the edge pitifully fast.

Only she does not pull away then for she is finished with you yet. Her pace turns tortuous. And in just a few short touches you are reaching your high again, begging her to stop. And when she does not, tears glitter in your eyes. Then, and only then does the witch show mercy.

Your ears are ringing by the time she has had her way with you, chest rising and falling with each laboured breath you take. As you blink away the blurriness, you realise she is the only reason you remain on two feet, for your body is limp in her arms.

Once you are recovered enough to stand on your own, two rough hands grip your shoulders, forcing you to your knees hard enough to leave a dull ache; a reminder. Her slim fingers weave through your hair before tightening, urging you forward in a wordless command. 

“Your friend plots her escape,” Manon’s voice is tainted by exhaustion as she lays on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Immediately you know she refers to Elide.

You turn to face her from where you lie, bare skin covered only by a thin sheet. It is the second week you have spent in her bed. For you found yourself returning to her chambers the very day after the first, and the next, and the next.

The witch greets you with a smug smirk every time.

She does not ask after the strange bruises that litter your skin, and for that you are thankful. Though she will come to regret it one day.

“Good.” You say in response to her statement, and the witch’s brows pinch in confusion. “It means she still has hope,” you answer her wordless question.

“And you do not?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“I am beyond hoping,” you whisper sombrely before forcing a smile to your lips. “But fun is not entirely lost on me,” you lift your hand to her skin, mindlessly trailing a line on her collarbone with the tip of your finger.

Manon stiffens at your touch. You cannot help but wonder if in time she may soften. The idea is quickly lost on you, moving to retract. Only she catches your wrist in a painfully tight grip. You grimace but do not make any move to pull away. Instead you raise your brows in silent questioning when her burnt gold eyes deign to meet your own. You frown when her nostrils flare.

“You are with child,” she murmurs, surprise clear in her voice despite her face remaining stoic. “How long have you known?” She watches the way your frown deepens, biting the inside of your cheek. “You did not know,” she answers herself.

She does not ask of the who, and you almost wish she would. But deep down, you both know her mind already holds the answer.

Not another word passes your lips that night.

Pulling back the sheets grimly, you feel bile rise to your throat as you spare a glance at your stomach. You know the witch watches you keenly, but cannot bring yourself to care as tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

Instead, you opt to turn for the open window, feeling only the icy breeze and burnt gold orbs on your back as you will yourself to sleep. 

Just as the darkness threatens to consume you whole, the faintest skim of fingertips along your stomach keeps you on the cusp of sleep. The covers are then pulled up to your neck, and you allow yourself to find peace in the dreamworld.

You do not remember it the next morning.

Elide finds you in the aerie the very next day, watching the wyverns intently.

“What troubles you today, Princess?” She asks, noting your features tainted by exhaustion. But when you turn to face her she does not find the grave look she expects.

“I have been sitting here for more hours than I can count, Elide, and what I have discovered is most fascinating.” Your eyes glimmer with each word, though the smile you wear does not quite reach your eyes.

“And what is it that you have discerned?” 

“They are much like us, you know.” You report grimly. “Tortured, but hopeful creatures,” you say, carefully observing Abraxos and Narene, Asterin’s wyvern. Elide does not fully understand your statement until she follows your wavering gaze to the white haired witch at her gentle beast’s side.

“Hope is not lost on you yet, Princess?” She asks, recalling how adamant you had been in your argument only a month prior. ‘It is a doomed world we live in, and one would be a fool to even consider the prospect of change.’ You had once said.

“I fear I no longer possess the answer to that particular question.” Your brows furrow in thought, hands twirling the flower you cradle in your hands. 

“Do you think people can change, Lady Lochan?” 

The question confuses her. She first thinks of her Uncle Vernon, and finds herself frowning doubtfully. But then she tunes her mind to you, of how you had unknowingly given her a hope that had been all but lost for the last ten years.

“I would like to believe so,” is all she can offer. You nod once, twice, before rising to your feet. She does not stop you as you make your way to the witch and her wyvern.

Manon’s attention is drawn to you the second you so much as glance in her direction. No one can say whether you came to the aerie that day for her, or she for you. But the fact remains that every living being within the space could feel the tension lingering between you.

She raises her perfectly sculpted brow as you approach, eyeing the flower you hold with caution. The witch is surprised when you stroll right by her, though she does not show it.

Instead, you stop directly before her wyvern, flower outstretched in your hand. A rare laugh escapes your lips when he nudges your hand softly, sniffing. Abraxos then lets out what you can only assume is a sound of delight, nuzzling into your palm.

“I think he rather likes me,” you glance back at Manon with a grin, and she frowns in return. She does not enjoy the feeling it stirs in her chest; it is one of discomfort. 

Her gentle beast huffs at her expression, almost knowingly, and the witch rolls her eyes. “He recognises your scent,” Manon explains, not bothering to gesture to herself. And you almost allow yourself to smile at the idea of her smelling of you.

“When we first met, I asked you for a ride.” You say, running your hands over Abraxos’ scales, who hums in content. “Will you really make me ask a second time?”

“And here I thought you were talking about me.”

Your eyes brighten at her words, but then she finds her gaze drifting to your stomach and you frown. “Perhaps another day,” she excuses stiffly, and you nod solemnly.

“Perhaps another day,” you repeat.

The sun has long since fallen beyond the horizon by the time you finally hear the footsteps that belong only to Manon Blackbeak. 

You sit curled beneath the window, neck craned so that you might look upon the stars. When her pace quickens in the stairwell, a rare flicker of fear passes over you. You know then that she has figured it out.

You know not of where she was, nor how long it has been since she left, only that she was gone. 

The moment she passes the threshold her eyes dart to yours, burnt gold irises swirling with fury. Manon is at your side before you can blink, but your vision has already begun to blur. She is too late.

“What have you done?” Manon demands, iron nails digging into your arms. 

“For once, I have done as I wish.” A simple smile adorns your lips

Something brews in her burnt gold eyes as they dip to your stomach, the red staining it, something you almost mistake for worry. But you are not so foolish as to believe your own delusions.

“You are a fool,” the witch sneers.

A careless laugh bubbles from your throat. “A fool I may be, but a free one at that.”

She scowls, “not if I have anything to say about it,” hauling your limp body into her arms.

It is only then your eyes widen in a blind panic. 

“No.” you whisper, and blood spills from your lips. “No.” You say again, using the last of your strength to trash in her arms. “No, please no.” A feeble attempt to free yourself.

“You are mine,” Manon grunts as she tightens her grip. “Mine to have. Mine to dictate. And I say you will not die today, Princess, so die you shall not.”

“Please,” you beg, voice taut. 

Her gaze steels. “You are mine.” She repeats, and you feel tears pool in your eyes. A soft shake of your head in disbelief follows, freedom so close, yet so far. Perhaps if you could— you blindly reach for the gaping wound in your stomach.

“Stop.” Manon orders, reaching to grasp your wrist. Her iron claws do not dig into your skin as you expect. There is a strain in her voice, and when you look up, her eyes are filled by a wild panic. Your wrist slackens.

“Good.” Is the last word you hear before your vision fades and the world goes black.

When you wake you are in Manon’s chambers, you recognise the room even with your eyes closed.

“And so she lives,” someone speaks, but the voice is muffled, distant. It is a great effort to peel your eyes open, throat dry as you attempt to speak. A flash of flaming red hair and a cup of water is pressed to your lips.

“Thank you,” you rasp, and the witch grins in acknowledgement. Only for her back to stiffen as she shifts away from you, eyes darting for the door. A moment later, Manon steps past the threshold, Asterin hot on her tail.

Burnt gold eyes immediately dart to you, alert. “You’re awake.” Manon swallows. 

When you refuse to meet her gaze, her jaw tightens. “Out.” She orders, and with a wave of her hand Vesta is gone. Only three of you remain now.

“The babe?” You question, voice hollow as you finally raise your head. When Asterin gazes at you with sympathy you know it is done. You wish she wouldn’t, but you manage an appreciative glance no less.

It was better this way.

Your gaze then flickers to Manon, who stands tense by her second. Asterin does not need to be told to leave, offering a curt nod as she goes.

The silence only stretches between you two so long before you can no longer bear it. “Why?” You ask, doing everything in your power to keep your voice from cracking. She could ask you the same, but does not.

“Because I can,” her answer is simple; cold. 

You hang your head lowly in a cruel mix of disappointment and acceptance. But then her voice comes again, “because you asked for a favour,” she says, your brows furrowing. “And I intend to fulfil it.”

Your head shoots up, face contorted by a thousand questions resting at the tip of your tongue. “I answered your question, now you answer mine.” Just as you part your lips to speak, she raises her hand, commanding silence. “Who did this to you?” 

“I—”

“Do not lie to me.”

Pausing, you eye her pensively. “He did not exactly introduce himself,” you retort.

“He was here for me?” She questions, and you stare at her a moment, assessingly, before nodding. Her back straightens, and you can almost feel how hard she resists the iron claws threatening to shoot free.

“So why,” she breathes, “did I find you in my chambers with a blade in your stomach?”

You fight the urge to grimace. “I suppose he thought if he could not take you, taking your bed warmer might cause you harm enough to satisfy his handler.” You offer a faux smile. “He was a fool to believe so.”

She is silent, deathly so. When the words come, you do not expect them.

“I will kill him.”

“You have a visitor,” Manon announces, albeit begrudgingly. And you immediately try to rise from the thick covers, pausing when iron claws shoot out in warning. She only stands once you raise your hands in surrender, laying back with a roll of your eyes. 

Elide comes bursting into the room the second the witch opens the door, stumbling over her feet to reach you. Her eyes shine when she makes it to your side, and you lift your hand to her cheek absently, faintly aware of Manon’s lingering presence,

“You are well?” You ask, and the Lady of Perranth gapes.

The witch leaves the room with a glance over her shoulder, surprised to find your gaze on her. She does not understand the look you give her, for it is one of mixed emotions. As though you thank her for going, but plead for her to stay all the same. Manon leaves before she can think further on it.

“You are faced with death, but still ask after me?” Elide shakes her in exasperation. Suddenly overcome, she reaches for your hands. “I do not know what I would do without you, Princess.”

“You would be just fine,” you assure, but the ravenette frowns in disagreement, glancing behind her.

“I am surprised they even allowed me to see you.” When your brows furrow, she continues in a hushed whisper. “The wing-leader has been on edge ever since—” she gestures to you. “Even Perrington grows displeased with her refusal to let a soul near you.” 

“Then I suppose you, my friend, are one lucky lady,” you quip, but your mind stirs with thoughts you never allowed yourself to have in the past. Ones of hope. 

A groan passes your lips when you shift, roused from sleep by the pain it causes your stitches. When your eyes flutter open, you find burnt gold ones already on you.

“Manon?” You rasp, yawning sleepily. The witch blinks from where she lies on her side, a silent acknowledgement. You mindlessly shuffle closer, seeking warmth. Too tired to wonder why she does not turn away, you draw near enough to hear her short, sharp breaths.

“I shall take you to the skies on Abraxos,” the witch is hesitant as she lays a hand upon your hip, careful not to hurt you. “So that you may know true freedom.” Her body freezes when you press your face to her neck, hot air spilling from your lips, sending a chill down her stiff spine.

“This is enough for me,” you murmur. 

It is all so different from anything she knows. From the touch she has given you to elicit pleasure. From the same favours you have returned to her, only gentler. No, this is like nothing she has ever known.

She does not know what to make of it. Her desire for it.

And when you wake the next morning, Manon is gone. 

It is days before she returns to you, and you are finally able to move freely after the incident. “Princess?” A voice draws you from sleep, and you find the witch sitting at your side, peering down at you.

“You’re back,” you whisper into the darkness.

The Blackbeak heir hums softly, her touch oddly gentle as she reaches for your neck. You do not flinch, not when her hands only seek to caress the smooth skin thoughtfully. Instead, you wait for the words to find her.

“You do not bear the same collar they have used on your brother,” she frowns, staring at you as though you are a puzzle she cannot solve. “Why?”

You jerk upright. “Dorian wears a collar?” 

“You did not know.” Manon observes, feeling foolish for asking. Though you show no anger towards her. Saying nothing, your gaze finds the open window. It does little to hide the tears in your eyes, the moon’s dull glow illuminating your fragile features.

The witch feels an uncomfortable urge to reach out to you. But, “I asked you a question,” is all she can think to say.

When you turn back to her, your face is hardened, an unnerving calm seeping into your bones. “They enjoy it,” you mutter spitefully. “Breaking me to their will, knowing they do not need a collar to have their way with me.”

Something inside the witch hardens at that.

You seem to read the words on the tip of her tongue, the anger —the possession— burning deep within her. “I am just your bed warmer.” You remind her, remind yourself. Despite the fact she has not touched you in days, but refuses to leave your side nonetheless. 

“Do not trouble yourself with my mess.”

You rise from the sheets with a gasp, mind haunted by the depthless black eyes of your cousin, Roland. The ones that now rob the vibrant life from your own brother. Manon’s iron nails shoot out, as if sensing your distress, but she does not wake.

Quiet as the night, you slip from the bed, tip-toeing your way across the cool floors. You welcome the chill creeping up your spine, better than the eternal numbness. Finding your place by the large window, you peer out into the starry sky. You only wish it would swallow you whole, rip you from this nightmare.

A groan from the witch jerks your head to the side. Her eyes remain shut, but you know you have woken the beast. For her arm now lays outstretched; an offering, a command.

You wordlessly return to her bed; the only place you feel safe, it is a cage all the same.

When Manon tugs you into her side, so that your head may rest upon her chest, you are too tired to care of what it may mean. It is the kind of exhaustion that might creep within the cracks in your broken soul. And you no longer had the strength to fight it.

You wish to feel all and nothing at once. 

To forget the never ending storm wreaking havoc on your mind. So you absently hook your leg over the witch, moving to straddle her. Strong hands easily find your hips, burnt gold eyes flashing open.

She does not complain when your lips meet hers in a heated kiss, fingers trailing up your stomach and along your thighs. There is a hunger in her gaze when you pull away, but she remains hesitant, reluctant even. 

Impatiently, you fumble for her wrist, drawing it between your legs. Manon groans at the slick she finds, how easily riled up you are. But when she does not move, you begin to plead. “Touch me,” you urge, lips travelling from jaw to neck. The hand on your thigh squeezes in warning.

“Please,” you breathe, desperate, and the damn breaks.

Fingers weave into your locks, tugging, and then her lips are on yours again. You roll your hips, a moan ripping from your throat at the sensation. Manon bears a pleased grin when you continue to fuck yourself on her fingers.

But she cannot shake the feeling that something is amiss.

Even with your skin pressed to hers, lips locked, she has the overwhelming feeling that she has lost you entirely. 

True to her word, Manon takes you to the aerie a whole two weeks after she promised. And this time, you do not protest.

She watches for every twitch of your lips, seeming pleased with herself when you bear a grin that does not leave you from the moment you take to the skies above. When Abraxos roars, a laugh bubbles from your lips, and you cannot help but wonder if he does it for your amusement.

When you reach the clouds you know she is right. There is no truer freedom than the heavens above. “Thank you,” you murmur, unsure whether she hears. If she does, the witch does not respond, though you feel the tension in her shoulders ease.

Suddenly, Abraxos dips, and you're soaring between the clouds. A low chuckle escapes the witch when you yelp, tightening your arms around her waist. “Not so fearless after all, Princess,” she quips, voice carrying over the wind.

Rolling your eyes, you dare to pinch her side. The witch repays you with a threatening glare over her shoulder, iron teeth bared, but harmless. Your heart drops to your stomach when the wyvern lands on a mountain peak at her command, teeth snapping on impact.

She slides from his back with practiced ease, and you are almost surprised she offers a hand to aid you. A rare, true smile tugs at your lips. And Manon is confused to find it extends not only to the skies, but her as well.

However, once your feet hit the ground it is wiped from your features. As if the very step brings you back to a life never ceasing to haunt you, caging you. Her hand lingers on your own, for what purpose, she does not know, only that it feels right.

Her back straightens when it is you who slips your hand from her grasp.

A vulnerability shines in her burnt gold eyes, no longer dulled by years of familial oppression. Were you not so caught up in the winds of your past you may have noticed. Instead your back is to her, eyes clouded as you stare into the abyss below. 

“I was not always this way, you know.” The soft confession is so quiet only the breeze carries it to Manon.

When you continue, she listens. As you go on about the whims of your childhood, the fun, the hope, the love. And while she knows she is different, never has it struck her quite so hard as the words rolling from your tongue. 

“I was made to be this way, Manon.” 

There is meaning in your statement, the witch knows this much, but she is not sure she wishes to face it.

“But anything can be unmade, undone.” You say, and she refuses to acknowledge what that may mean for her. She is yet not ready.

She is even less prepared when you turn to face her once more. Tears line your cheeks, but a smile adorns your precious lips. She has never known a prettier sight.

“Thank you,” you smile. For everything.

The witch frowns. “You already said that.”

“Then I’m sorry,” you voice quietly.

“Sorry?” She takes a step forward. You take one back.

You smile wider, “that I will not be there—”

Her frown deepens, eyes flickering behind your.

“—to see you undo this cruel world.” You raise your arms, peace and longing drawn onto your delicate features. And then you lean back, giving yourself to the wind.

She is too slow. 

The last thing you see is the skies.

She does not reach you.

Abraxos roars.

She does not hear it. 

Your words echo in her mind.

“People change, Manon.” 

Your voice already fades.

“For better, or for worse.”

You wished for better.

So a better world she would give you.

Even if it was too late.

i am so sorry ya'll :(((

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Omg Hiiii! I hope you’re doing great💞 I would just like to request a Drabble of more prince lucio and bodyguard mc😭maybe that scene of their first kiss in the garden? Sksksksk I loved it so much

The Arcana Drabbles: Prince!Lucio and Bodyguard!MC, pt 2

It's been a hot minute since I wrote a kissing scene so uh - bear with me, lol

-----

You've been to plenty of balls before, but always as the bodyguard standing by the wall nearest your golden prince. There was much less to keep track of when your priority was ensuring that he stayed safe (how difficult that was was another matter). Now, though, you're in formal clothes instead of your usual armor, and right in the middle of things with your arm wound through the happy prince's. The wall is starting to look more appealing -

"You having a good time?"

You turn back to your prince, uncertainty wavering behind his excited silver eyes. You can feel his queen mother's gaze boring holes into the side of both of your heads as a bead of sweat slowly trickles down his temple. "Uh ... yeah."

His expression falters a little more. "We could - uh - you don't have to stay, if you don't want to, or! We could sneak into the gardens ... if you want."

"The gardens sound nice," you mumble. His voice cracks in relief as he starts hustling you towards the balcony without an ounce of subtlety.

"Gre-at! That's great. Awesome. Let's go!"

You've seen him nervous and on edge before, but this is a whole new level. Instead of calming down once you two are alone in the moonlight, he seems to only get more agitated. You pause under an archway in the back corner of the rose bushes.

"Are you well, my prince?"

"I'm fine - you know you don't have to call me that, right? I can be Lucio. Just Lucio. If you want."

"I know, Lucio." You smile at him, watching the way he kneads his gloves between his sweaty palms. He must really be worked up about something. "I'm merely double checking."

He lets out a frustrated growl, the seams on his gloves at risk of being ripped. "You don't have to double check, if I say it's okay, it's okay! Don't you get tired of all ... this?"

He gestures feverishly between the two of you before swinging his arms wider to the garden and the distant sounds of the party. You glance back at the palace, the open doors and windows spilling light and music and chatter out into the night. "Tired how?"

He stomps his foot irritably and starts pacing back and forth. "The-the titles, and the protocol, and the damn distance. I don't know what you want because you can't tell me, and I can't tell you what I want because I'm in charge of you!"

You can feel something stirring deep in your chest as he buries his head in his hands with a groan. The hours of sitting by his bed late at night, watching his chest rise and fall as he sleeps under your guard, the constant close proximity you've controlled yourself through, the efforts of the queen to get to know you and show you her distant approval. You'd tried to control the butterflies appearing in your chest through it all, but now you're standing with him all alone in the cool evening air and there's a veritable horde of them being unleashed.

"Do you," you pause, not wanting to misread and overstep your role. "Do you want me to speak to you as Lucio, and not as my prince?"

"YES," he exclaims, before clearing his throat and collecting himself. He swallows and comes to a halt in front of you. "Talk to me like I'm just Lucio. Pretend I'm not the prince for a minute, what am I to you?"

"I don't know if I should say -" Is it really okay to tell him you love him? You've witnessed firsthand how complicated the court can get.

"I'll say then, if you want. But only if you can hear me as Lucio, not the prince. Okay?" He searches your face, wide-eyed and borderline frantic.

"Okay."

"I love you."

He pauses like he's surprised that that's the first thing that came out. You'd smile at his characteristic chaos, but your ears are singing with the confession. He drops his gloves and takes both your hands in his.

"I love you. Not as the prince, just me. I love you, and I want you to kiss me." He gulps, shaky and out of breath like he's sprinted here the whole way from the throne room. "If you want to. Only if you want to."

You nod, slowly, completely caught off-guard for once. "I want to."

"Thank fummhh -"

The words you know the queen would whack him for get cut off by the sudden press of his lips against your mouth. He doesn't give you much space to breathe, tugging at your clothes in a frantic effort to get closer, reaching one bare hand up to cup your face and pull you deeper. It takes a moment to respond, but he melts with a groan as soon as you do. He sags in your hold, putting your years of training to carry him into good use, taking in noisy gulps of air between needy open-mouthed kisses. One arm hooks around your neck and the other around your waist as he blindly tugs you deeper into the bushes.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this," he whispers hot against your cheek. "Let's leave the prince thing out of this from now on."

[mrs-gauche]

I think it's interesting how on the new official cover, the characters and darkspawn are all placed within the outline of the dragon's wings, which is reminiscent of the vinyl artwork with the blighted Black City and how in this one, the heads of the elven pantheon were also "merged" with the wings of the blighted dragon!

And on top of that, as people have already pointed out, the fact that we have seven companions now, matching with the number of elven gods that were imprisoned by Solas, is a little suspicious as well. 👀

Then there's also the seven statues seen at the ritual site in the gameplay showcase and at the end of the reveal trailer. And as we know now, these statues were an essential part of the ritual itself!

And speaking of the ritual, the Game Informer article told us that Solas had planned to "move" the elven gods to a new prison, as the old one was failing. With the concept art(?) that was revealed along with the Game Informer article, we now have three different depictions of Solas' ritual...

(Btw, I will forever be sour that they got rid of the cape! 😂 Also, either Solas went from being right handed to left handed to right handed again OR the concept art image is mirrored, I guess? lol)

What stands out to me is how the concept art shows this huge rocky structure.. object (how would you describe this? 😂) right above this magical "sphere" that is obviously not there in the gameplay showcase (though note that there *are* some floating rocks seen above the statues in the reveal trailer!). And it's interesting how, in the cinematic version, it looks more like the Veil is "shattered", revealing a bright sphere in its center, where it previously showed another sphere right above the Golden City? 👀

And speaking of the Golden/Black City... we also have this sequence at the end of the reveal trailer, showing a massive battle against a horde of darkspawn(?) and a ginormous dragon (that doesn't seem to be the one on the vinyl cover?), in a location that has similar architecture as the Golden City depicted on the vinyl cover, as well as the eclipse in the background of course!

Which is so baffling to me, because I would've assumed that the Black City would be, like, some climactic moment/reveal/endgame stuff, and I doubt they would show something like this if it was in fact part of the final boss battle of the game or something, right?? 😂 Like, why would they spoil the friggin Black City in the reveal trailer? o_O (Then again, they kinda already revealed the look of the Black City on the vinyl cover, too? 😂)

Anyway. 😂 Let us go back to the cover art again, because I've seen a lot of people talk about the shape of the wings in particular!

Like, I've even seen people compare the shape of the wings here to a spider? 😂 To me, it kinda looks more like the wings could also resemble those of a corvid (as in the "rook" bird) that could just as well belong to Rook here with the way this is composed (like, the wings could belong to either Rook or the dragon)?

And in the background, behind the dragon, I can see a hint of the "tambourine"/circle image we've seen since the 2018 teaser.

And maybe it's just my eyes playing tricks on me, but I can also kinda see how the bright light in the background has a similar outline to the Veilguard symbol?

And the shape of the Veilguard symbol looks to me like a mix of a dragon/wolf and a bird's head or simply "V" for Veilguard, on top of resembling ancient statues of Mythal (reminder that Solas has "absorbed" some part of Mythal now and that the Dread Wolf in Tevinter Nights was described to be "the size of a high dragon with shaggy spiked hide")! 👀👀👀

And btw, who else is kinda going a little bit crazy over the fact that Rook's mask/helmet thingy looks an awful lot like Mythal's mask as well???

The funniest thing though, was probably seeing people compare this symbol to the Batman logo?? 😂

Which is especially hilarious to me, given that the last chapter of Tevinter Nights was entirely inspired by an old episode of the animated Batman series from 1992 (specifically, season 1 episode 35) in which Batman does pretty much the same thing as Solas in that chapter. lol There's also the "The Dread Wolf Rises"/"The Dark Knight Rises" and is it just me or has Trick Weekes made a ton of Batman references on Bluesky lately? 😂

Anyway, that's all I've got for now, what do you guys think?? :D

[fangirlingpuggle]

Half asleep fantasy high time travel AU idea where bad kids are still adventuring team as adults a big bad they’ve fought manages to get away and decides to take an Arthur Aguefort approach and use chronomancy to fix their problems taking on the bad kids while they’re still kids before they start the Aguefort adventuring academy or more accurately on their first day.

So, as the bad kids are arriving, they all suddenly get attacked and are of course freaking out (Golden horde is also freaking out because this is not his plan)

However, before they can hurt any of them cur future bad kids showing up and wrecking shit all the first episode before detention bad kids seeing their badass older adult selves and then either

A.

Bad kids have to stay in past to catch bad guy and protect younger selves as this chronomancy has gone multiverse theory and they only have a one-way trip back so cant lave til bad guy is caught.

Adaine: So we’re definitely in separate time line right?

Kristen: I mean Aguefort’s exact words we’re ‘no consequences you can go apeshit’

Adaine: Awesome *Instantly starts kicking shit out of her parents after wrapping her younger self and Alewyn in a blanket passing them Boggy*

Riz totally shots Goldenhoard, while him and Kristen are yelling out ‘HEY KALINA YOU BITCH SHOW YOURSELF’ Kristen having Cassandra’s power and kinda just going and speed running whole Nightmare king thing. Also her picking up her younger self and siblings up while her goddess appears just to flip off her parents.

Fabian’s younger self not being a fan of his older self being a bard… until Fabian kicks his ass while on his way to go get his bike for this timeline.

Younger Fig being so confused by the fact older Fig is Gilear's biggest fan and Gilear also super confused and trying not to cry because his daughter clearly isn’t going to hate him forever and he was sure she would. Fig also going to younger self like ‘Hey please stop with the transforming self you don’t need to it’s all good… hey maybe check out Leviathan for no reason’ she totally teasing her younger self because I have the best girlfriend ever.

Gorgug setting his homunculus on coach daybreak and also porter also sending a van after them to run them over.

Or

B.

They need to keep younger selves safe so scoop them up and throw them in the hangvan and take them to the future with them to keep them safe.

Cue all the freshman bad kids seeing how their lives are

Adaine seeing she has a family that loves her, Jawbone giving his daughter the biggest hug emotional to see her as she was when she was younger and Alewyn just uber protective over her baby baby sister and Adaine not believing she’s so loved.

Fabian shocked to see his older self as a bard (And he may have tried to sneak in and sue the weird elven sheet his older self has used not that he will ever admit it) but also his mother is sober… and a total badass. He also

Fig seeing herself with a good relationship with all her parents (also for some reason all her and her friends love Gilear) also she has a paramour whose a fucking amazing phoenix who younger Fig keeps tripping over herself to flirt with (disguising herself as her older self) Ayda thinks this is humorous older Fig is amused but also Hey get your own paramour.

Riz meeting his older self who is a badass with tattoos and so many friends. Also he works with angels. He is totally awestruck.

Kristen being shocked by how different her older self is and having a lot of realizations about herself. Also, her new goddess is the coolest and really happy to talk things through with her (Cassandra wants to keep her in this timeline, and is trying to figure out a way to break the timelines so she can get her as her prophet in the other timeline to without all the nightmare king stuff she’s the goodness of mystery she’s sure she can do it)

Gorgug meeting his older self whose a barbarian and an artificer and super smart and has a homunculus called Chloe and is so confident and smart.

[the-s1lly-corner]

so after Digital Circus came out, I've been having extreme Pomni brainrot, with her joining the horde of comfort characters for me. I'll like to request B, C, D, G, I, K, L, O, Q, R, T, V, W, X and Z. I'm so, so sorry this is a ton, if you wish you can do half of these requests. also sorry if I'm late by any chance

Fluff alphabet with Pomni! (1)

cracks my knuckles dont feel bad for asking for so many letters! if i didnt want people requesting so many for one character i would have put a cap on it!! i admit im not sure how long im going to do the fluff alphabet, i guess for however long people send in requests for it

BONDING- you guys bond by trying to find the exit/j but also not entirely a /j since now that i think about it i can definitely see it. otherwise a lot of your bonding comes from you showing pomni around outside the tend, since she still hasn't had the chance to explore the rest of the grounds

CUDDLING- small spoon simply because she is very small and needs someone to ground her to reality. very soft and squishy, its like holding a squishmallow

DATES- if this were the real world i can see pomni being a coffee shop person, but since it isnt... hmm.. i think dates mostly stick to spending time together in one of yall's rooms

GIFT GIVING- pomni does not give me vibes that they give you large things for gifts regardless of availability... they seem to be more of a handy small trinket person, "hey i saw this and thought of you and figured it might be of use to you" type of deal

IN HOUSE ADVENTURE- since pomni is still new to the endless possibilities of whatever it is caine cooks up for you guys, she gravitates towards you, out of trust and comfort mostly! you guys are kind of 50/50 in terms of if you guys actually function well as a team and solve whatever you need to do to reach the end goal caine has in mind

KISS- she cups your face, i think.. i can see it, very shy about it too, she will immediately pull away all bashfully. mouth kisses are her default, both giving and receiving

LOVE LANGUAGE- quality time and words of affirmation make pomni feel loved! its also how she shows her love, as well! especially the quality time, but as well as acts of service!

ODDITY- obviously this is likely going to be an issue for a while since shes new, but she is a bit. off given her trying to get used to being in the digital world. but just give her time and youre golden! though, i dont think pomni is ever going to fully accept being in the digital world

QUIET TIME- down time between you two is usually spent with the two of you sitting together in one of the common areas or your rooms. each doing your own activity while existing in the same space, fairly comfortable silence.. you two dont do everything together, and thats a-okay

ROSES- i think pomni would, tying into the "hey i thought of you" thing! pomni would not be opposed to being given flowers, pomni looks like a buttercup enjoyer

TUNES- first song that popped into my mind, no explanation.. maybe i miss beach bunny..

VALENTINE- in the real world she would treat you to a night in, with a few movies as well as your favorite snacks. probably gives you some flowers again.. in the digital world, the options are more limited... perhaps you two check out the carnival by the tent? the games there arent rigged.... probably...

WANT- they want someone who will actually listen to what shes trying to say and achieve, to be taken seriously. sure, a lot of the time in the pilot pomni is freaking out because shes coming to the realization that shes trapped, but i until we get more there isnt much i can say for her.. for now..

ZZZ- very sound sleeper, actually! tosses and turns every now and then but nothing too excessive, add that in with the cuddling segment and you guys would be pretty well rested after a night together, if you needed sleep in the digital world