#White gold rope chain

[stirlingscornerblog]

Exquisite Ruby Engagement Rings for Regal Brides

If you fall into the camp of brides who are searching for White Gold Rope Chainthat are regal, chic, and modern, rubies are the ideal choice. Rubies symbolize love, protection, and passion making them a great choice for your big day.

These stones were widely chosen by ancient kings and queens making it a regal choice. Rubies are great for modern brides and being versatile they easily pair with a range of cuts and settings to suit your needs.

Reasons to love Hanging Cross

One of the main reasons why a lot of brides tend to prefer Hanging Cross Earring is that these stones rate a nine on the Mohs scale. This makes them the second hardest stone after a diamond and ideal for daily wear.

Along with being tough, rubies are also a one-of-a-kind piece that reflects your personality. A lot of brides instantly connect with a ruby compared to a diamond or any other stone. Always pick something that you resonate with and love.

Just keep in mind that compared to Virgin Mary Gold Pendant, rubies can be quite expensive, especially a blood-red ruby. However, you can also choose other shades that might be a tad affordable and come with different price points.

Your jeweler will tell you that the most popular cut for a ruby is a round or oval cut as it brings out the intense shade of the stone. You can also choose a pear, marquise, or geometric shape but it maybe a bit pricier.

Rubies are tough stones and look beautiful when set in rose gold or platinum. These stones are ideal for active brides who work a lot with their hands.

The Bottom Line

Always take your ruby to a professional to have it cleaned, repaired, and maintained so that it looks new and shiny for a long time. You can even clean your ruby at home between professional cleanings.

[wjdexclusives]

Discover the Best Gold Chains for Men at WJD Exclusives

https://www.wjdexclusives.com/blog/discover-the-best-gold-chains-for-men-at-wjd-exclusives/

Discover the Best Gold Chains for Men at WJD Exclusives

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[lifetimejewelry]

Lifetime Jewelry is one of the world’s fastest-growing online jewelry retailers. They are one of the biggest sellers in fashion jewelry on Amazon, with multiple products ranking as #1 best sellers. They produce some of the highest quality plated gold and white gold fashion jewelry available and are swiftly rising to become one of the world’s top sellers. They offer the best quality gold jewelry online. 

[rmadridcore]

The Perfect Pair

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Requested

Summary: You and Jude attend his teammate’s documentary premiere, sharing affectionate moments and inside jokes.

Word Count: 1.6K

Masterlist

Author’s note: Hii 😍 this is the first request I got and here it is. Hope you like it anon, let me know your thoughts! Also, if any of you have any fic requests, they’re currently open 🫡❤️

——————————————————————————

Jude was still absorbed in the mirror, meticulously adjusting the gold chains on his white blazer for what seemed like the hundredth time. He leaned in closer, fixing the details around his collar with an intense focus, only to sigh as he took a step back, seemingly still dissatisfied.

“Need any help?” you offered from the edge of the bed, where you’d been patiently waiting for a while now, amused by how the roles had reversed. Typically, he was the one rolling his eyes or letting out exasperated sighs while you perfected your look, but tonight it was his turn, and it made you grin. Jude, the perfectionist.

“Nope, I think I’ve got this,” he said, though he still cast one last look in the mirror. Sighing playfully, you got to your feet, heading toward the door as he finally decided he was ready. Following you, his hand naturally found its place at your lower back, a familiar, grounding gesture.

But, true to form, Jude stopped just shy of the hallway, casting one more glance at himself in the mirror, reaching up to fuss with his hair.

With a laugh, you gently tugged his arm. “Come on, pretty boy; Thibaut’s premiere won’t wait for you,” you teased, practically nudging him out of the house. He chuckled, letting you pull him forward.

“Easy there, woman.” He shot you a mischievous smile, taking the hint. “You’re determined, huh?”

“Well, one of us has to be!” you shot back, a smirk on your lips. Finally, you both slid into the backseat of the car, where Jude wasted no time grabbing your hand, pressing a soft kiss to it before settling it on his lap. He didn’t let go, instead lacing your fingers through his, an automatic, tender gesture that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“You’re actually making me feel underdressed,” you quipped, admiring his outfit. His white blazer, adorned with gold chains, was stunning — daring but elegant, and perfectly Jude. Your black slip dress and chunky gold jewelry matched his look subtly, but next to him, you felt almost modest.

He leaned in, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “Are you kidding? Even in sweatpants with your hair messy, you’d be the one stealing the show.” He lifted your hand to his lips once more, letting his kiss linger, his gaze conveying warmth and adoration. “You’ll have all eyes on you tonight, I’m sure of it.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling as you looked back at him. “We’ll share the spotlight, then. You kind of have a way of commanding a room too, you know?”

Jude laughed, his eyes dancing with humor. “Guess we have that in common.”

As you arrived at the venue, the energy was electric, with photographers and fans milling about. Inside, you spotted some of Jude’s teammates with their partners, each looking like they were attending a completely different event. Jude’s grin widened when he spotted Kylian in a casual jacket and jeans combo, Rodrygo in a bold silk shirt, and some of the other guys in wildly different styles. It was the perfect example of when the friend group skips the “What are we wearing?” conversation.

“Talk about no dress code,” Jude whispered to you with a laugh, shaking his head.

Finally, it was time for the red carpet. Jude walked out beside you, smiling and waving as you made your way along the velvet ropes. When you reached the photographers, he wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you close. Jude had no intention of hiding how smitten he was, and the cameras seemed to love it. He tilted his head down, pressing his cheek against your temple as the flashes went off.

The red carpet is abuzz with flashing cameras and reporters calling out, all of them eager to get a good shot of Jude and you. As you step onto the carpet together, you feel his hand tighten around yours, pulling you just a little closer to his side. It’s a simple gesture, but with the crowd and the chaos, his closeness gives you a strange sense of calm.

“Jude, over here!” a photographer calls out, and Jude flashes a bright smile, giving a friendly wave before looking back at you, his eyes lighting up.

“You good?” he murmurs, leaning down just close enough that you catch the warmth of his breath.

“Yeah,” you laugh, feeling the blush rise to your cheeks. “But I think you’re the one they’re all here to see, superstar.”

“Not without you, I’m not,” he chuckles, his eyes softening as he looks down at you, and then, without missing a beat, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in for the photos. Jude’s arm is secure around you, and every time a photographer calls his name, he seems just as focused on making sure you’re smiling right there beside him.

“Now, give me your best smile,” he whispers with a teasing grin, nudging you playfully with his hip.

“I was smiling perfectly fine,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. But you can’t help but laugh anyway, and the flashbulbs capture the moment.

After a few more shots, you instinctively step to the side, ready to let Jude have his solo photos. But the second he realizes you’ve moved away, he reaches out and catches your wrist, pulling you right back to his side.

“Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere,” he says with that smirk of his, his hand slipping from your wrist back to the small of your back.

“Jude,” you laugh, flustered. “They’re here for you!”

“Maybe so, but I’m here for you,” he says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple. The flashes go wild as he does, and you catch the gleam in his eye as he realizes it.

“Don’t give them too much,” you murmur, laughing as he pulls you close enough that his cheek brushes yours.

“They should know who I’m with,” he replies, his voice softer now, but still that playful tone. “Besides, you make me look better.”

You laugh again, feeling that mix of nerves and warmth spread through you, and the photographers eat it up, the two of you sharing smiles and whispers that the cameras try to capture. His thumb rubs gently against your lower back as he holds you close, a soft, intimate gesture that you don’t even think he’s aware of.

The crowd calls his name again, and he takes one more photo with you by his side before pulling you just slightly to look at him. “All good?” he asks, tilting his head as if to check in, the sincerity in his eyes grounding you amidst all the chaos.

“All good,” you reply, giving him a nod. “But I’ll let you have your solo shot.”

“Not happening,” he replies, laughing as he keeps you right by his side.

And with his hand in yours and that grin on his face, you realize that there’s nowhere else either of you would rather be.

The premiere had gone off without a hitch. You’d both enjoyed the documentary, laughed and mingled with his teammates and their partners, and Jude, as always, had been the life of the evening. Now, sitting in the car with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you feel the warmth of the night and the buzz of excitement slowly easing away into a comfortable, quiet intimacy.

You lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment as the city lights streak past outside. Jude’s hand rests lightly on your shoulder, his thumb tracing soft circles against the fabric of your dress. His warmth is familiar, grounding, and in the stillness, you feel a smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Tired?” he asks, his voice soft, and you nod without lifting your head, letting out a content sigh.

“It’s your fault, you know,” you tease, nudging him slightly. “You dragged me to the after party, and I ended up listening to you all argue about who was the best dressed for half the night.”

Jude chuckles, his hand moving to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “Please, you know it was all about showing you off,” he says with a grin, glancing down at you. “And, by the way, I was clearly the best-dressed.”

“Oh, obviously,” you say with a laugh, turning your face toward him so that your nose brushes against his shoulder. “Though I think you’re just fishing for compliments at this point.”

“Maybe I am.” He squeezes your shoulder a bit tighter, leaning his head back to look at you more fully, his eyes softening as they meet yours. “But, hey, I had a pretty great date tonight.”

You feel the blush creep up your cheeks, and you roll your eyes, trying to brush off the flattery. “You say that because you’re biased.”

“No, I say it because it’s true,” he murmurs, his voice warm and sincere now, that teasing edge gone. He takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. “Best date I’ve had, actually. Thanks for coming with me, my love.”

The quiet honesty in his words makes your heart skip a beat. You tighten your grip on his hand, your smile growing as you gaze up at him. “Anytime, babe.”

He rests his cheek on the top of your head, pulling you closer, and the two of you sit in comfortable silence as the car glides through the night, your fingers entwined and your hearts in sync.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Obedience Training.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (HxH).

Commissioned by the very lovely @h2o2-and-baking-soda.

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Pet Play, Dehumanization, and Controlling Behavior.

The ring was beyond repair.

It was the ugly kind of damage, too – the gold chipped and dented, some parts entirely flattened while others had scratched and tarnished to the point of virtual unrecognizability. The jewel itself (a diamond the color of the sky just before sunrise and the size of the nail on your pointer finger) had been pried out of its casing and polished with the blunt side of the hammer you’d pilfered from collection of one of the more forgetful servants. Any fragments that might’ve been worth salvaging were then washed down the sink of your en suite, and the near-microscopic remnants glistened against the table’s dark mahogany – twinkling whenever they caught the ample sunlight.

It'd been his mother’s ring; albeit, one of countless. Breaking it in such an obviously deliberate way had been a stupid thing to do, and a part of you must’ve known that while you were doing it. A part of you must’ve basked in the idiotic rage of it all, must’ve been dying to see what Illumi would be like when he couldn’t hide behind those big, blank eyes and that unreadable expression. As hazy as it seemed, you could remember being excited to see how Illumi would react, what he thought he could do to you that he hadn’t already put you through.

Now, though, standing next to him as he evaluated the damage, watching as those dark, glossy eyes skirted from the splintered wood to the decimated ring to the sparkling residue…

You weren’t excited, anymore.

Several seconds passed in silent paralysis. Images of braided rope and rusted chains and broken legs flashed through your subconscious, but he managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts with a low hum, a startling click of his tongue. Finally, he turned toward you and raised a hand, and you braced yourself for the feeling his fist around your neck, two fingers piercing the fragile bone of your skull, his pointed nails clawing out your eyes and leaving you to ble—

His palm came to rest on top of your head, petting over your hair gently. “Sweetheart,” he muttered with a tone as warm and as affectionate as a corpse in a snowstorm. “Would you come with me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. You nodded, the gesture stilted and jerky, and Illumi offered an approving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, letting his hand fall to your wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head before tugging you gently towards the door.

Neither of you spoke as he guided you through the halls of his mansion. Usually, you could count on running into one of the sociopaths that made up his family or a member of their bloodthirsty staff whenever you left your room, but today, his sprawling home seemed to be vacant, lifeless, as empty as the killers who dwelled inside of it. Steadily, you moved downward, the marble walls turning to rough stone, the filtered sunlight soon traded out for the artificial glow of dim gas lamps. He didn’t drag his feet or try to prolong your walk to the gallows, but he didn’t rush, either, didn’t seem to be in any rush to carry out your inevitably punishment. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a simple wooden door – unremarkable in every aspect save for the deep well of dread it managed to dredge up inside of you.

With little ceremony, the door was pushed open and you were ushered inside of ahead of him. Your attention quickly fell onto the object most immediately in front of you: a dog crate.

It was almost shockingly mundane; not overly massive, but big enough for a large pitbull or golden retriever, the bars thin but close together and the bottom cushioned by a small bed with pink and white paw prints splattered across it. A handful of miscellaneous items had been laid on top of it. Your attention caught on the collar, first, the cutesy type with a bell and fake (or, knowing Illumi, very real) gemstones studded into the leather and a matching leash, and then headband with what couldn’t be—

Illumi moved past you, approaching the crate and taking up the undeniably, indisputably dog-eared headband. He turned it over in his hands once, then twice, before speaking. “Strip.”

It sounded like gibberish; partially muffled by the static buzzing over your conscious mind and made even more difficult to process by your own unwillingness to do so. “What?”

“Strip,” he repeated. “Or I’ll break every bone in your right hand.”

It was the specificity of the threat (paired with the implication that your left wouldn’t be long to follow) that had your shaking hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and hauling it over your head. You looked towards him for approval after every shed article, but he only seemed to notice your obedience at all when you stood bare and vulnerable in front of him, completely unprotected from both his prying gaze and the chill of the damp dungeon air. You started to move towards him, but he stopped you with a quick shake of his head, a new softness to his expression. “Kneel.”

With a shallow breath, you complied, lowering yourself onto your knees. Now, now, he took his time, his terrible eyes raking over your trembling form as he came to stand in front of you. The collar was fastened around your neck deftly, the leash allowed to hang loose and pool in your lap. He was more careful with the headband – meticulously lining it up with your ears, your face before sliding it into place with a satisfied hum. In a very distant, very muted way, you found that you were surprised less that your hitman-turned-kidnapper would have a pet play lair hidden away in some dark corner of his basement, and more that the aforementioned kidnapper would use that pet play lair to dress you up as a dog, rather than a cat. Illumi was as cat-like as a man could be – silent and skulking, prone to digging his claws into what he loved most – but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Cats were smart and sly and perfectly capable of surviving on their own, whereas dogs were stupid and clumsy and almost painfully reliant on their owners. People get cats because they want something that can choose to love them back. People get dogs because they want something that doesn’t have another choice.

“I--Illumi,” you managed, his name still awkward and bitter on your tongue. “I… I’m really sorry, and I’ve learned my lesson, and—”

One second, you were staring at his feet, and the next, your head was snapped to the side, a searing pain stitched deeply into your cheek. His open palm slipped downward, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to face him properly. “Good pets don’t talk.” His tone was shockingly sweet, coercive, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a very stupid child. “Good pets only follow commands. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Tears were starting to gather in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot lodging itself at the base of your throat, but you did your best to keep both at bay. You started to nod, then thought better of it, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders, trying to communicate the only thing you could seem to think – please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me – without giving him a reason to land another blow. In the end, he rewarded you with the ghost of a smile, his free hand held in front of your mouth. “Good puppy. Now lick.”

You hesitated, but the steady ache pounding in your cheek was enough to make you swallow your pride. Your tongue darted out from between trembling lips, and with no small amount of trepidation, you lapped over the back of his closed fist. He let you begin to pull away before moving – before forcing two fingers into your open mouth and pressing the pads of his digits into the back of your throat. You gagged, your body instinctually recoiling, but he didn’t relent, his thumb digging into your jaw as he held you in place. Your hands shot to his thighs, the tears you’d forced back resurfacing and flooding down your cheeks, but he didn’t budge, didn’t pull away until you were gasping and breathless and utterly humiliated. Finally, he drew back, wiping his spit-soaked digits on your shoulder as his eyes moved from your open mouth to your hands, still balled around the fabric of his pants. “I have something upstairs for those,” he said, voice dripping with all the warmth and affection he usually denied you. “I’ll forgive you this time, puppy, but good pets shouldn’t be able to grab.”

He reached down, taking you by the leash. You were too detached to resist as he half-led, half-dragged you towards the crate. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking your head, from stammering out little ‘no, no, no’s as his fist curled around your collar and forced you past the metal gate and into the confined space, suddenly so much smaller than it’d seemed from the outside. You had just enough time to scramble for the door before Illumi slammed it shut, letting the clasp fall into place and leaving you withering inside the makeshift cage. You couldn’t stop yourself – hands curling around the bars as you looked toward him with your most pleading expression, but Illumi only shook his head. “You don’t have to sulk. Maybe, with some time, we’ll be able to move your bed somewhere warmer.”

He paused, his grin widening into the first real smile you’d ever earned from him.

“After you’ve proved you can be a good dog, of course.”

[monbons]

Baz and The Prophecy a monbons doll + felt tapestry In collaboration with @iamamythologicalcreature as part of Carry On Through The Ages 2024 (@carryonthroughtheages)

I had a lot of fun reinterpreting Jo's stunning visual art in order to bring Egyptian Baz to life in way that was both beautiful and worthy of his noble roots. In the image above, Baz is admiring a prophecy about his curly-haired rival/doomed crush immortalized on the wall of his mother's tomb. Since Simon is meant to be art, he is done in the more traditional Egyptian style.

I created the Winged Simon tapestry using tan linen for the backdrop and white linen for his kilt, multi-color felt (including metallic felt!) for his body and wings. The bling is courtesy of individually hand-sewn sequins, as well as beads and a small chain for jewelry.

Egyptian Baz also boasts several beautiful details, including real jewelry (I pierced his ears!), gold cuffs on his arms and legs, and a pleated linen kilt with several belts made of both gold rope and beadwork.

It is hard to capture the sparkle of either piece in a picture, so enjoy a video below!

[ur-mousey]

Strawberry Worries ~

Yandere! Husband! Nanami Kento x Curse! F!Reader

summary Anxious Nanami Kento is a recipe for fucking you hard with strawberries in your mouth. 1.6k warning mature, smut, dub-con, implied kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, feeding kink. ..............................

Worriedness is contagious. It tanks efficiency and threatens to eat at one's productivity. And, it piles high out of eyesight, waving a red flag to be seen and pondered on. It could be needy like a scorched enemy or as tempting as one's lover. Oh, what he would give for his worries to vanish. Nanami Kento does not have time for such a disease.

Yet, worriedness never leaves his furrowed brows. It guided his work, the restless pen against paper, the precise hit of his knuckles to skin, and it brought you to him. He must have been infected all his life, for the feeling carried him home once again.

It wouldn't be the first time, that worriedness thrummed its delicate cords within Nanami's lungs. He knew your plight. Curses do not fare well in gilded cages. But adjustments take time. That tune -so thick- emitted in his veins. And it pressed its lips against his neck.

Soon, his inflictions would be your own. It's contagious, after all.

Worriedness is frightening. His heart sank further when his lover had failed to greet him at the door. You were as precious as firelight. Why would he not worry over you? Alone at odd hours, awaiting his return from situations deemed trifled. Nanami awaited you at the entrance while he bolted the many locks on the door. Did you leave?

But, the apartment wasn't devoid of your messes. Nor were there any less signs of your energy.

Sighing, he said. "I sense you, Wife." Nanami ran his fingers between his neck and collar. "Come greet your husband, or I will punish you."

When would you come to your bitter senses? He has left you with no binds of chains or ropes. Nothing should tether you from flying away. But you don't. Nanami worries more than ever that he'll come to find you afloat in the clouds. Out of reach for all eternity. He'll stay among the infected. While you remained pure of his demanding worriedness.

You couldn't understand Nanami's devoted inclination to tether you to his humanity.

He would grow strawberry fields to taunt you out of the sky. Waving the fruit high in the air if it meant he could grab your wrist to his. He would force-feed the tart fruit past your lips in the hope that it'll lure you home. Nanami would do more deplorable things in the name of love. Things that would have you despise him more.

Yet, his cultivated calmness would remain, fortified by the desire to dominate your entire being. A barren room. No means of escape. It's what Nanami expected the situation to escalate to. However, you're exceedingly passive about your predicament. Curses live eternally if unchecked. What's a decade in your eyes? Insignificant. It drove him mad knowing that you'll reside here as a pass time more than to fall in love. To handle unwillingness means to break them.

And, within that brokenness, the hollow husk of a person, one could be molded to fit a new purpose. Even curses could be hollowed. You couldn't.

Boundless, Nanami thought it described you. Then your voice floated in the air, "Husband? Ha. Funny.”

There you were. In all your splendor like the first time you meet. Your eyes swirled with sweet white lies that you weren't prone to masking. A tentative smile adorned your face, filled with tricks. Nanami's cock swelled in his tight breeches. He tugged his tie from around his neck, roping the fabric around his knuckles. You, too, took notice of what it was that ailed him. His darling fairy bristled, and your lips twitched.

However, he became more concerned about how the shadows sat on the sidelines. It allowed for your ethereal skin to glitter gold flecks.

Oh, how it would be daunting for him to taste each beautiful mark on your skin. But, it would chase his worries farther back until tomorrow.

You scoffed at a distance, "I don't claim you. You haven't earned me." You hid yourself in his casual tee, pulling the fabric taut against your fat thighs. You are a curse, Nanami thought, a retched little thing he should've killed. He couldn't. When your cheeks blushed the deepest of reds like a strawberry, and your dragonfly esc-wings reflected light like bubbles on an ideal summer day, he couldn't possibly kill you.

"I haven't?" Nanami slipped his shoes off. "Yet, you are still here." He stepped up from the tiled genkan onto the wooden floorboards. "To think you would stay, willing. It baffles me, Wife." He stalked through the narrow hall where his imposing build threatened to graze either side of the wall. Your breath hitched as his laced hand slithered over your collarbone. "Would it be rude to assume that you like me?"

Another scoff pressed out from your chest. "I'm not helping you with your boner if that's what you want."

"Little one, that's not what I asked." Nanami pinned himself over your frame. The wall supported your trembling back. His tongue lulled out to caress the helix of your ear. "Do you like me?"

"No." You sucked in a breath, and the pointed tip of your ear passed in between his teeth that he proceeded to nibble on. "It was either be killed or stay here. You reminded me that in plenty."

"Of course, the curse should know her place." Nanami whispered. "I do think though... that the little fairy should be honest."

"Aren't we known for our honesty?" You sneered.

"Perhaps." Nanami shrugged and brushed away the hairs sticking to your reddened face. He stared through you before slinking away into the depth of the apartment. "What's your adversity with lights?"

You rolled your eyes, following close behind.

>>>

Worriedness was abandonment. It takes the distraction of something small and blows it out of proportion till the full-scale image is muddy. Shouldn't you be mad? A curse of your rank didn't need to live the life of a housewife. Curses couldn't love, you feared. Therefore, what this man is pinning for is a lost bet on you. You had more to gain whether it concerned him. All you needed to do was play house.

The bare minimum. You tilted your head towards the dimmed kitchen lights. Your legs hung limply over the counter's edge, and you caressed Kento's, your husband's, thigh with your twirling foot. He had rolled his sleeves to the crease. He wielded a knife valiantly so that his muscles tensed. Strawberries were beheaded. And you wondered when you'll be at the receiving end of his blade. Why were you still here?

"Nanami?"

Kento pops the red fruit into your awaiting mouth. The slight tang of the fruit's juice sent tingles through your wings. No one had ever fed you before. And, if they did, you weren't sure if you'd be moved.

Your worries were trivial as long as you remained immortal. Absolute. Untouchable. Yet, worriedness made time greater spent debating. All these distractions don't change who you should be. This husband of yours kept you from fulfilling your duties of carnage.

Curses have a single purpose, destruction. Kento was a distraction, a friend of worriedness.

When you awoke to an empty bed and realized the overhead lights would remain off earlier that morning, your one concern was whether he would leave for good. Even death would be a betrayal. You wanted to pretend that a creature like you should be capable of love. But, this was a break, a false reality that never belonged to you.

"Little one, are you ready?" Kento cleaned the kitchen. The knife and cutting board were discarded and sheath into their respective places. You nodded as he took your waist to his hips, balancing you there as he fed you more. With each strawberry eaten, a kiss would be stolen.

And with each swallow, your dutiful husband guided your hips over his full erection. You could be human if only briefly, you thought, to please him and be taken care of.

You unbuttoned his trousers, reaching past the belt to grip his shaft. It sprang free from its binds, eager for your sopping hole. "Bite half," Kento grumbled. "Spit on it." You followed his every demand.

The fruit rained wonton bliss on your growing arousal. Your body was aware of what was to come. Slick gradually built and passed over the rim. Panties, forsaken months prior, couldn't hide the mess you were. Or soak up

Your vaginal canal squeezed around nothing while anticipating the dim world to get brighter. Kento was methodic. He stared into your gaze, guiding the half-bitten strawberry back and forth along your tongue. "Not helping, ha. Spit again. Wife~" 

You did. All white and frothy. And like pre-cum, it was massaged into Kento's dick. Strawberry juice trailed to his tucked balls as he fucked himself into your favorite fruit. The bulbous head knocked your clit in repeated jabs as he edged himself. You only had the counter to brace your upcoming plunge into a bright world, away from worriedness.

Kento bucked his hips. Your sensitive rim felt his tip beg for entrance. Sweat coated his brows. And his shoulders tensed as he came with a hiss. You heard the weight of his load crack against the floor. Your tee became drenched in the floral scent of sex. "Fu- fuck, little one." Your husband sheathed himself inside your depth. "Be good for me. Stick out your tongue."

You did. Eyes rolled back at the intrusion. The smashed berries Kento palmed himself into were smeared over your tastebuds.

Tangy, sweet, salty, and fully Nanami Kento. And, lastly, worriedness was obsession. It kept his hips glued to yours and your lips wrapped around his fingers. Your head knocked in the backsplash, and Kento's back ached from bending his face to yours.

Saliva. Cum. And strawberry worries lingered on the tongue.

.............................. Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! This idea has been sitting on my mind for AGES!! But I constantly changed ideas. So it took forever. This story was incredibly more difficult to write because I tried to be more symbolic /or poetic. I just thought that suited who I saw Nanami to be. And I was in need of a little break.

>>> NEXT JJK POST: Yandere!Nanami Kento! x Birthday! F!Reader!

Off topic = I have been reading these AO3 monster fucker stories. And now I want to write a series like that. Maybe 5 to 10 parts. Just be on the look out for a poll to decide the monster. Literally Orcs and Faeries have been on my mind.

[missisjoker]

Jacegan fic prompt: hostage!Jace x An Absolute Menace!Cregan with a light hint of bondage.

When Torrhen Stark bends the knee to Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon makes him an oath that should the Others return, he or his descendants would send their dragons north of the Wall to help Starks stop them.

A Night's Watch raiding party runs into a group of white walkers a month before King Viserys dies. Cregan Stark sends a raven to Kings Landing, reminding the king of his ancient oath- but his plea is left unanswered. When the Dance breaks out, the Lord of Winterfell sends two ravens to both the Blacks and the Greens but the only answer he gets is silence.

He begins the preparations on his own, gathering a great northern army and getting provisions, but a couple of months later, a Targaryen accidentally destroys a provisions caravan that Cregan has negotiated from the Reach. Cregan doesn't know for sure if it was Daemon or Aemond, and he honestly doesn't care - he is simply done with Targaryens and their petty squabbles.

But, his anger is not the hot flash of the dragon's temper- no, it is cold as ice; it runs slower, and burns deeper. So he comes up with a daring plan. He knows he can't fight either Targaryen party head-on, no valor alone can beat the dragons, so instead he gathers a small party of Greybeards and leads them south.

***

Queen Rhayenira receives word about yet another raid her forces suffered in the Riverlands. Perpetrators unknown, hide in the shadows, sweep effortlessly, steal whatever they came from (mostly weapons and gold), and leave as swiftly as they come. No traces left behind, only howling of the wolves in the distance. Her people are freaking out, speaking in hushed voices about the ghosts in the night, about a pack of direwolves that came down from Winterfell on the heels of the first snow; say that they feel like the shadows are always watching them, following them, as if they are prey being hunted. She doesn't know that the Greens are suffering from the same blight, but she can't allow her soldiers to succumb to some peasant superstition- so she sends Jacaerys to investigate.

Jacaerys takes up to the skies and circles the city while heavy snow blankets the lands. When the snowfall stops and the full moon comes out, the temperature drops and Jacaerys starts to shiver. Then he notices a couple of freshly smothered fires still bellowing smoke in the bald spot in a forest, and carts full of weapons poorly hidden next to them. There are no signs of the raiding party present, there are no tracks on the fresh snow, so Jacaerys decides it is safe to land. He dismounts Vermax and makes his way to one of the carts when the mounds of snow shift around him, uncovering men lying in wait, and his world goes black.

***

When Jacaerys wakes up, his whole body is screaming. His hands and feet are bound and the ropes wind around his shoulders so tight he can't even move his head up. And yet, he struggles to get up on his knees and looks for Vermax. His dragon is not far from him, also bound by leather belts and chains around his maw, whining in distress and anger. At least, we aren't harmed. Yet.

He looks around at his captors- the ones he sees are old men with beards, shaggy and rough, old battle-tested warriors, no doubt. He notices a buckle on one of them with a distinct imprint of a direwolf.

It can't be.

"Beautiful bounty this harvest season, my Lord."

"Indeed."

The old men around him start laughing.

Jace shifts again and finds himself looking down on a pair of leather boots. He tries to look up to see his captor, but his bounds prevent him. He takes a deep breath,

"Lord Cregan Stark, I presume"?

A quiet murmur falls on the group of his captors, but the man in front of him just softly chuckles,

"Quick lad, I like that."

The low husky voice makes the tips of his ears burn.

"I would prefer to speak to your face rather than your boots,"

"Aye, that's fair".

A strong arm yanks him off the frozen ground back to his feet. Now he is face to face with his captor and ... he freezes.

Lord Stark is absolutely not what he expected. He's young, no more than a few years older than Jace, tall with broad shoulders and a handsome face. Steel grey eyes look at him in amusement.

"This is treason."

"This is a reminder. Your family swore an oath but chose to forget it. But the North remembers, and I will remind them of their honor."

"You speak of honor but bound me like a wild boar?"

Lord Stark tilts his head and gives Jacaerys a slow look over,

"More like a flailing fawn, really."

Jace's face burns with embarrassment and fury as he struggles to keep his head upright, but Cregan only shrugs and grabs a tight knot on Jace's neck,

"I suppose a touch of goodwill won't hurt."

He reaches out behind Jace's head, twitches his fingers, and the binds come undone. Jace flexes his muscles and rolls his shoulders as his body becomes alive again, ropes finally discarded at his feet. A heavy hand on Jace's shoulder grounds him and stops him from moving, then Lord Stark leans in and whispers in Jace's ear, "Do not think to run, my prince, because I will hunt you down."

Fire burns in Jace's chest, and there is a scalding mix of anger, embarrassment, indignation, and something else he can't yet put a name to.

"Threats won't get you far, my Lord."

"It's not a threat, merely a promise."

Jace stumbles in his step, legs still half numb from cold and being bound. "What of Vermax?"

"The beast is fine. I've put a trinket on his chains, it will release in a day's time and he shall be free to fly back to your mother."

Jace just stares at Cregan's frustratingly handsome face, dumbstruck. But then,

"You think my queen sees a riderless dragon and will choose to negotiate with you? You must be mad!"

"Not mad, just practical."

"But... does this mean you haven't declared for the Greens?"

"I declared for no one but the North. And I will have a dragon to protect it, one way or the other. Perhaps, I'll even fetch myself a dragon bride to keep me warm. Come now, we have a ten-day's road back to Winterfell."

"You expect me to just ride a horse all the way there?"

Jace chokes at how childish it sounds, but presses on.

Cregan raises an eyebrow,

"You will ride whatever I tell you to ride. You are a grown man, are you not? Surely you can handle it."

Jace tries to retort but his body betrays him, and starts to shiver. Lord Stark unbuckles his cloak and drapes it around Jacaerys in one swift move. Jace welcomes the warmth and prays to the Seven the moonlight hides the deepening redness of his cheeks. He isn't sure it's just the cold.

The party splits, Lord Stark and two other men take Jacaerys to the horses while the rest disappear in the forest.

Jace looks around and decides to make up for his stupid childishness earlier,

"You think three people is enough to tame me?"

Cregan smirks, "I'm sure myself is quite enough. I simply choose to be polite, my prince."

Jacaerys clenches his fists and barely stops himself from headbutting the bastard's smug face, but then.. The men start to howl, more voices join from the distance, and Cregan's smile grows feral.

[lumierexfics]

*exciting noises* Hii! I saw your idv ithaqua x reader and i love it so much, how do you think about a scenario of morningstar!ithaqua x simp!reader (´,,•ω•,,)♡

Chat Log Name : the voice of love

chat log description : Morningstar! Ithaqua deals with a simp! reader after saving them!

• online users : morningstar! Ithaqua, simp! Reader

‼️ CW : Injuries, Semi-accurate to the lore of the essence.‼️

<<ao3 link

Your skin was littered with the layers of opened and closed scars due to the frequent punishments given by the nobility whenever you hadn’t done a good enough job on your assigned duties.

The unfamiliar jingle of shifting jewelry, a black fur cloak surrounded your trembling skin; remaining of burnt wooden and freshly burnt idols. A liberator of suffering came but the nobility called him a demon. A single swipe from his intricately created halberd cut the tethers of rope that held your wrists to the iron ring pull and the white wild hair behind his black mask of the stranger from nowhere; expecting to hear a harsh voice that barks out orders to escape his lips but a gentle voice.

“You are injured.” He held out his gloved hand. “I’m here and you have nothing to fear anymore.”

You took his gloved hand, your free hand rose to your face covering the blinding light of the sun. He crushed away the misery from your skin and the hardened gold that held your broken body together that he poured on the cracks.

Days slipped away easily, under his soft and the warmth of his hands soothing the worries that had implanted on your face.

Your hands cleaned the intricate halberd while you sat in his chambers, sharpening the blade and hearing the unusual tugging of chains from the room above; the hardened golden on the cracks of skin began to melt with each step up the tower.

The golden chains that always bound the wooden door when you managed to catch a peek of top of the stairs were unlocked. It no longer bound the door, your hand hovered over the steel doorknob; just a slight push to open.

“Dearest.” Morningstar’s gloved hands held your shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“The chains,” you answered.

“What about them?” He turned you back around to face him. “It seems that I forgot to lock it.”

“What’s behind—“

“Nothing of importance for you,” he replied. “I care for you, deeply. Let’s go back to my chambers?”

His hand held yours while he led you down the stairs back to his chambers but you turned back to hear the continuous jingling of chains from inside the room; nothing bad was behind it. Besides, he tells you everything, right?

“Dearest?”

Your heart always fluttered when he called you back to reality, his hand pulled you closer to him. Each step towards his chambers was ever so sweetening, the noises of chains behind the door no longer mattered.

[beelsfav]

minors and ageless blogs, do not interact. 540 words. (whb) mammon/afab! reader. cumflation implied.

You're both heavy and full and you can't decide which sensation demands your attention more.

It felt like every gem and jewel known to man was decorating you from sunrise to sundown.

The outfit Bimet had brought you in the morning was beautiful, you could admit that, but it was way out of anything you and Minhyeok could buy together. If you were honest, you think it was something that matched Mammon's usual outfit even with the color difference.

It was a loose-fitted white robe with gold leaves that made a pattern of leaves and a singular apple (it had taken you some time to find that) that he'd dressed you in. The amount of bangles, rings, and chains that decorated your arms and legs were circled with bright stones you couldn't name even if you tried.

Bimet had talked you through the usual activities of Mammon's birthday balls as he did your hair with several more (lighter, thankfully) gemstones, but you found yourself too enraptured with imagining the costs of it all.

While you could barely think now, you wonder if you should've paid closer attention to his words. Did he mention how Mammon would steal you away between every banquet just to hook your legs over his shoulders and press your back against the porcelain walls so he could eat you like a man starved?

Did he even try to warn you of how you'd be forced to watch Mammon's dick bury itself entirely in your cunt? What about the fact that you'd be folded in half against his front, his hands interlocked perfectly behind your head so you could keep your eyes on the way your stomach bulged to show exactly where he ended in the mirror?

A garbled moan leaves your throat when he lifts you slowly and all he can give you is a kiss on the back of the head before impaling you on his length again.

He has a rhythm that doesn't let up and even speeds up when he drops a hand from your head to your clit.

Your muscles had gone slack, head lying against the swell of his chest. He'd kept your eyes on him by some miracle, his usual obnoxious smirk just barely able to keep your focus from blurring.

He doesn't drop you when his hips finally give that telltale twitch, but he might as well have when he's pulling out one moment and (what feels like) lining himself up to your cervix the next.

You feel a jolt when he finally lets out a low groan. You can't tell if it's from your jerking legs or him reacting to the way he responded to you digging your teeth into his bicep, but you do know that too full sensation is only becoming more and more overwhelming.

The ropes of cum he let out came fast and heavy with no escape. Your teeth digging further into the fat of his muscle the more bloated you felt yourself become.

The fingers rubbing harsh shapes into your clit finally stop when your own release and clenching muscles start calming. His hand instead raises to rest against your stomach, mindlessly palming it as though he weren't still cumming with more energy stored inside.

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

pairing: dom lee know x f. reader

genre: smut— smut with feelings (me being delulu at the end)

word count: ~2.3k

warnings: established relationship— pet names— bondage— toys— oral (f. and m.receiving)— orgasm denial (kinda)— unprotected sex— cum eating— spanking

masterlist

He kissed you softly on the lips before returning to his chair. The chair had a high back and was upholstered with black velvet. The material made a shhh noise as his suit pants slid over its surface. He leaned back, a smirk on his face, admiring his work. You were a few feet away, on the bed. You were on all fours, your weight resting on your knees and elbows. You were bound with black shibari rope. You looked up at him through your lashes, he was staring at you like you were something to eat. Like he was going to absolutely wreck you. His eyes fell to your clothing. You were wearing his favorite piece of lingerie. Violet lace, tied together in the middle by a thin silk string. It barely covered your breasts. A matching violet thong did nothing to cover your sex. Especially with you squirming around, unable to keep still, begging him to touch you. His room was dark, lit only by candles. Though there were many, many candles. Their wax having dropped down their holders, over many uses, to pool on the floor. In the flickering light, your eyes met.

"You’re wearing my favorite." He purred.

You nodded, unable to make a noise that wasn’t a whimper. You rocked forward and back on your knees. He flexed his hand that was resting on his thigh. Three of the five fingers on that hand were adorned with silver rings, and a small silver chain dangled from his wrist. Thick veins ran up the back of his hand, up his forearm, and disappeared under his shirt cuff where you couldn’t see them anymore. As if he was itching to swat your backside, he flexed his hand again, before balling it up into a fist. His other hand was busy undoing the top few buttons of his white dress shirt. Through the small gap, you could see the thin silver necklace that matched his bracelet. The long chain lay against his heaving chest, mingling with his limited chest hair, as he took deep breaths. You couldn’t see it, because it was hidden by his shirt, but there is a small charm on the end of that chain. The charm had a simple engraving of your first initial.

He leaned to one side now, the fisted hand relaxing and sliding into his pocket. He pulled out a sleek, black iPhone. Is he going to take your picture? You didn’t care. You trusted him fully, and if he wanted to take a picture to remember this moment, then you wanted him to have it. But instead of raising the phone to point the camera in your direction, he started swiping through apps. He found the one he wanted and opened it. He laid the phone on his thigh and you could see there was nothing on the screen but a graphic of a shiny gold button.

"Do you know what this button does?" He asked.

You shook your head, no.

He leaned forward, presenting the phone to you.

"Would you like to find out?" You looked at him, unsure. He slid the phone onto the bed so it was resting underneath your tied hands, which now hovered over the screen. You looked down at the phone, then back up to him. He ran the tip of his nose up your arm, and kissed your shoulder gently.

"Go on, baby." He whispered in your ear. "Press it."

You brought your hands down, and with all the courage you could muster, pressed the button quickly. You gasped. The small toy he had inserted into you, after tying you up, gave a quick buzz. He chuckled darkly at your reaction. You pressed the button again, longer this time, holding your finger on it. The toy buzzzzzed inside of you, sending shivers through your whole body. You moaned, thoroughly enjoying the sensation. He leaned forward and snatched the phone from your hand.

"Ah ah ah," he scolded. "Let’s not get carried away."

He sat back in his chair, watching you. He pressed the button a few times in quick succession. Your body flinched and shook with the vibrations. You whimpered and looked at him pleadingly. He held his finger on the button for a few short seconds. Your back arched, your eyes screwed shut. You whimpered once more when he removed his finger from the button.

"Poor baby," he teased. "Do you want me to keep pressing the button?" He pressed it once quickly as he said the word ‘button’. You gasped and nodded vigorously. He pressed it again for a few seconds, moans falling from your lips.

"You look so beautiful, kitten. Tied up and moaning for me." His words made you clench around the toy, which buzzed as he held the button. He continued holding it, the longest he had yet. No longer able to stay upright, one of your hips hit the bed. Now facing him, your tiny silk string had come undone, revealing your breasts to him. He released the button. You were breathing heavily. He knelt next to the bed, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss. His soft lips kissed from your mouth, down your neck, until they found your breast. His quick tongue lashed out at your nipple. Your head fell back, eyes closed, in bliss. He sucked your nipple into his mouth and pressed the button. He hummed his approval at the sound of your moans, causing vibrations on your breast that matched the ones at your core. He released the button and you fell back on the mattress.

He stood and you grew cold without him near. He walked to the foot of the bed, and ran his fingers up and down your left calf.

"So beautiful." He whispered to himself. You pulled your knees toward your chest, revealing your sex to him. His pupils dilated. He got on his knees. "I love playing with you, kitten." He said, his warm breath brushing across your clit. You lifted your hips slightly, bringing yourself closer to his mouth. He pulled back.

"Don’t get greedy, baby. You will get what I give you, when I give it to you." He scolded, and then smacked you in your most sensitive area. You yelped.

"These panties look so pretty, shielding your little pussy, but I think it’s time to take them off." He pulled your thong down to your ankles. Now fully exposed to him, he leaned in and licked a stripe from the toy up to the top. The feeling of his tongue on you making you buck your hips again. He gave you another smack on your now naked pussy.

"You taste so good, princess." He moaned. He was slowly loosing his composure. He licked another stripe, then flicked his tongue across your clit, and pressed the button. Your stomach tightened and you nearly screamed. He kept his finger on the button and his tongue kept pace. You could feel your release building inside you. He could hear it in your moans that you were close. He released the button and pulled away. You whined.

"Don’t you whine at me." He warned, standing up. "I’ll let you cum, but I want to see your face when you do."

His thumb found your clit and began to rub circles, while his other thumb pushed the button. You moaned and your back arched, pushing your breasts higher. You could feel it building again.

"Go ahead, baby." He encouraged. "Cum for me."

And you did. Your body trembled with the release of it, your eyes scrunched shut, hands balled up into fists.

"Good girl baby. Your so pretty when you’re cumming." He said, releasing the button. You relaxed on the sheets as you came down from your high. He slowly pulled the toy out and placed it on the bedside table. He walked toward your head.

"When you’re ready, get back on your knees." He commanded. You did as he asked. Now level with your face, he started undoing his belt. You could see the bulge in his pants and your mouth started to water. You love it when he lets you suck him. It’s your favorite way to please him. He pulled his cock out of his pants and started stroking it slowly.

"Open." He commanded, and you did so immediately. Enthusiastically.

"So eager." He teased. "What a good girl." He put his hand on the back of your head and guided his tip into your mouth. You moaned at the familiar taste of him. He slowly pushed his length in to your mouth until his tip touched the back of your throat. You gagged and he pulled out a little. Then he repeated the process. After a few thrusts, he shoved his cock as far in as he could get it. You sputtered around him, spit dripping down onto the sheets. His head fell back. "Fuck." He exhaled. Then he suddenly pulled all the way out, leaving you empty. He knelt down and kissed you deeply.

He then walked around the bed, removing the rest of his clothes, and aligned himself with your entrance. Your heart quickened with the anticipation.

"Are you ready, baby?" He asked, rubbing his tip up and down through your wetness. You nodded. "Tell me." He said.

"Yes please." You said, shyly. "I’m ready. Please." You begged. He grabbed your hips and slowly pushed all the way inside you, until his hips were touching your ass.

"You feel divine, kitten." He moaned. But, he didn’t move. He stayed still for a moment and let you adjust to his size. You kept clenching and unclenching around him.

"Minho.." you moaned, pleading.

"What is it baby?" He answered.

"Please.." was all you could say.

"Okay, honey." He said sweetly, rubbing up and down your back. He grabbed your hips again and started thrusting in and out. His pace was slow and hard. He thrusts were powerful, his fingers digging into your skin, surely to leave a bruise. You didn’t mind. You loved it when he marked you.

"Fuck." He moaned, quickening his pace.

You were a moaning mess beneath him. He leaned down, wrapping his hand around your throat and pulling your head back.

"Does that feel good, baby?" He whispered in your ear.

"Yes!" You moaned.

"Do you like it when I fuck you?" He breathed.

"Yes! Yes!" You answered.

"Yes, what?" He ordered. "Say it, baby. You like it when i fuck your sweet little cunt?"

"Yes, sir!" You moaned. "Feels so good."

"My cock drunk little slut, takes my cock so good." He said, thrusting harder.

He released you with a grunt and you fell forward onto the mattress, he spanked you, hard. "Mmm"he growled., and spanked you again. "I love it when your pretty ass turns red, baby." Spank. "You’re such a good girl letting me use you like this." Spank.

"Oh my god." You moaned.

"That’s it baby." He said, thrusting into you. You could feel your orgasm building.

"Minho.." you whimpered.

"What baby?" He asked, sweetly. "Are you going to cum?"

"Yes please, sir."

His thrusts were getting sloppier, his breathing ragged. He was getting close too. "Go ahead baby. Cum on my cock."

You clenched around him, squeezing so tight. "Fuck!" He yelled.

An intense orgasm hit you then. "Thank you!" You moaned. "Thank you, sir! Thank you. Thank you."

"You’re welcome, sweet girl." He said. "Keep milking my cock. Do you want my cum, baby?" He asked.

Still convulsing, you managed to moan out a "yes, please." And with a growl, he released inside of you. He buried himself as deep as he could and froze, riding out his orgasm and emptying himself into you. He leaned down and kissed your back, then your shoulder.

"Are you okay, baby?" He asked, breathless.

You nodded, unstable to speak. He kissed your back again and then straightened. He slowly pulled out of you, leaving you empty and a wave of sadness came over you. You could feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the bed. He knelt down so his breath was hitting your tired pussy. He used his finger to scoop up his cum and put it back inside you. You moaned into the sheets. He kissed your thighs, kissed the red handprints on your ass, and then licked your clit quickly before sticking his tongue in your dripping hole. He licked your walls and you shivered around him.

He pulled away. "Both of our release taste so good when they’re mixed together." He licked his lips. He untied your ankles and rubbed where the rope had been. He kissed each ankle before crawling on the bed next to you and untying your wrists. He kissed those as well before pulling your limp body close to his chest, squeezing you tight. You kissed his muscled chest.

"I love you." You said, your voice muffled against his skin.

"What baby?" He asked, pulling back and looking down at you softly.

You looked up into his eyes. "I love you." You repeated quietly.

"Oh, baby." He pulled you close again, your face in his chest. His smell in your nostrils, tears leaking from your eyes. You loved this man, so much. It hurt. He kissed your head.

"I love you, kitten." He said into your hair. "My sweet, sweet baby."

You sniffled, still crying slightly. He looked down at you again, using his thumb to wipe your tears.

"Don’t cry, honey. You promise you’re okay? Did I hurt you?" He asked, concern in his voice.

You shook your head no. You willed yourself to stop crying. This was pathetic, crying because you’re so in love. You needed to stop before you chased him away.

He hugged you tight without another word and rubbed your back softly with his fingertips. He kissed your head occasionally, humming a soft song until you fell asleep in his strong arms.

🚨reminder: this blog is 18+ only. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers (which i greatly appreciate) but if there’s no age identifier on your blog, i’m blocking you no questions asked. (for my own sanity and peace of mind.) ik some people don’t actually go to my page to read the warnings, so im going to start attaching a warning at the bottom of all my posts. thanks for understanding. 💕

[somfte]

"Money!" cried the squire. "Have you heard the story? What were these villains after but money? What do they care for but money? For what would they risk their rascal carcasses but money?"

Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson

(Epilepsy warning: flickering lights from 01:17 through 01:22 (if your display shows countdown timestamps, then 02:18 through 02:13))

[video description: a Black Sails fan video. Music is "Leaving the Old World" by Bytheway-May. Voiceover excerpts from the Treasure Island audiobook read by Michael Page.

The video fades in on Jack Rackham waiting in the Guthrie mansion in Philadelphia. A girl comes down the stairs and they converse: Girl: Is it true? Jack: I'm sorry? Girl: Uh, is it true… that you've come from Nassau? It's true isn't it? You're one of them. You're a pirate.

Instrumental orchestral music begins and the scene cuts to a view of the Walrus as it sails into the Skeleton Island bay. A voiceover asks, "Have you heard the story?"

Flint thumbs the edge of the missing page from the Urca schedule and his voice asks, "So you think that they see me as the villain in this particular story?"

Drawings of exaggerated pirate stereotypes blend with ghostly images of Flint in his more piratical moments. The voiceover asks, "What were these villains after but money?"

Flint asks Silver, "Why would you do that?" Silver responds, "You mean aside from the share of gold I'd get out of it?"

Miranda explains, "To show you a way out of all this, to free you." Flint demands, "A way out? Have you no memory of how we got here? What they took from us?"

Hornigold says, "I promised my men that if they stayed with me, they'd be soldiers again, that they'd be part of a rebel navy fighting a war to restore a rightful king."

Eleanor says to Vane, "…no more fighting, no more leads, no more chasing our fucking meals."

Silver continues, "…one big prize. And with it freedom."

Flint says to Anne, "We're all in this for our own reasons. You want your partner back. He wants victory. I want to set my home aright."

The music begins to swell. Billy tells Silver, "One more thing. No one gets any special treatment from you of any kind. No extra rations, no preferences in cuts of meat. Not for me, not for the quartermaster, not for the captain. Here, every man is equal."

Flint says to the maroon queen, over images of Julius, Billy, Vane, and white men in chains hauling lumber, "For every man in your camp, there are thousands somewhere in the West Indies living under the same yoke, chained in fields, pressed on ships, sold into indenture."

Max pleads with Eleanor, "We can have a life together. And it can start this very minute. All you have to do is say yes."

The music softens. The maroons are gathered happily around a large cooking fire, smiling and talking, and then we see Madi's face. She says, "But I hear other voices. A chorus of voices. Multitudes."

The video fades to black and the voiceover asks, "What did they care for but money?"

The music returns in earnest with dramatic drums and violins. Anne crawls across broken glass in the hold of a ship. Scott chokes a guard with the chains binding his wrists. Flint says, "Defined by their histories…" Vane stands at the gallows. Silver argues loudly with Flint, "I let you try it your way! I did trust you. But I am through wagering with her life now." A hooded Teach is dragged across the deck of a ship by a rope around his ankles. Flint continues, "…distorted to fit into their narrative." Flint drives a sword into the belly of Peter Ashe. Eleanor desperately picks up a pistol and fires it at the Spanish soldier attacking her. Flint rises to his feet in the forest on Skeleton Island, continuing, "…until all that is left of us are the monsters in the stories they tell their children."

The music climaxes and fades to gentle piano. The video fades to black for a moment, then shows an old pirate leaning against a railing on a ship. The voiceover asks again, "Have you heard the story?" It returns to Jack and the girl in the Guthrie mansion. Girl: I heard… Jack: Hmm? Girl: He sometimes butchered his enemies for amusement, made stew of their flesh. Flint stands over a cowering Alfred Hamilton. Vane, covered in grave dirt, rises over the corpse of his childhood tormentor. Girl: He was truly an animal. Silver cries out in pain and anger as he crushes the skull of Dufresne with his iron foot. Jack: Stew? Girl: Mh-hmm. Jack: I'm… I beg your pardon, but you believe this? Girl: I read it in a newspaper. Jack: Oh. Girl: Mm.

Silver stands in the forest on Skeleton Island, tears in his eyes, jaw clenched. The voiceover asks, "For what would they risk their rascal carcasses but money?" The music fades away. Distantly, Israel Hands, Ben Gunn, and two other pirates turn toward a sound in the distance on the island.

/end description]

[rhaegonthinker]

happy rhaegon week!

{day 1: all tied up, whether that be rhaenyra or aegon’s blood ties that keep them tethered to each other, or the rope, the chains that keeps them in bondage to one another.}

bonded and bounded by blood {mature, 950 words}

Rhaenyra traces over the scar her stepmother inflicted on her all those years ago. the mended flesh her father’s catspaw dagger sliced through, tarnishing her porcelain flesh. The same dagger revealing Aegon the Conqueror’s dream she wished she had within her grasp, wanting to run her hand along the Valyrian blade, reveal its secrets once more to her. Of fire and blood.

But another of her blood, one with fire swirling through his veins, holds onto it no, grasps onto it tighter, not afraid to cut his own flesh upon it—her half-brother. One named after Aegon the Conqueror, the second of his name. Second in everything Rhaenyra was first in: first born, first loved, first, first, first.

Thoughts of her consume him daily, memories of the night when his own mother cut his sister with the curved dagger, once her filth, her sins, had been revealed for all to see. All because he was jealous of her, of the attention and love she got from their father wholly. even from his mother. He envied that his sister’s bastards got kisses to their foreheads, a comforting touch to their bruised cheeks, while all Aegon received was a harsh, swift slap to his own cheek, marks his mother left—for never being enough. For always being too much.

Aegon cried himself to sleep that night dreaming of a younger version of his older sister, dressed in white and gold, intricate braids piled on top of her head, rubies placed like bloody tears drops amongst them. He was marrying her, he was placing a cloak of his protection around her—one of black fire and crimson blood. And Aegon smiled down at her, his dreams coming true. But Rhaenyra was crying, looking at him with misery in her lilac eyes, disappointment. She held the dagger to her young flesh and carved an A into it, then she carved an R into his arm, joining her blood to his. This is what you wanted, brother. Now we are one and the same, our blood and fates forever linked. Rhaenyra licked the blood of the blade, kissing him, sharing the taste of both of their blood with him. She bit his lip, injuring him strikingly. And Aegon awoke from that nightmare, that dream, harder than steel. He pleasured himself to the memory of her copper and saliva, how sweet, how metallic it tasted. He imagined fucking her on their wedding night, how she would bleed on his cock, once he pierced through her maidenhead, officially making her his sisterwife.

Aegon always imagined it was her each and every time he fucked another, drinking until he was dizzy and couldn’t differentiate a simple whore, picturing the sister he craved in place of them. And at least with actual sisterwife who favored his Rhaenyra, he could imagine more easily, effortlessly, especially if he fucked her from behind, imagining her tears and moans of pain were those of pleasure. For he knew Rhaenyra would find pleasure in the pain he could gift her, give her always.

As the years went by, without his sister’s presence in his life, learning that she had an Aegon of her to own now—with their uncle of all people, Aegon’s love turned to rot, beginning to loathe, while still harboring the lust that that twisted sickly inside his soul. Still believing she was his, that she owed him.

The day he saw her before the throne, belly full and festering with their uncle’s seed, Aegon smirked at her, salaciously, sinfully, wanting her to hear the filth in his mind. Of how he thought of fucking her in front of their uncle, her sons, their father, his mother. Of how he thought of ruining her, giving her wounds along her perfect flesh to match the wounds he felt inside himself, never able to heal. Not since that night she started haunting him, that his blood began to hunger for hers. He couldn’t help but act out, taunt and bully her bastard sons. Take out his frustrations on them, when she was jovial, smiling and laughing, all joy, no hurt.

And when the dagger was finally placed in his hands for the first time, he felt a thrill holding the curved blade. The same steel that cut his sister, that drew her blood. He almost envied the dagger. He wanted to lick the edge of it with his tongue. See if it tasted like her.

Aegon holds onto it now, tightly, obsessively, never letting go. A piece of her always with him, never out of his sight, always in his grasp. He's tempted to use it on his flesh, to make himself bleed, hurt. To feel it slice through his pale skin and cause him pain, like she causes him everyday. But Aegon is patient, and he is king now, his father's rightful heir. And he knows Rhaenyra will come to claim her rightful place; that his sister will come with fire and blood to take what is undoubtedly hers. And Aegon eagerly awaits the day she does, for he will graciously give her her throne, made of iron and steel swords. As long as she submits to his steel carving into her flesh once more, making her bleed for him and only him. A fresh bloody wound signifying his mark on her, his claim upon her pristine flesh, branded onto her body by her brother, on her very soul for eternity.

In life and even in death. For her fire will always scorch and burn through him, for they share the same blood. Are bonded and bound by it, wounded and stitched, sewn back together by the veins that intertwine their destinies, their fates together. 

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

[id: mostly black & white line art with dots of color assigned to parts. of person with low pony tail drape down shoulder n chest (colored dot light warm grey), wear a cropped blazer (colored dot light grey) with shiny satin (colored dot darker grey) partially wrapped around. shoulder on viewer’s right hand side, have cape thing that drape (no color assigned yet), with gold ropes n chains. wear long pants (light grey) & boots (no color assigned but write note that say black/grey/brown) hand on viewer left placed on waist while hand on viewer right holding/leaning on rapier looking sword. end id]

draw original character original character original character design

used bunch references include one vogue fashion show outfit

character is he they

[reblog ok but do not repost]

[blanket ok on drawing him as long as mark source]