#fat!artur

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin ans Artur Ivanov in the Golden Hord

HolopAU

[imagine-to-be-a-pike]

Hi today we will talk about how Arthur as a woman would be even worse than as a man

Because it was always about proving his worth to the people around her and as a woman slhe would have to prove even more to bc u know. Misgogyny

Fem Arthur would bite off the head of any man within 10 meters

She would be a ball of fury, fear of being married off and the fact that her father hates her.

She would be so much a bitch to everything that breathes. Certainly every man

Yes she wants good for her people. ofc,she a good person But oh well if guy interested in her....Then the sword will start moving

But oh yes also she would be soo fashion icon. Like imo would even beat Morgane in this. Also also. I don't care. She would have fucking long hair. I DON'T CARE

[ruleofleft]

Bloodhound has noticed that Artur has gotten a bit “bigger” lately, Hound knows that Artur is and animal and that they will not always know where he goes, Artur always shows up where he needs to be So Hound never limits him. But because they believe someone is feeding him, Hound has decided to follow the bird to find the culprit.

After an early start and and hours of follow Artur, back tracking, climbing, running and jumping over bush, Artur leads them back to their house. Hound is a bit confused but watches from a distance and Artur flies to the kitchen window taps several times and is let in by Walter. He leaves the window slightly open, just enough for Hound to hear him ask Artur if he’s ready for lunch. Artur caws and sits on the table where Walter has set him a small plate of meats and fruits along with a little bowl of water. Walter tells him that Hound was hunting today so the shouldn’t be back for a couple more hours.

Hound is a bit upset and is about to get after both of them AGAIN, but stalls when they hear Walter continue to talk to Artur about everything while Artur responds with with caws and coos. Bloodhound shakes their head and chuckles as they walk into their home.

[444namesplus]

Abbi Abbı Aber Abigar Abre Abrı Ada Adam Addison Aderade Adere Aderine Adger Adra Adrin Adrina Adrı Agata Agnes Agustine Amanda Ambrose Ameri Amis Ampton Amı Amıs Anastasi Andre Andrew Angera Angerica Angerina Ann Anna Annaberre Annabet Anne Anni Anserm Ansrı Antonı Araberra Araminta Aran Arbert Arberta Arbon Arda Arden Arec Areta Arexandra Arexandri Arfred Arice Aristar Aristare Arodi Aron Arord Arren Arrit Arrı Arte Artur Arvin Arvı Arı Arıssa Ava Avena Averı Babette Baden Badgett Barb Barbara Bardurp Barnabı Barton Bartoromew Basir Be Becca Becki Beckı Ben Benedict Benjamin Berenice Berinda Bernadette Bernard Berra Berre Bert Berta Berır Betrice Betrix Betsı Bettina Bettı Beverrı Binca Binnı Bobbi Bobbı Boniface Bonni Braden Bradrı Brake Brance Brandı Brar Brenda Brenna Bridget Brinna Brirre Brirrina Briss Britanni Brittanı Bronwın Brooke Brookrın Bruno Brınre Brını Camirra Canterre Caror Carorine Carorın Carrene Carres Carrotte Carrı Casper Cassidı Caterine Catrin Cecir Cecirı Cedric Cerestine Cester Cicerı Cindererra Constance Corin Cortnı Crade Crara Crare Crarence Crarissa Cremencı Crement Crementine Creve Crifford Crispin Crispina Cristin Cristine Cristoper Crive Cro Curtis Cınti Cırir Damin Dana Danerıs Dani Danir Danirre Danna Dapne Dari Darra Darren Darrene Darton Dası David Davina Dawn Deb Debbi Debora Dede Deja Demetri Demi Denis Denise Denna Denne Deranı Derek Deri Dermot Dermott Derra Dersi Desmond Destinı Devon Dicki Dimitı Dimond Dina Dine Dogras Donard Donna Dora Doren Doris Dorotı Dotti Drew Dudrı Duke Durci Dıran D’arcı Edit Edmund Edna Edward Edwin Edwina Egene Egeni Egrantine Emerine Emerı Emirı Emma Emmett Enritta Enrı Erbert Erda Eren Ereswit Eric Eriza Erizabet Ernest Ernestine Err Erra Erren Errerı Ersi Erton Essex Essi Ester Esterra Etan Eter Eterred Eva Eve Everard Everine Everın

Fabin Fat Fericitı Ferix Fina Frances Francis Frank Frederick Frideswide Fridı Frora Frorence Frorin Garet Garret Garı Gavin Geff Geffrı Gemma Genevive Gerard Gerardine Gerge Gergene Gergi Gergina Gerti Gertrude Gi Gina Ginnı Gires Girrin Giserre Godfrı Gordi Gordon Grace Gradıs Gram Granard Gregorı Grenda Grenna Grimbard Grori Grorina Grınis Gwen Gwenda Gwendoren Gwendorine Gwendorın Gwınet Gı Ida Ignatis Imogen In Ina Iram Irene Irving Isaberra Isaberre Ivor Jack Jacquerine Jacquetta James Jane Janet Janice Jasmine Jasper Jazmın Jemima Jemma Jen Jennerın Jennings Jennı Jeremı Jeren Jessamine Jessamı Jessamın Jesse Jessica Job Jocerın Jodi Jon Jonatan Jonna Jorene Josep Josepine Joserın Josua Judit June Juri Jurin Kara Karen Karin Karorın Karra Karre Karrene Karri Karrı Karı Karın Karıne Kası Kate Katerine Kati Katina Katren Katrina Katrın Katı Kendarr Kennet Kerrı Kersı Ket Kim Kimberrı Kira Kirra Kirsten Kirstin Kirstı Kit Kittı Krista Kristen Kristi Kristin Kristine Kristı Kı Kıra Kıre Kıri Maddi Made Maderine Maggi Margaret Mari Marice Marinne Marirın Mark Marmaduke Marta Martin Marı Mat Matirda Matt Mattew Mavis Maximirrin Maxine Maxwerr Merani Merodı Merton Mervirre Mervın Mi Micar Mickı Mirdred Mires Mirricent Mirton Mortimer Mı Mıra Mıres Nard Natan Ner Nerri Nevirre Nicora Nicoras Niger Nigerra Nobbı Nor Nora Norma Norman Norverre Norvirre Nıres Onor Operi Oriver Orivi Orpa Oscar Osward Oward Owen Page Pamera Par Para Parine Patince Patrici Patrick Peram Percivar Percı Peregrine Peter Petronirra Petura Pip Pippa Pirip Pirippa Pobe Poppı Porti Porıxena Posı Priscirra Pırris Pıton Quantrirr Queni Quentin Quintin R Racer Radcrıffe Rambert Ramona Ran Randorp Randı Rara Rareg Raren Rarence Rarp Rarın Ratimer Ravini Rawrence Re Reba Rebecca Redevers Redvers Regina Reginard Rena Renard Renesme Renne Repord Resri Rester Revirr Rewis Rex Ricard Rim Rindsı Riner Rinne Rinnon Rinus Ririn Rirı Risa Rita Robert Roberta Robin Roda Roger Roisa Roise Romirda Ronard Ronda Ronni Rorand Rorf Rorro Rosamond Rosamund Rosari Rosarind Rosarın Rose Rosemarı Rosi Rowan Rowena Rowrand Rrıd Rubı Rucas Ruci Rucin Rucreti Rucı Rupert Russerr Russi Rut Rı Rıdi Rımond Rıns�� Samanta Samuer San Sara Saron Sarrı Sarvinn Sebastin Sera Serbı Serır Sibır Sidnı Sigismund Simon Sirrı Skı Sopi Soproni Stanrı Stepen Stockton Stockwerr Susan Sıbir Sırvester Tabita Taddes Tarquin Tedore Tepirus Terence Teresa Terri Terrı Timotı Tobis Tomas Tomasin Tomasina Torpe Tracı Trevor Tristan Tırer Ubert Ug Ugo Umprı Unitı Urban Uri Uvedare Vanessa Varentine Vera Vicki Victor Victori Vincent Vinnette Viret Virgini Vivin Wanda Warburg Warter Wendı Winford Winfred Winifred Winston Wirf Wirfred Wirra Wirrard Wirrim Witnı Wurfram Wurper Wıne Zacarı Zo Zı Icint Incı Irmer Irı

[travelinfo120]

David Morrell bit back this week in reaction to the trash talk David Benavidez has been doing about him since their February 1st fight, labeling him a “Fat boy” and saying he will be the “Terminator” when they meet in 49 days. Morrell may target Benavidez’s flabby midsection with his punches and expose that weakness in their headliner on PBC on Prime Video PPV at the T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas. If Benavidez loses this fight, he can say goodbye forever to the massive mega-million payday against the winner of the February 22nd rematch between undisputed light heavyweight champion Artur Beterbiev and Dmitry Bivol. Benavidez targets the winner of that fight because he can earn untold riches by fighting whoever emerges. However, if Morrell destroys Benavidez, that’s the end of his dreams. Monster’s Appetite  Benavidez, 27, did look chunky around the midsection, and you could see his belly during the promo shoot face-off with Morrell, in which both guys had their shirts off. ‘The Mexican Monster’ Benavidez didn’t resemble a professional athlete with the gut he was sporting. He’s now working feverishly, trying to take the weight off in training, and talking boldly, almost angrily, this week about what he will do to Morrell. If he had discipline, he wouldn’t put the weight on in the first place. In a video this week, Benavidez said, “I’m going to knock this mother **** out.” Benavidez has gotten used to being the bully against older, smaller, and weaker opposition while fighting at super middleweight. Now that Benavidez has moved up to 175, it still hasn’t set in that he can no longer do what he did before. He can’t use his size to dominate the opposition, and he’s finally facing quality guys instead of the soft opposition his management had been feeding him throughout his entire 11-year career. Benavidez’s best wins: – Oleksandr Gvozdyk: 37 and coming off of a 4-year retirement– Anthony Dirrell: 38– David Lemieux– Demetrius Andrade: 35– Caleb Plant: After his knockout loss to Canelo. Need I say more? The WBC interim 175-lb champion Benavidez has obviously been eating good. Still, he’s going to have to control himself because he could be forced to move up to cruiserweight or heavyweight soon. It had only been five months since his last fight on June 15h, but Benavidez looked completely out of shape. That suggests he’s not living the life between fights and letting himself go like heavyweight Tyson Fury does. “F*** you, fat boy. I’m the terminator,” said David Morrell to Fighthype, reacting to the knockout predictions and trash talk from WBC interim light heavyweight champion David Benavidez ahead of their February 1st showdown in 49 days. WBA ‘regular’ light heavyweight champion Morrell (11-0, 9 KOs) says he prefers to show “respect” for his opponents,  but when they get mouthy like Benavidez (29-0, 24 KOs) has, he’ll show him nothing but the back of his hand. Morrell states that if they were in Cuba, a person like Benavidez would get his “a**” kicked. [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMr9hzaPFPU[/embed]

[cannoli-reader]

Yeah, I've blogged about this extensively. My point was really that Wheel of Time does not have to be pigeonholed as fantasy, because it breaks out of so many of the tropes.

Regarding the printing presses, Loial says something like that when asking Faile to take his notes with her to Caemlyn when she's "going for help from the queen" right before the final battle.

One slight point on the military stuff though, the WoT version of bastard feudalism is closer to late Hundred Years War/War of the Roses era, which is the end of the medieval period (it lingered longer in England than in, say Italy - Geoffrey Chaucer & Petrarch were contemporaries, but the former is considered medieval and the latter "Renaissance"). That being said, military technology and organization is considerably behind the time period of the rest of society. That they let an army of basically light infantry smack an alliance of a dozen nations around for several years in the Aiel War shows their deficiencies.

As noted, there are no knights in WoT, nor anything like that, but it was a Thing during the Early Modern era, which is why Henry VIII is remembered as fat.

My theory is that it is all a result of the White Tower suppressing military arts and sciences in reaction to Artur Hawkwing. Moiraine reassures Siuan at Fal Dara that none of the Two Rivers ta'veren have any aspirations of being another Hawkwing. Why would it be a problem if one of them DID intend and have the ability to establish a unified peaceful government across the continent, save the White Tower from several armies of false Dragons and crush a Second Trolloc Wars in the bud? Because when the Tower screwed Hawkwing over, he pushed back. A thousand years later, Hawkwing is still a name to conjure with in the White Tower, whose view of him is diametrically opposite that of the regular people in his empire.

Now the Tower can't do anything about the Pattern making people ta'veren, and of course, it might be dangerous to do so if they could, but they can for damn sure prevent anyone else from having the ability to raise a military force that can seriously threaten the White Tower. So they discourage military activity, they jump in whenever a war breaks out to negotiate a resolution to the conflict, and do whatever they can behind the scenes to create the notion that this stuff is unworthy and a lesser sphere of activity.

Thus there is nothing like knighthood to glorify warriors or coopt them into the aristocracy. Cairhienin nobles don't even get military haircuts when leading troops, until recently. Noblewomen can delegate military command without losing power or prestige, and most seem to scorn it as beneath womanly dignity, like swearing or getting unnecessarily dirty or hard liquor. It's women who give Birgitte shit for being a warder and a general, not her fellow warders or soldiers (except for the Darkfriend who wants her job). With their resumes, Bryne and Bashere should be powers in their own right in Andor and Cairhien, not merely adjuncts to their queens.

While there are strong central governments, with Altara & Murandy being noted for being the exceptions, those governments are not accompanied by military power. The national armies of those nations which have them consist of a relatively small force that is more of a royal bodyguard/palace guard/capital city police force, than a proper instrument of national power. These standing armies appear to serve as merely cadre for a largely ad hoc conglomeration of noble affinities and levies which compose the wartime armies of a nation. Dyelin is appalled at Elayne's plans in WH to build a true national army, and at the end of that plotline, Master Norry notes that five thousand men has only recently begun to be considered a small force, that it used to be considered an army in its own right.

Also, the Illuminators should not be so successful in keeping gunpowder a secret. We see heavy cavalry, crossbows, pikes and halberds, which accompanied gunpowder weaponry IRL. If military power was as important in WoT as IRL, someone in the guild would have cracked eventually and offered some powerful or wealthy leader some brand new weapons. But scorpions or ballistas are actually invented during the events of the book, when it's just scaling up of existing technology. So there does not seem to be as much interest in heavy military weapons, which, again, makes sense, if wars are never fought to their conclusions, but rather simple have a few set piece battles and otherwise a war of maneuver in order to get the best possible bargaining position at the inevitable Aes Sedai-mandated peace negotiations.

Wheel of Time is socially & technologically early modern, but militarily stuck in the medieval era, which is probably one of the reasons why people mistake the whole setting as such.

Library Fail by BlameThe1st

[pangtasias-atelier]

Not Gone To Waste

Really wanted to focus on older games while requests are closed , cause while I enjoy the newer games, I vastly prefer the older games in the series. So expect more stuff from them.

So here is Magvel! Specifically, Cormag and Artur. I absolutely love the two but never shipped them before cause I mostly played sacred stones when I thought I was straight. So it wasn't until recently when I replayed a bunch of the older games and most of my ships swapped around to gay ones lmao

They're both such good characters and their support is pretty cute too at the end of their a support. My sacred stones playthroughs are either, Mages only or Grado only, so they're mostly always used.

This came out longer than I expected but there's not a bunch of WG related stuff I feel? Kinda wanted more cutesy stuff with them.

Also, this was inspired by a post by @chubbyheroesworthyheroes about Cormag being an angry/stress eater and I ate that shit up, cause it's a great idea.

Also, titles are still hard

________

Heavy breakfast finished, an increasingly common occurrence, Artur checks the calendar once again to indeed make sure that it's been a week. Correct, Artur prepares the large stable attached to his house. The area clean from disuse and his upkeep, he replenishes it with food and water. A little tummy adorning his body, the bit of flab slightly pressing up against his shirt, Artur blushes as he feels the newly added weight jiggle. His face is ever so slightly rounded out.

Picking up and reorganizing the tools, Artur's familiarity with the task aids him in completing it reasonably quick. Proud of his work, he checks over it. Everything neat and tidy, Artur closes the stable as he heads back inside.

The house is somewhat full of decoration, the decor souvenirs from his and Cormag's travels or gifts to one another. Everything tidied up, an important part of Artur's routine, he proceeds to another important part of his routine, cooking. Such a fine day soon turning to noon, the day calls for an equally fine spread. Gazing upon the clean area, he decides to go a bit simpler, not wishing to dirty such a spotless kitchen with his admittedly somewhat messy husband returning today.

Pulling loaves of bread out, deciding in a picnic with the day's sun softly illuminating the world as the gentle breeze sways everything in its path, Artur prepares the rest of the ingredients.

A multitude of vegetables spread out, he slowly chops them, the fear of accidentally cutting himself forever present in the back of his mind. With that done and everything already at the ready, he begins making the sandwiches.

Not wishing to waste any ingredients, he finds a bunch of sandwiches staring back at him when he finishes. The amount relatively split, the right containing much more vegetables to his taste, the ones on the left are more meat heavy, his husband's preference. Washing his hands, he places a hand to his face as he rests his elbow it on his other crossed arm. Sighing, he takes out the picnic basket. Placing half inside, he shuts the lid. Testing the heft of the basket, he packs the other half. Just in case for later he tells himself. Beverages prepared and placed nearly, Artur has everything ready. The only thing now to wait for is Cormag.

Who seems to come right on time, Genarog's piercing screech frightening him still to this day despite their years together.

Saving the almost dropped plate, his initial terror leaves him. Basket in hand, he carries in front of him with both hands. Smiling, he heads out to receive Cormag, Cormag busy with work this entire past week.

Cormag busy ever since the war finished, the looming threat of Grado's earthquake hung heavy when Knoll warned him. Deciding to stay and help Grado, Cormag's experience as a knight and expertise in flying was invaluable. Artur had wished to follow him but Cormag had shot that idea down, wishing for him to remain safe. Though Knoll and Natasha gladly accepted his aid with such expertise in the healing arts, Artur tagging along regardless. Duessel had nearly yelled at Cormag for trying to prohibit Artur, his exorcising light magic invaluable.

The two already close, it had been Artur who proposed, Amelia managing to implant the idea in him despite his trepid nature. Cormag had coughed and laughed at first. Artur's fears realized, Cormag profusely apologized before pulling out a ring from Genarog's satchel, the two falling for Amelia's plan. The two deciding to remain engaged until the situation ameliorated, it was a huge sigh of relief to them and their companions when they did. Lute had throttled Artur the day of the wedding for only telling her of his engagement through a letter instead of in person. Though she promptly rushed him away to help him prepare, blocking Cormag from seeing his husband to be before the ceremony. With everything going well, the two had eventually built a cottage a bit of a ways from the capital and settles down. Artur offering his healing arts for any who needed it, Cormag had stepped down as a knight. Branded a traitor, even his commendable work afterwards still left that mark in his name. Despite it all, Cormag had decided to rejoin, this time as a simple soldier.

Stepping out of the house, the increasing size of Genarog as he descends closer widens Artur's smile even further. The wyvern hitting the floor, Artur slows down his pace to avoid running like a fool. Placing the heavy basket on the floor, Artur breaks into a jog regardless. Cormag jumping off, he opens his arms wide to receive Artur.

Except Artur rushes past him, first greeting Genarog. Neck leaning down, Genarog happily receives Artur's affection.

"I hope Cormag has been treating you well," Artur teases, scritching the underside of Genarog's chin.

"You should worry about how you're treating me," Jokingly frowning, Cormag tugs at Artur, pulling him into an embrace. "Don't tell me you married me just to get closer to Genarog?" Cormag leans down, arms wrapped around Artur as he rests his chin on Artur's shoulder.

"No, of course not! I-" Cormag's snort stops Artur. Artur sighs, barely slapping Cormag's back his arms pinned to his side with Cormag's bearlike embrace.

His embrace accurately describe Cormag's appearance as well. A fact that Artur discovered early on about Cormag is that he eats. An issue bugging him, Cormag seems to lose all inhibition and stuff himself in his blind rage or in his stress induced hunger. Cormag an emotional passionate man, reaching said two states is very easy. Artur accustomed to it, snacks and food are always in arms reach for him to hand Cormag. To his embarrassment, he enjoys the way Cormag fills out his clothes as evidence of his binges pile up. And the physical evidence is evident on Cormag's body.

A full on gut struggling against the tucked in maroon shirt, the tan mass is hidden but not forgotten. The soft warm ball of fat Artur's favorite to rub after Cormag's angry binges. The sleeves pinch his arms, a dip in them where the fabric ends. His stomach and moobs push against the tight shirt as if builders moving marble, the fabric straining and clinging to Cormag's body, each curve, each roll, each pound desperate to escape the suffocating confines of his shirt. His pants suffer the same. Thighs wide apart with each tree trunk thigh pressed up against each other, his ass bulges from the back, both square with the large accumulation of fat. Cormag hefty and fat, obesity coming closer, Cormag's binging even has an effect on Artur, Artur now has a potbelly stomach. Yet he's still small compared to his husband.

Sinking into Cormag's embrace, Artur relaxes before remembering. "I made lunch," Cormag perks up at the prospect of food, even letting go. Spotting the basket, he jogs to it, Artur blushing as Cormag's love handles toss and turn. His also ass shakes behind him, the pants slowly hitching down.

Cormag lifts the basket with one arm, grinning. "Where to?" Lifting his feet hand to whistle, Artur stops him.

"We can eat by the stream, better to eat close to home. Genarog can rest," Artur grabs Cormag's hand, the two walking hand in hand.

The walk short, Cormag's longer strides has Artur struggling to keep up, Cormag enthusiastic to eat. The small stream has a gentle flow of water, the tranquil environment conducive to their nice reunion. Picnic blanket spread out by Cormag, Artur begins taking out the sandwiches.

"This…is a lot," Cormag duly notes. Artur turns red, hand covering his mouth.

"I know, I just didn't want it to go to waste and-"

"It's okay, we can save it for dinner or something," Cormag sits down legs wide apart, happily gesturing for Artur to do the same. He does, sitting cross-legged. Cormag immediately goes for the more meaty selection.

"So, how was work?" Artur innocently asks as he reaches for a sandwich himself. A groan coming out of Cormag, Artur looks up.

"It was a waste of time," Blood boiling, Cormag tears into the sandwich as he pauses. "Duessel just sent me on a mission for some bandits," The sandwich destroyed in two more bites, Cormag reaches for another as he continues the story.

Staring mouth agape, each fit of anger Cormag has always a shock, Artur saves face, nibbling on his own sandwich. The contents of Cormag's story ends up lost on his, his mind too busy focusing his eyes to watch rather than listen. The way Cormag frowns and bursts with energy as he recalls the story, how it makes him jiggle, his gut shaking as it rests on the floor, embraced on both sides by his thighs, his no longer angular face cherubic in its soft curves and blonde hair, his arms jiggling as he reaches for more sandwiches. The entire sight is common yet enjoyed all the same.

Eyes focusing on Cormag and nodding at occasional moments, Artur continues to nibble at his sandwich. He reaches for a second one, hand searching the blanket as he keeps his eyes on Cormag, his speed of eating still constant. Still a bit peckish, Artur grabs a third one. But even that isn't enough, a fourth one reached for but never found. Looking down, the entire basket is empty.

Focusing back on Cormag, he spots the last two sandwiches, both nearly finished. Cormag carries one in each hand. Still ranting, he alternates between each one, cramming them into his mouth with each bite.

"And I did all that for nothing!" Scoffing with his rant over, Cormag shoves both last bites into his mouth, furiously chewing before swallowing. Sighing, he pats his stomach. "Anyways, what did you do?" Cormag's stomach answers for Artur, the loud gurgling showing its displeasure with so much food crammed in such a short time. Letting out a burp, Cormag groans as he leans back, arms wobbling as they support his sitting mass. Huffing, he closes his eyes. Artur immediately by his side, Cormag glances up at him. "Overdid it again, huh?" A hiccup jostles his overstuffed stomach, the contents like a torrent.

"N-no…" Artur fumbles, always red at the exhausted state of Cormag. Shaking his head, he leans down for a kiss before helping Cormag up. Nearly faltering under the heavier mass, Artur manages to get him up. Ignoring the basket and blanket, he trudges along with a groaning Cormag. Cormag's stomach complains all the while, one hand attempting to soothe the angry beast.

Opening the door, Artur leads Cormag to their bedroom. Gently helping him down, Cormag sighs as his ass rests against the bed. Artur's hands gently rest on his gut. Lifting up his shirt, Cormag holds back his smirk as Artur helps him remove it. Gut free, the tan bulging mound bubbles from its free form. Pants unbuttoned helps calm it further. Artur gets straight to work, rubbing Cormag's taut stomach.

"Damn," Eyes closed, his teeth bite his quivering lips. "Keep it up," He sighs, head dipped back. He lets out a small chuckle as Artur stutters, a protest in the back of his throat. Stomach, relaxing, Cormag grabs Artur under his arms, lifting him up with ease. Leaning back, Cormag had Artur lie on top of him.

"C-Cormag!"

"It's fine," Cormag groans, his stomach disagreeing with his statement. "Besides, you like this," No question offered, the statement thrown out instead, Artur incessantly babbles, mind not forming any coherent thought with the flash of words wanting to come out.

"Can't say I mind it though. I eat like a wyvern when I'm pissed. Can't help it," Artur above him as he rests on his gut, Cormag runs his hands through his hair. "You couldn't help yourself either. You always had food for my tantrums,"

"Sorry…. I-" Cormag's hands pushing his head down, their lips crash.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about. By the time I realized what you were doing, I was already pretty down with this extra weight," Artur nods his head, subconsciously licking his dry lips, his throat parched as well.

"And?"

"And. I'm okay with it," Lifting himself and Artur out of bed, Cormag leans down, mouth by Artur's ear as his hand digs under Artur's shirt. "And I'm okay with this," Grabbing the bit of extra flab on Artur's stomach, Cormag holds him steady, Artur melting in the embrace, his face positively flushed as his eyes remain wide.

Muscles hidden but not gone, Cormag lifts Artur in his arms bridal style, the pose reminiscent of their wedding day, only both of them are plumper, Cormag much more so.

"So, why don't we see what else we don't want to go to waste?" Cormag asks as he carries Artur, the kitchen their destination.

Artur meekly nods, mouth dry as he wonders how far this'll go, too shy to stop. Cormag wonders the same, too prideful to stop.

[come-to-the-day]

Illustrations of “Otesanek”, the Czech fairy tale, by Artur Scheiner. 

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

A Recipe for Disaster

The Princess Diaries 2 steddie AU no one asked for but that i couldn’t get out of my head!!

On AO3 here

It had taken a lot for Steve to get to where he is.

As a person, not like, “in life”-wise

He was most definitely better off than most, he was about to be King of a whole ass country for fucks sake, but the internal shitstorm he had gone through to become the person he is today...was a lot.

He was 16 going on 17 when his long lost aunt showed back up in his life. News of his birthright hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Queen Joyce Renaldi was his father (Stephan Artur Renaldi II)’s older sister, and became Genovia’s ruler when her father passed away shortly after Steve’s.

She had sat down with him and patiently explained everything to him, that since he was the sole male heir to the throne, the crown’d be his when he turned 18. If he wanted it. That she’d train him in everything he needed to know to get him ready and if she had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t be alone in this. He’d have her to guide him as long as he needed her.

At that point in his life, he had already: lost his dad, learned how much of an ass his father really was (and how much people were glad he was gone), and completely shut down. He used to be the King of his school (ironically) but after his dad died, he dropped the façade and became friends with Robin Buckley, local freak.

It didn’t take long before they were the literal best of friends, joined at the hip and at the braincell, platonic soulmates. She became everything to Steve and even after one bad drug trip, finding out he was a royal (for real), their first fight, and his stupid brain thinking that his old best friend Tommy Hagen wasn’t just flirting with him to capitalize on Steve’s newfound status, but because he actually did like him back only to be caught by paparazzi making out in a boathouse at his school’s beach party…Robin was still there. She was always there for him.

She even decided to pursue her degree in languages at the same college; and not just her own degree, but also took another major in international and public affairs, same as him. Fully intending to stay by his side in Genovia.

Steve loves her so damn much (a fact she says he reminds her of all too often).

Which brings him to today. Graduation day.

Finally, finally, he’d be returning to Genovia. With Robin and their co-parented orange cat named Concrete by his side, he’d finally be returning to the country he loved. That he had loved since first landing there the summer after junior year.

He was looking forward to his 21st birthday coming up in a few weeks, nervous about being completely ‘of age’, and the upcoming coronation, but Aunt Joyce had assured him that he would rule at her side before officially taking over.

“Your highness, Lady Robin, look out the window,” Jim Hopper: head of security, local badass, and great friend and father (to his own kids, and a welcome father-figure to Steve these last 4/5 years), interrupted Steve’s tired thoughts and worries, “Welcome back to Genovia.”

Steve looked up at Hopper, grinning, and turned to the window closest to their seats where Robin was already holding Concrete up by his armpits to look out the window too. Steve loved seeing the palace as they flew over, but now all he saw was two-day old, travel-mussed, blonde hair and the bottom half of a very fat orange cat.

—--

The few weeks leading up to his 21st birthday went by in a flash.

The first couple days were appointments with the Palace’s medical team, introductions to the newer members of the staff that Steve would be seeing around daily, official introductions of Robin (and her official titling as Steve’s Royal Advisor) to the staff, fittings for his attire for the ball (a maroon tuxedo, subtly patterned with branches of the Genovian Pear tree in a slightly darker shade, a golden sunflower yellow bow tie and matching waistcoat, Genovia’s royal sash and medals, and a smaller crown of his grandfathers who, like Steve, was partial to warm tones than to cool ones. This crown looked like if the circular backsplash pattern of a drop of  water was cast in gold. The peaks of the crown were each adorned with a ruby, which just barely poked out above Steve’s hair like a halo), and multiple small family dinners, just Steve and his two favorite ladies (Aunt Joyce and Robin) plus Lord Concrete and Joyce’s beloved mutt Maurice. The latter of the two being sworn enemies.

Soon (too soon), it was the night of his ball. Joyce was to enter first with Hopper, and after her speech, would lead the attendees in a toast to Steve as he entered the ballroom. Steve could hear Joyce making her speech though the heavy oak doors, her voice carrying easily though the hall as if the palace itself wanted to send her voice as far as it could.

To top off the pile of anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach, Robin wasn’t with him at the moment. She wasn’t allowed to make the entrance with him, but knowing she’d be just on the other side of the door and down the stairs, gave him little reprieve.

He was pacing between the two doormen on his side of the door, twisting his grandfather’s signet ring worriedly on his left middle finger. The ring was a gift from Joyce for his birthday, said she wanted Steve to have it because “He would have absolutely adored you, Steve. He’d be so proud to see such a handsome, well-rounded young man wear it.” She had his face cupped in her small hands and wiped away his tears with her thumbs when they made their appearance. The ring was too big, big enough for Steve to be constantly worried about losing it right off his finger at the slightest movement. He is already planning on sending it off to be resized, but wanted to have it with him tonight.

Again, too soon, there was no more time to panic as he could hear the announcement of his name coming from the ballroom.

“Presenting, His Royal Highness, Stephan Artur Harrington-Renaldi, Prince of Genovia.”

At the bangs of the announcer’s staff, Steve stepped forward on shaky legs, the double doors opening before him by the ballroom’s doormen just as rehearsed. He dusts off his old “King Steve” mask and smile from his time in high school, puts them on, and walks through the threshold and out to the short balcony created by the twin staircases, beaming at the gathered dignitaries.

“To Prince Steve.” Joyce calls and lifts her glass of champagne.

“To Prince Steve!” The crowd parrots.

Steve lifts his right hand and gives them all a wave, then switches it out for his left, waving a little bit too vigorously toward where he’s spotted Robin who’s grinning at him, looking stunning in the sparkly golden yellow gown she had to almost be wrestled into. He must’ve waved too hard because he feels his grandfather’s ring fly directly off his sweaty hand.

He turns, eyeline chasing the flight path of the ring only to see it land safely in one of the doorman’s grasp.

The elderly man approaches Steve “It happens all the time.” he drops the ring into Steve’s palm and smiles. “And Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you very much.” Steve returns the smile

The titter and giggles from the crowd subdue back into easy chatter as Steve comes down the stairs to his left, and grasps Robin’s hand on his arm as soon as she weaves her arm with his.

“You must be the clumsiest royal to ever grace these halls, Your Royal Dingus.”

“You’re absolutely right, now every important person in the literal world knows it.”

"You are incorrect, Lady Robin,” Joyce calls from behind the two, who turn to face her. “My father was just as clumsy as our Steve, perhaps even more so.” Her smile is polite and loving, but the teasing smile on Hopper’s face betrays exactly what she is thinking.

‘Those two are just as symbiotic as Robin and I, I swear.’ Steve thinks to himself.

“Gee thanks,” Steve rolls his eyes but detaches himself from Robin “Care to be my first dance, Aunt Joyce?”

“I thought you’d never ask, my dear.” She similarly unweaves her arm from Hopper’s and places her palm atop the back of Steve’s downturned one.

Steve leads her to the middle of the ballroom, their guests parting like the red sea in front of them to give an open area to dance. As if they could read their minds, the band starts a classic waltz and Steve leads his Aunt around the outer edge of the circle.

Hopper soon joins them with Robin, and slowly, more and more folks spin themselves into the dance. Steve smiles at Prime Minister Wayne Henderson and his wife Claudia as he and Joyce spin past them, and when the song ends, it’s like the ice has been broken and the party can actually start.

People approach him from all angles to wish him a happy birthday, and make their introductions, including quite a few members of parliament, recognizable by the Genovian Crests pinned to their suits. Robin latches back to his side, they fend off the “Oh, how cute of a couple!” comments as usual, and Robin gets to flex her dignitary muscles. He catches a few excerpts sometimes when she is speaking to foreign dignitaries in their native languages. Steve feels very lucky to have her.

--

He’s whisked away soon after to start the part(s) of the evening he’s dreading the most. Prince Stephan is expected to dance with all the eligible persons of Royal descent. He starts with Robin first, just to get his nerves out of the way.. Then it’s off to the races.

It’s really like they all just expect him to be only a Prince Charming, He asks many of them questions about their own countries/principalities or their interests and they look at him like they'd rather he just tell them how nice they look.

The only one that doesn’t fit this mold so far, is a woman about his age named Nancy. Her small and petite frame is definitely in that mold of most of the attendees he’s expected to dance with, but she tells Steve immediately about how she’d love to be a journalist if it weren’t for her royal expectations.

“I just love to get down to the bottom of things, you know? I like digging in and finding out anything and everything about a story.”

“That sounds fantastic, I’d love to read some of your work sometime.” Steve smiles at her and is rewarded with a small smile and blush. “Actually,” he continues “Our head of security’s oldest son is a photographer, I’d love to introduce you. His work is really good; I feel like your writing and his photo skills could be a great combination.”

He wasn’t lying either, from the few minutes he’s spent with Nancy, he can tell without a doubt that anything she wrote would be fantastic, and though Jonathan and he have always been kinda weird, his photography is plastered all over the Palace’s media releases and he definitely has talent.

“Really? I would love to meet him.”

“Come on, I need a break from dancing anyhow.” They step apart and he offers his arm to her, which she takes. Steve can easily spot Hopper from across the room, easily a head taller than most.

Hopper greets them as they approach, “Good evening your highness, your highness.” directing their titles to each of them.

“Hi Hop, is Jonathan around today? Nancy here is an aspiring reporter and I’d love to introduce them.”

Hopper smiles warmly down at Nancy, “Ah, is that so! Well it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Madam Nancy, let me radio Jon.”

“Thank you Mr. Hopper.” Nancy beams at him

“Please, your highness, Hopper or Jim is just fine with me.

“Just don’t call him Jimmy.” Steve stage whispers to Nancy, loud enough for Hopper to hear and shake his head at him. “Are Will and Ellie around tonight?”

“Ah yes, they are around here somewhere. I think they and Mr. Henderson have met the young Lord Sinclair, so I’m sure I will have to respond to one of their messes here sooner than later.”

“Your other children?” Nancy asks, genuinely curious.

“Yes ma’am, the wonder twins themselves.” His close-lipped smile makes his mustache scrunch on his face along with causing his well-worn crows feet to make their appearance.

“Whadja need…dad?” Steve hears Jonathan call out then trail off when he catches sight of Steve. “Good evening your highness, happy birthday.” He quickly catches himself and greets Steve with a short bow, “Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all Jonathan, I just wanted to introduce you to Princess Nancy here.” He gestures at Nancy, who’d mostly been hidden from sight behind Steve from where Jonathan had approached. She releases her hold on Steve’s arm and extends her hand for Jonathan to take.

“Many apologies your highness, I didn’t see you there. How do you do?” He takes Nancy’s extended hand and bows with a light kiss to her knuckles. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Steve watches this exchange and immediately the arrow on his brand new internal ‘Nancy’ dial flops from where it was in the “Interested in Nancy” section, to the complete opposite “Get Nancy and Jonathan together at all costs” section.

Nancy’s whole face and neck are blushing a wonderful shade of pink (Steve can even see some dripping down onto her collarbones since the navy blue dress she wears is sleeveless). Steve smirks and is about to cut in to tell Jon all about her, but she gets to it before he can, still eloquent and in command of her words despite her obvious flustered mood.

“I was telling Steve about my wishes to become a journalist and he said your photography work was very good. I am assuming you are on the palace’s public relations team?”

Jonathan still hasn’t let go of Nancy’s hand, and it doesn’t look like he’d like to anytime soon. “Y_yes, I am the lead photographer.. Steve said that?” Jonathan glaces at Steve disbelievingly.

Nancy nods, “He did. I would love to see what you’ve been able to capture so far.” She gestures to the heavy-looking camera around his neck.

“Uhh..” Jonathan looks to Steve worriedly, who quickly mimes standing up straight and offering his arm. “O_of course, I’d love to show you, your highness.” He offers his arm to her and she takes it excitedly.

“Please, just call me Nancy.” she smiles at Jon and his face flushes red.

About an hour later, Steve is starving and starting to get hangry from lack of food. He really doesn’t want to accidentally snap at someone important, so he sneaks over to the corner where his towering birthday cake has been mocking him, picks up one of the tiny serving spoons, and spoons out a mouthful of the cake from behind one of the fondant flowers.

Someone taps him on the shoulder “I saw that.”

Steve looks over, ready to apologize, and has to look down a bit more than he thought. “Uh, it’s my cake.” He tells the younger man. He must be at least 18, he’s definitely not a young kid. Curly light brown hair, slicked backward on the sides, like a fake mullet. “I like your hair dude, very 80s.”

The kid looked embarrassed, “Yeah my mom did it, it’s not what I would have done but I’m not the best at maintaining my curls myself. Our deal is if my mom does my hair, she does all of it. Style and all.”

“It looks really good, I promise, you should tell her thanks.” Steve says, taking another bite of cake.

“Dude.” the kid says incredulously, “Save some for the rest of us.”

“Dude.” Steve parrots back in the same tone “It’s my cake, I can eat as much as I want.” He pauses for a second, and thinks ‘Reel it back in Steve, you don’t even know who this kid is or who this kid’s parents are. Don’t be rude and start a war accidentally.’

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten anything all night and I can feel myself getting hangry. I’m Steve.” Steve switches the small spoon into his left hand and extends his right to the kid

“Yeah, I know who you are, you did make a pretty grand entrance earlier; don’t know if you noticed.” He takes Steve’s hand and gives it a strong (but somewhat clammy) shake. “I’m Dustin Henderson.”

“Ah, so you’re Wayne’s kid.” Steve drops Dustin’s hand.

“No, Claudia’s kid. Wayne is my Step-dad.”

“Oh, sorry...Wait, is that a bad thing?”

“God no, Wayne is the best. Quiet, contemplative, you know he loves you no matter what. And he’s been around as long as I can remember.”

Steve nods along to what Dustin is saying, picking up a second spoon and pulling out another spoonful of cake for Dustin, handing it to him while he’s still talking.

“He even took my Mom’s last name when they got married. He said that he’s the one joining our family, not the other way ‘round.”

Steve has that much more respect for the already well-respected Prime Minister.

“Plus I heard him tell my mom once that his family are a bunch of sleezebags so he’s happy to be rid of his own name anyhow.”

“Wow really? Who’s his family I wonder?”

“Dunno, never asked him and I don’t really want to bring it up if he hates them all, you know?”

“True, true.” Steve agrees. “I like you kid, (“Kid?? I’m only 3 years younger than you!”) I hope to see you around again if I don’t die of boredom talking to all these parliament geezers.”

Dustin grins a big squinty grin at him and extends his hand to Steve again. Steve smiles and shakes his hand, then Dustin puts on a fake, very haughty voice and says “I’ll have my people contact your people.”

Steve throws his head back and bellows out a laugh, “Sounds good man. C’mon, I wanna introduce you to my best friend, Robin. She’s the coolest, I think you guys will like each other.” He pats Dustin on the shoulder, stepping out around the table to lead him across the room where Robin is chatting with Murray and Hopper.

“Oooh, best friend only?” Dustin asks suggestively

“Nuh-uh don’t even go there little man, Steve looks back at the teen, “I am SO not her type and___oh shoot, your..foot” Steve looks up at the person whose foot he just crushed, and his hazel eyes meet chocolate brown. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll survive, your highness.” the man says, standing to his full height, Steve also rises to keep his gaze. “The fault was entirely my own. I apologize.”

The man is just slightly taller than Steve, and has dark brown, almost black, curls. They cascade onto his shoulders, and Steve has the overwhelming urge to reach out and see if they are as soft as they look. Only half of this hair is down, the top half pulled back away from his face.

He is drop-dead gorgeous.

“Are you sure you don’t want to exchange licenses and proof of insurance?”

“No, no, these shoes were a little big anyway, the swelling should help them fit a bit better.” he grins and Steve feels his heart palpitate at the sight.

“Please, excuse me..” He says, stepping back and to the side to squeeze through the crowd.

“Sure.” Steve says, whisper quiet, but dreamboat is already walking away.

As usual, Steve just knows exactly where Robin is, and he turns to meet her gaze (she had already been watching the interaction from her spot across the room).

The two of them mouth “What the fuck?” to each other before Steve’s attention is pulled back to Dustin quietly saying "Holy shit.."

"You saw nothing, that was nothing." Steve points at Dustin accusingly.

Dustin puts his hands up in mock surrender "Okay, okay, that was nothing..."

--

A couple dances later, Steve finds himself dancing with one little girl that honestly, he’d dance with all night if he could. She’s a sassy little thing, a princess from a neighboring country, who calls herself “Lady Applejack” with all the conviction in the world (Steve thinks her name is really Erica though). She stands on his toes while he spins them in dance like she is trying with all her might to crush the digits below her own into the floor for offending her personally.

When he asks about her interests, she tells him almost reluctantly about her love for Dungeons and Dragons, but insists that she’s NOT a nerd. He’s not sure what Dungeons and Dragons even is, but he has an overwhelming feeling that Dustin actually might. Steve tells her as much, and she looks excited that there may be someone else here to talk to about her game.

Steve feels a tap on his shoulder and when he turns, dreamboat is smiling down at Erica.

“Pardon me, Lady Applejack, may I cut in?”

“I’d be mad if you didn’t.” And with that, Erica nearly wrenched herself from Steve’s grasp, and strutted off, looking for Dustin.

“I would say thank you for saving me, but she’s the best dance partner I’ve had so far.” Steve tells the dreamboat, sliding into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I believe you wholeheartedly, Your Highness.” He chuckles

“Steve. I prefer to be called Steve. And you are…?”

“Eddie. Just.. Eddie.”

Steve laughs “Well, Just Eddie, I’m glad to see that my clumsiness hasn't affected your dancing.” Eddie spins them in a lazy circle, “I’m sorry I stepped on your foot.” he whispers

“You can step on my foot anytime.” Eddie says, a promise.

They had stopped twirling, more or less just swaying back and forth in one spot. Steve was suddenly hyper-aware of how close they had gotten to each other, and how much closer Eddie’s forehead was to his own.

Suddenly, Eddie’s head spun to look at something. It was Dustin.

“It’s Sir Dustin’s turn.” He says to Eddie in that same fake-haughty tone he’d used before.

“You’re quite right, Sir Dustin.” Eddie says, stepping away from Steve and giving Dustin a quick bow.

Steve finds himself missing his closeness when his whole front goes cold in his absence.

“Your highness,” Eddie smolders at him through his lashes with his own bow to Steve, which he returns. And then. He’s gone.

Steve automatically takes Dustin’s hands and starts up the waltz once again, mood soured completely and vaguely aware that Dustin is trying to get his attention.

"Dude. Steve!”

Steve looks down at Dustin, hoping his calm face portrays how pissed he is.

Dustin rolls his eyes, “Look, I know we just met but please just play along here, pretend like you and I both know this is a joke. Laugh or something.”

Now Steve’s just confused.

“With all respect your highness, really and truthfully, love who you love, but the old guys that will end up making decisions for you are not all as cool as Wayne, and would probably have an aneurysm if they think you’re actually making googly eyes at the eligible bachelors here.”

Steve laughs uncomfortably, “Uh, I’m not_”

“You and I both know you were. C’mon man, you know I’m right.”

Steve actually starts laughing at the absurdity of it all. He’s grateful for Dustin, Steve knows he’s right, but he also wants to cry and bury himself in the garden out of embarrassment.

“You’re right, you’re right! Damn it… He was a total dreamboat though, wasn’t he?” Steve waggles his eyebrows at Dustin and laughs again at his disgusted expression.

“Want me to save you, little man?” This time, it’s Robin who cuts in, moving to take her turn as Steve’s dance partner.

“Ugh. Please.” Steve lets Dustin go. “Don’t say I don’t do anything for you.” he says as he walks away, waving at Steve and Robin over his shoulder.

“Tell me everything right now or I swear to god I will throw your shoes into the fountain.” Robin demands as soon as they start spinning.

“You saw how hot he was! And literally so smooth..”

“What was with the kid?”

“I was mooning over Eddie.”

“Oh, his name is Eddie huh?” She grins at him slyly “And what about it?”

“Dustin, rightfully, pointed out that the peanut gallery wouldn’t be too keen on me dancing with all the hotties in the room, not just the lady-type ones. He cut in to cover for me.”

Robin winced in understanding “Oof.. yeah I should’ve caught that too, honestly.”

"Yeah, me too.”

--

After this leg of the Prince Stephan World Waltzing Tour, Prime Minister Henderson tells Steve once again that “There’s a member of Parliament you should meet.” and heads off to go grab said member’s attention before Steve follows. Murray, Joyce’s #1 and palace scheduling wizard, passes by and Steve stops him with an uncomfortable “Murray, how many more members of parliament are there?”

“Only six left, sir. You’ve got it this.” He claps his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

‘Oh. That’s not too bad,’ Steve shrugs to himself as he and Murray part ways. Someone calls his name from behind him and when he turns toward the voice, he feels a tug at his hair and a weight sliding from his head at the same time.

Whirling around, Steve’s hand flies to his head to try and catch the crown before it falls completely off, but is met with the faces of a very apologetic waiter and a very cold-looking member of parliament who had already saved the priceless item from hitting the floor. The waiter whose tray had knocked the crown off his head is apologizing profusely, and the other man is making what Steve thinks is a very rude shoo-ing motion towards them.

He focuses his attention on the gangly looking waiter. “I am so sorry, It was only an accident!”

“No, No, it’s perfectly fine I promise. I am all good, no harm no foul.” Steve smiles genuinely at them.

The waiter clasps his hands together and smiles gratefully before turning and rushing from the room. ‘I’ll have to make sure he’s not fired for this, that’d be shitty.’ Steve thinks to himself.

“Thank you for catching that.” Steve tells the cold-mannered man, crouching down a bit so he can place the crown back on his head.

“You should be more careful, your Royal Highness.” He tells Steve, fixing the headpiece into position, “someone may try to take that from you.”

“I sure hope not,” Steve says with an awkward laugh, lightly touching his head “thank you for all your help!” and turns back to Prime Minister Henderson, intending on asking who the cold-mannered man was.

Pt. 2 here!

Tagging the couple folks that showed interest on my original post, hope you don’t mind! @totallybitchin, @potentialheartofdarkness, @steddieasitgoes, @princessstevemunson

[o-lanterns]

I had a lot of vague headcanons about Helmut’s family and thought it might be fun to try designing them, and well I guess I have ocs now.

Many thoughts about each of them, but the general idea is that his parents are an opera conductor and singer who run a family-owned theater. Helmut is the only psychic in the family, and his parents aren’t quite sure how to handle it. Maybe if they just pretend there’s nothing atypical about him he’ll be fine?

[ID 1: A full lineup, titled “the Fullbear Family.” Helmut stands out, reaching up with a finger and drawing figments of fish in the air.

ID 2: The father and mother, Artur and Aria. Artur is an imposing broad-shouldered man with reddish peach skin and slicked auburn hair with greying sideburns and a neatly groomed mustache. He has a trapezoid-like nose, a wrinkled forehead, thick eyebrows, and stares sternly with round green eyes. he wears a dark maroon tailcoat with a white shirt and maroon bow tie, cummerbund, and pocket square. He has one arm crossed behind his back and the other holds a conductor’s baton in a white gloved hand. Aria is a fat woman with freckled lavender skin and orange hair, which is braided and pinned into swirled buns on each side of her head. She has a wide triangular nose, rosy cheeks, and aqua blue eyes. She wears a layered teal dress with a mustard yellow skirt and ruffles, gold belt, laced bodice-style top, and translucent seafoam green sleeves that bunch at the wrists as well as a pearl necklace. She is posed as if singing. ID 3: Teenage twin brothers, Dmitri and Sergei. They both have square bodies and rounded square heads, lavender skin, short auburn hair, green eyes, and curved triangle noses. their facial features skew in opposite directions. (Dmitri’s nose curves to the right, Sergei’s to the left.) Dmitri wears a light brown shirt with a buttoned brown sweater vest, bowtie, and corduroy pants. He has a book under one arm and is smiling politely. Sergei wears half-moon glasses, a light blue shirt, sky blue necktie, and navy blue blazer and corduroy pants. There are a few stubbly hairs on his chin. He has a hand on one hip and looks unamused. ID 4: Little Helmut and younger sister Odette. Helmut has choppy chin-length hair and wears a sweater with wavy green stripes and blue pants. Odette has light freckled magenta skin, a triangular nose, and orange hair in two thick braids that stick out. Her dress is blue with darker polka dots, puffed sleeves, and a yellow bow around the waist. She wears blue flats with mismatched green and yellow socks.

ID 5: Some sketches. Aria pinching Helmut’s cheek and cooing “My little dreamer...” while he laughs and protests “Mom!” Odette with her hair down wearing a nightgown, holding a teddy bear and a book titled “Bedtime Fairy Tales.” she asks Helmut “Will you read me a story?” and he says “C’mon Detta, you’re supposed to be in bed.” “Please? I can’t sleep. You’re the only one who can do the pictures.” Helmut replies “Just a short one, okay?” Helmut then sits on Odette’s bed and reads to her from the book, posing dramatically and projecting figments of a singing mermaid and fish as Odette looks up at them with a smile. end ID.]

[simulamortem]

@bhndr​ : “Have you seen Artur? It is… uncharacteristic of him to not return by sundown. Hm. I am beginning to think he found a home elsewhere.”

“The other Legends feed it all kinds of garbage,” the sim answered. He sometimes treated the animal to nuts and dried fruit; but he had seen other Legends sneaking the raven bits of COOKIES and POTATO CHIPS before.

“Maybe it's too FAT TO FLY and decided to stay the night with one of them.”

[kittymsmithwritesstuff]

Lobahound headcanons? 🥺

I adore these two as friends but also enjoy the ship and haven’t had much time to interact with it in any way so YEET mightve gone a little more story intense lmao

-This is definitely a friends-to-lovers situation. Neither of them came to the ring looking for love or really having it even in the back of their minds; they have goals that come before everything.

-That said they’re both human and kindred spirits

-The fact she knows about their fear of heights was one of the first steps into them really becoming close and bonding about more than just their shared tragedies.

-For Bloodhound the catalyst was when she asked what their favorite book was and if she could borrow it in exchange for one of hers. But the thing that really made their knees weak? A whole wall of books in her dorm.

-Loba was a few weeks later, after getting back her copy of Peter Pan from Hound. They’d forgotten a bookmark inside and she found a doodle of Artur wearing a little Peter Pan hat and her bracelet as a necklace. Something clicked in her head and she started applying a little more blush in the morning in case it started to show through.

-Bangalore homed in on what was going on immediately and would make kissy faces at Loba if they were on a team with Hound. She started tripping on Loba’s staff a lot more after that.

-The confession comes before a season break and they mutually agree they’re stupid and maybe a little in love and, as they are adults with plans, decide to write letters over break since BH doesn’t exactly have the best tech set up in their village.

-Loba thinks it’s very romantic, but she doesn’t have to suffer reading her handwriting.

-Loba fucking triple downs on the flirting when they get back and tells everyone she’s just trying to get a rise out of them (spoiler: yeah it’s working)

-First date was supposed to be dinner but they end up just talking in the park and Loba’s froyo melts all over her hand because she forgot about it

-Loba and BH were the more dominant partner in general in the past, so they butt heads a lot the first few weeks.

-Bloodhound shows her their face on the second official date because they passed by a froyo shop again on their walk in the park and they really fucking wanted some.

-Loba kisses them first on a rooftop during an Apex afterparty.

-Bloodhound steals snacks from Loba’s mini fridge.

-Loba taught Artur how to curse in Swahili and Bloodhound complains she’s “corrupting their son”

-Bloodhound is given to “moods” sometimes. Loba refers to them as “Mx. Surly”.

-Loba will pull them into camera blindspots and pull down their mask, lavish them all over in kisses so her lipstick leaves lip prints, then put it back up and walk out into the game.

-Bloodhound gets into baking at her place and she starts blaming them for making her fat.

-The first time Loba takes off her heels in front of them they fucking lose it laughing because she’s suddenly so small

-Loba loves brushing Bloodhound’s hair and styling it

-They are both really into B-movies

-Their first and last camping trip together began with Loba losing a heel to a tiger subspieces and ended with Bloodhound getting a cold and being a little bitch about it all week.

-Bloodhound stopped reading while laying on their stomach because Loba will never miss a chance to play bongos on their butt

[amachja-moved]

dossier   —   sasha braus.

FULL  NAME.     sasha braus. MEANING.     sasha   (  slavic, short for alexandra: defender, helper of mankind.  )      braus (  german :    derived from the expression “in Sauß und Brauss leben”, meaning “to live off the fat of the land”. ) NICKNAME.     potato girl, sash’. GENDER.     cis woman. ETHNICITY.    eldian. HEIGHT.     168cm in 850, 171cm in 854. AGE.     16 in 850, 20 in 854, post-timeskip. ZODIAC.     leo   (  creative, passionate, generous, warm-hearted, cheerful, humorous  ;  arrogant, stubborn, self-centered, lazy, inflexible ) SPOKEN  LANGUAGES.     eldian, paradisian dialect. a few words of south-marleyan dialect inherited from before the exode to the island, though before 850, no one has any awareness of their actual provenance.

physical  characteristics !

HAIR  COLOR.     brown/auburn. EYE  COLOR.     light brown. SKIN  TONE.     tan. BODY  TYPE.     slender, very athletic, mobile and quick. built for movement and agility. very fast metabolism. ACCENT.     distinctive south marleyan accent. VOICE.     chipper, energetic, melodious, expressive. higher pitched and quieter when concealing her accent, controlled but hesitant; lower, fuller, more confident, and much more expressive when speaking in her own accent.  DOMINANT  HAND.     right-handed. only ambidextrous when wielding the blades of her ODM gear or thunderspears. POSTURE.     alert, mobile, lively. possesses the flexibility, quickness, grace and vivacity of a fox. struggles with the rigidity of martial postures and gestures, always seems out of place and to overdo it when trying to perform either. always shifting, moving. adopts a more static stance when uncomfortable, as though ready to bolt. more open and relaxed around people she trusts.  SCARS.     old scars on her legs, knees, and hands due to her upbringing in the forest (animal scratching/biting, falls, vegetation). after the battle to retake shiganshina, large scar stretching on the left side of her chest and wrapping around her shoulder, caused by house debris. TATTOOS.     none. MOST  NOTICEABLE  FEATURE(S).     high ponytail, accent. remarkable agility.

childhood !

PLACE  OF  BIRTH.     dauper village, wall rose. HOMETOWN.     dauper village, wall rose. MANNER  OF  BIRTH.     natural. FIRST  WORDS.  pa’to. (she meant ‘potato’ and has expressly forbidden her parents to tell anyone, especially connie and jean) SIBLINGS.     Kaya, adopted into the Braus family in 850. (verse-dependent: one older brother; one twin) PARENTS.     mother :    lisa braus, herborist.     father : artur braus, hunter. later gave up hunting to run stables and raise horses for the military, mainly the survey corps. PARENT  INVOLVEMENT.     very close to her parents, especially her father (role model). close-knit family, grew up living by the traditions of her village and her ancestors. parents as main points of reference for socialisation throughout her childhood and early teenage years, very little socialisation with other children or people in general. looks up to them for guidance and everything she needs to know about the world. both lisa and artur are kind, nurturing parents, doing their best to teach her about their way of life, but also about the value of living in harmony with others. sasha’s intolerance and fear of strangers put a dent in their relationship, and drove her out of her parents’ nest, but she eventually came to understand the values of altruism and generosity they tried to teach her, and reconciled with her family.

adult  life !

OCCUPATION.    cadet in the survey corps, attached to the new squad levi after the capture of the female titan. during the timeskip, specialised in long-range shooting as a sniper in squad levi/jean (alternate verse: squad mike). CURRENT RESIDENCE.     survey corps barracks/HQ. CLOSE  FRIENDS.     connie springer, jean kirstein, mikasa ackerman, historia reiss. other members of the 104th cadet corps.  RELATIONSHIP  STATUS.     ship dependent. in “default” verse for non-ship interactions, in a relationship with niccolo during timeskip. FINANCIAL  STATUS.     modest, a soldier’s wages. DRIVER’S  LICENSE.     n/a. CRIMINAL  RECORD.     light theft, murder. VICES.    food, especially meat.

sex  &  romance !

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION.    pansexual. ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION.     panromantic.  PREFERRED  EMOTIONAL  ROLE.     supporting, encouraging, validating. more dominant once comfortable enough. PREFERRED  SEXUAL  ROLE.     switch. LOVE  LANGUAGE.     quality time, acts of service;  physical touch once she gets a grasp of her partner’s boundaries. LIBIDO.     average, increases when a partner makes her feel wanted/desired.  RELATIONSHIP  TENDENCIES.     thrives in relationships where positivity, unconditional acceptance and support are the foundations. being loved for what she is indiscriminately, and being able to give her partner the same stability, and sense of safety and harmony, is what she strives for. growing and becoming better people together is what a relationship should be all about. 

miscellaneous !

THEME  SONG.     One Summer’s Day - Joe Hisaishi. HOBBIES  TO  PASS  TIME.     hunting, quilting, snacking. MENTAL  ILLNESSES.     social anxiety, compulsive eating.  PHYSICAL  ILLNESSES.     none. LEFT  OR  RIGHT  BRAINED.     right. sasha gets paralysed when forced into analytical situations, and thrives whenever allowed to unleash her intuitions and creative thinking. PHOBIAS.     strangers, food deprivation, abandonment, change.

SELF  CONFIDENCE  LEVEL.     as confident in her skills as a hunter as she is insecure about her social and human skills. VULNERABILITIES.     other people’s judgement; sentimental; extremely attached to the past.

TAGGED BY: taken from my eld blog.

TAGGING :    all of you!

[444namesplus]

Abilds Ablearakip Ablol Abrecants Achat Acteing Adowescres Advinkeye Aligattly Alsed Ampeadoks Andes Angmanst Aniste Ankere Ankoink Ansed Aparimens Appow Ardefearic Areunciase Arized Artor Artur Assible Ateding Atinkamet Bange Batted Baturayeth Becoweate Bected Beemic Befull Begoids Belendes Biantible Blatennoc Blotion Bloweecom Bontand Bouton Brabasti Bratical Brion Buile Buill Bulepomes Bulliner Burcus Calvess Caparly Caras Carts Cathere Chalruse Chapal Charts Ching Chors Ciand Ciative Civass Cleyed Cloteld Cludeddy Cogant Combabight Comen Coment Comer Comising Commed Comper Coneroned Congete Cononly Const Cossige Coung Covent Creporced Cretall Croll Crove Crowbo Cueezes Dains Dapacky Daslaing Deaccides Decoged Dekinforts Denal Denguator Dennoring Dereer Dering Dersionity Desion Desphar Dinglen Dingu Dinumeseng Diright Dirions Disgu Dists Ditarry Dorearred Downry Dubbor Dubet Ducter Durnstagip Durūtō Earnets Eatharbome Egurtoring Einnahan Elened Elity Eloustomb Emegot Empar Entings Enton Equen Espared Events Every Evidefus Expleent Exples Exply Facends Fachip Facticals Fatted Featift Fecon Ficed Fichident Ficon Fineight Fingadmin Finger Flaryord Flect Flesped Fliess Fooks Forldly Fortancep Fortne Fraillares Fratem Frigh Frindly Frinowhic Frolated Fronally Froners Frosumake Führet Fūramed Gatersols Gingancens Gittem Gotanston Guration Hadout Haraka Harinsper Hartionam Heamoss Hectiong Hemoded Heright Hichi Hingort Hinkurtly Hommiders Houngor Hulls Huntes Hustra Idefor Idnaks Ifielcar Ifirly Imajo Imist Impron Inced Incen Inets Inficed Ingestle Inglar Ingmatear Inisof Insame Ireard Isguily Itichost Janclaws Jappardly Jappeng Kiddly Kideats Kider Kidoraly Kinfinle Kipero Knaught Knicen Knimple Knored Knotack Knoticerva Laccantaly Lanque Lantice Lawan Leased Leave Lecognic Lessailly Lingang Losea Losmakku Lowed Loweve Loyiser Maged Maguary Mainger Makend Makenslace Makents Malliated Mases Mcluccific Mclux Mested Metestody Micaunc Micenottor Milved Minareng Mined Mingers Mistrolact Mitte Mones Moveled Muser Mysturass Nalemu Nalined Nally Namples Nating Nectervat Nevineer Nicaestiet Nishaped Nored Notic Nyōkam Occognicks Ockid Ocuesson Odwined Offic Optionsten Opull Oputs Osurther Outed Pacrove Parly Passai Petsbus Pinga Planisic Plated Plations Plawared Polanped Poldeance Pomoty Ponds Ponimme Ponse Pople Posacking Powelputle Powner Preard Prebefus Preepleard Preguy Pring Prommovely Prosucce Prove Pulents Puley Puntleal Pureato Puremod Pūrast Quitybane Rablay Ramen Ranight Reads Reappont Reats Reattor Rebersod Recom Refught Reful Regordong Rejector Rempecs Renared Rental Reorly Repts Resinitō Rettes Retwall Rideructs Rimideve Ristoo Rogried Rokurine Rousted Rower Ructora Sagese Sakeibele Schaing Schichaku Schion Sciettero Scommusped Scons Scuther Settion Shent Shince Shing Sistre Sitaind Sking Sonal Sooders Souganist Souna Sourant Spearhum Spist Squide Stead Stionatood Stort Stran Stranis Stroultan Sught Suild Sullien Swits Syclus Sōtōrule Taing Terfus Thatured Theitaing Thess Thime Thimpated Thood Thosisibly Thumager Tiven Tobles Torestonst Tormagard Tortnecter Trearuffe Tressamer Trimageter Trognims Tromping Troye Truclanque Tructe Truncianku Truperst Tutart Tworing Ullitista Umentan Undong Unient Uposs Urably Uracte Urawsphoo Ustel Velen Venmatace Veroter Voleted Vonmaks Vowneight Wanku Warcomew Waturnst Wavicip Wedlinve Weepity Werms Wersotal Wharsh Whatmovenc Wherion Whertremor Whimplank Widgantic Wienging Witaned Woramas Woung Wrecticome Wrozeremed Yukations Yukoinimet

[pangtasias-atelier]

Taking it Natural

Well I can never fully stick to an outline lmao. But, I did manage a lil fic involving just some simple stuff between Cormag and Artur.

Kink stuff is more on the lesser end, cause I wanted to focus a bit more on dialogue and also wanted to write something on the smaller scale of sizes. Also was just fun to write a shorter, simpler story and also one not set in Askr which I need to do more lol

"I am perfectly fine doing the dishes," Artur lightly hums to himself. He scrubs away at the bits and remnants of the day's finished meal. A few pots and pans already on the drying rack alongside the ladles, said dishes preemptively cleaned before dinner had even been eaten, he washes the clutter of used dinnerware. His back facing Cormag, his partner currently sits at the couch.

"I'll go check on Genarog then," His voice comes out strained. Completely leaning against the couch, Cormag's stomach continues its prolonged harassment towards its owner. His stomach is a cacophony of churning and gurgling noises, the overworked, stuffed gut letting it's discomfort be known. Despite his declaration of performing a chore, he simply remains seated with his head leaning back. His lips are parted as he languidly recovers enough energy to catch his breath.

"I already fed him and made sure he's comfortable in his stable," Arthur places a plate on the drying rack beside the just washed cutlery and glassware. His still soapy hands reach for the next plate to scrub at.

"Ah," Cormag's strenuous breathing remains the same. He keeps his eyes closed as a way to block out any possible external  discomfort besides his tumultuous tummy. "Then I'll…" Cormag trails off with a groan. A few extra pants and wheezes come out as his gut seems to give him an extra angry complaint. "Then I'll-"

"You can wait on the couch. I am fine, Cormag," The last plate cleaned and set aside to dry, he dries his hands on a dish towel, the damp cloth adorned with miniature wyverns. Turning around, he smiles as he gets an eyeful of Cormag's sorry stuffed state.

Cormag retiring from being a soldier, he had instead taken up woodworking once he and Artur decided to live together. His new line of work requiring a different, less intensive set of skills, the sudden change of constant routines and fighting to meticulous, long periods of time sitting while carving was a sudden change for his metabolism and appetite. The lack of much activity affecting his physique was only compounded by Artur's task of taking care of the house's chores. Cormag had already been aware of Artur's proficiency in the culinary arts through their occasional picnics back when the two had first begun a relationship, yet the latter's constant practice through cooking everyday left his prowess in the kitchen to something to truly be proud of. Cormag having a generous fill of food every meal of the day, his indulgence of Artur's cooking hadn't moved quite past an extra helping or two every go around. Although, even those generous extra helpings helped plump and widen his waistline to a body type rather past stocky and into fat guy territory.

Clothes upsized just as his body upsized, his maroon t-shirt does a sufficient job in covering Cormag’s sun kissed skin. His compact yet soft pile of squishy fat for a stomach curves outwards as it ever so gently slots itself on top of his doughy thighs. Pressed up against his shirt, the malleable tummy barely covers any of Cormag’s lap, enough space for Artur to be comfortably seated atop him still. The two fleshy legs seem even wider as he sits, the bunched up fat splaying a slightly extra amount from resting on the couch. Cormag’s pants do their best in perfectly covering the two, the waistband even widened as well to not uncomfortably squish against Cormag’s hips. The center of his gut juts out more than his squeezable love handles, Cormag’s rotundness more pronounced. The stuffed mass seems to taunt Artur, his eyes finding themselves often drifting back towards the perfectly rubbably surface. Cormag’s sizable chest makes itself comfortable on top of his stomach, the handful of breasts splaying a bit to the side from the accumulation of fat. His pronounced chest only helps make Cormag seem extra wide, Artur always feeling rather twiggish next to his plump teddy bear of a husband. Though the lightly tanned moobs are offered enough room from Cormag’s spacious shirt to not be so confined and pressed up against the fabric. Cormag’s biceps are no more, the somewhat, albeit nicely, defined biceps coated in a plush, warm layer of fat. The plump appendaged perfect for a nice, crushing yet comforting hug, Cormag’s arms had always been a secret favorite of Artur’s. Cormag rests his arms on the cushiony back pillows, the bottom heft of his arms squishing ever so slightly against the surface. His face at the very center of his arm span, Artur can only see the fleshy double chin connected to Cormag’s lovably wonderful kissable face. Though he can very much hear his love’s taxed breathing even over the angered grumbling coming from his gut.

“Oh, Artur,” Cormag’s arms wobble for a few moments; the two doughy appendages struggle as he tries to push himself up despite his body’s protests. “Give me, hah, a minute,” His rotund body expands with each great, deep breath he takes.

“No worries,” Artur sits himself beside Cormag. His lap calling to him, he’d feel like a monster causing him anymore discomfort. “I’ll wait beside you,” Artur pats Cormag’s thigh.

“Heh,” Cormag lets out a small chuckle, the only response he can give before he has to take a few more breaths to help relieve the heavy pit of pain resting in his gut. “I really ate like a pig,”

The faint warm onset of a blush on Artur’s face blossoms on his face, the healer always getting a tinge of embarrassment whenever Cormag even offhandedly mentions his size or eating habits. “Perhaps. But, I should learn to stop cooking so much. I just think of something nice for us to share and so I kinda just make it,” Artur tosses a noncommittal shrug at the end, a few awkward laughs thrown in as well as if he hadn’t confessed his unique admiration in the way Cormag’s body plumped out. A few extra pounds looking rather dashing on his tall figure which would only look more handsome if those few extra pounds swelled into a dozen or perhaps even a hundred before Cormag was resting at a sizable 300 pounder of a man.

“Maybe. Guess we both should learn some restraint,”

“Perhaps,,,” Artur nearly reaches for Cormag’s aching gut to soothe the beast before thinking better of it. “I have a salve that should help,” Without waiting for any confirmation, Artur goes to the closet full of his supplies. Herbs able to help cure maladies unlike staves, he rummages through the several jars and boxes he has. Though only Artur would consider his neat, organized setup a mess requiring rummaging, Lute always interested in his tidy organizational skill. Having fetched the ointment, he stands in front of the seated Cormag. “This has to go directly on your skin,” He tosses the lower hem of Cormag’s shirt up. Applying a dollop of the ointment on his hands, he wastes no time in getting them all over Cormag’s stomach.

“You’ve never needed an excuse to do this stuff before,” The salve immediately begins to work its magic on Cormag. His labored breathing slowly begins to take on a more natural pace and the evident discomfort on his face washes away. “You sure do know your way around there,” Cormag even shifts around on the couch, his stomach no longer threatening to self-destruct from the slightest jostle.

Artur drops his head in mirthful laughter, Cormag’s surprising silly teasing always getting to him. “I have rubbed your stomach how many times, Cormag?” His hands drift on over to Cormag’s love handles. Standing above Cormag, he grabs on to the chunky handles as he leans down for a kiss.

“Not enough, knowing you,” Cormag whispers as they part.

“Then you truly do know me,” Artur retorts. Cormag’s stomach is no longer a ticking time bomb, so he figures it’d be fine to sit in his favorite spot. He gently lowers himself down onto Cormag’s lap. His soft squishy, tummy rests comfortably against his back.

“If you had this kind of stuff laying around, why use it only now?”

“Well- I,,,” Artur considers his next words for a moment. “I felt bad with how much I stuffed you tonight. I may have gone overboard so-”

Cormag promptly cuts him off with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t force me to do anything. You’re cooking is great. I tell all my clients about your cooking. They kept hounding me about your recipe for those cookies you always make to butter them up,”

“Ah,” Artur turns bright red as he recalls the high praises from all of Cormag’s clients, a few even inadvertently referring to Cormag’s weight upon said praises. “Well, I also didn’t use this because I didn’t want you to feel like I only cared about stuffing you and getting you fatter,”

“I’m gonna have to get up for this one,” Rising up, Cormag makes sure to help Artur up first. “Look at me,” He grabs Artur’s shoulders. Artur shorter by a few inches, he feels miniscule right now. “If I ever have any problems with my weight, you are going to be the first person I tell. We’ve known each other for years before I started gaining weight,” Cormag brings Artur to him, wrapping him in a bear hug. Artur’s arms are ensnared by Cormag’s own doughy arms. Though he knows his arms wouldn’t be able to wrap around him regardless. His feet rise off a few inches from the ground as Cormag holds on to him. Cormag begins to chuckle, his heart always aflutter with Artur in his arms. The ring of laughter catches onto Artur, the two laughing together. They remain like so for a few minutes, neither speaking.

Eventually, Cormag lets Arthur back down. A hefty sigh escapes his lips from the minimal amount of activity. “And if you ever have any problems with my weight, then let me know,” Cormag holds onto Artur’s hands, rubbing the palm of them with his thumb.

“Of course. But I don’t think I could ever have a problem having such a handsome husband.”

“Unfortunately for you, my husband is more handsome than yours,” Artur snorts from Cormag’s reply. His hands find their way to Cormag’s arm for a light slap.

“I guess you win then. But, thank you. Neither of us have done this, so I wanted to make sure we’re going at a natural pace for the both of us,”

“Taking it nice and slow is my preference. Enjoying the travel is just as important as the destination or however you say it,” An idea sparking in his brain, Cormag devilishly grins, his plump cheeks dimpling. “Let’s enjoy the scenic route some more,” Cormag leans slightly down. He gently whispers in Artur’s ears before resting his lips on his partner’s.

Artur grinning, he merely murmurs in hushed agreement as Cormag kisses him, the crackle of joy feeling just as natural as their first kiss, the two ready to indeed enjoy Cormag’s current size and take things naturally, wherever it might lead.

[evasjacks]

Universe: Grishaverse sometime during the first book// Vasily POV

Length: 1,576 Words

A/N: Here’s a short on Vasily being his natural, asshole self and some horses!!

Inspired by this post by @udovaintomyheart 

Among the dozens of brown and black coats, he was hard to miss, his light fur an enchanting white. A beauty, it's shape seemed carved from marble purer than that which lined the floors of the Grand Palace. There was an elegance to him, lithe body making it look as though he might yet take flight, rather than run the course.

"That one," Vasily said on a breath, not daring to look away. He let himself into the open stable, where the horses were meant to rest before the race. It was larger than any stable he'd seen before. High-ceilings made of light-colored wood, the same which was used to separate each of the twenty horses from each other. Every mare or stallion was kept in its own quarters, given thrice as much hay as necessary, and at least one lad was to watch the animal, and tend to their needs. Vasily took this all in as his long strides brought him to the one horse he wished to see. Its blue eyes bore into his, and he wondered, not for the first time, if horses had the ability to see someone's soul. "-Mr. Lantsov!" A voice called, and Vasily felt himself stiffen. He didn't turn as the short, fat man left in charge of this place, stomped his booted feet to meet him. The man was panting, his round face red. "What do you want, Artur?" He said boredly, letting the palm of his hand meet the horse's snout. It leaned into the touch, closing its eyes. Mine. Vasily decided. "I'll take him. Prepare him for the race, and let me see the lad caring for him," he said, starting to turn away. "I- Mr.Lantsov- I'm afraid I can't do that-" the man stuttered. Vasily stilled. He turned slowly around, the way he'd his father respond to dignitaries who spoke out of line. It had the desired effect; the man's face paling considerably. "What?" Vasily asked quietly. The man's eyes were trained on the floor, and his voice was very small when he spoke again. "You can't take it, sir. Owned by the Rider." Vasily lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug "then I'll buy the horse and the man riding it," he said simply, and began to walk away again. "I-im afraid that won't do either. The Rider comes with a company of their own," Artur explained. Vasily heard this and took it all in for a moment. The man had referred to him as 'Mr. Lantsov' repeatedly, and was likely from Ravka as well, judging by his name and features. Yet, he did not feel compelled to fulfill the wishes of the Crown Prince. He frowned. This was new. "Fetch me this Rider, and I'll have a word with him myself." He said, fishing his riding gloves from his pocket and pulling them onto his hands. "Well, actually-" "Now, Artur," Vasily said impatiently. It didn't take long before he'd scurried off to find the bastard. The nerve of these people. Vasily shook his head, flexing his fingers inside the leather of his gloves. He turned back to the horse in question, his mind going to the first time he'd ever ridden a horse himself. It was in the stables outside the Little Palace. He had never ventured into the place, thinking little of it but a place where dirty creatures and the horses they cared for lay to sleep. But his brother was curious. Nikolai had snuck out after one of their lessons and headed straight for the stables, where Vasily suspected, he would meet up with his friend. The villager. More than glad to catch his brother in the act of something the King would surely disapprove of, he followed. Vasily trailed his brother down the Grand staircase, into a secluded hall. He'd never been in this hall, as it led directly to the servant's quarters. No prince should know of these passages, he thought. But his brother had never been much of a prince. In every sense of the word. Vasily's mind completed, referring back to the conversation he'd overheard some of the diplomats' wives having with his mother. "Wherever did you get such a darling little thing? Not here in Ravka, that's for certain!" And they'd laughed, and his mother had laughed along. But she hadn't denied it. While the term 'sneaking out' had entailed that Nikolai ignore and avoid the teachers and diplomats they'd passed on their way down here, his brother was more than happy to speak to each and every servant. He knew their names, Vasily realized with disgust. They'd still be smiling and blushing when Nikolai had left, but that would all drop away when they saw Vasily approaching. Good, he thought, straightening his back, father always said it's better to be feared than to be loved. Still, it stung. Nikolai slipped out of a small door Vasily had never noticed before. It led out into the courtyard, just behind the large fountain. His brother must have assumed the night would cover for him, but Vasily could easily see him by the light of the moon. Straight to the stables, he went, on silent feet, a small bundle in his arms. Vasily followed a safe distance behind, his mind entertaining him with beautiful images of how his brother would be punished. Perhaps his father will finally find it in him to have the boy whipped. Perhaps he'd kick him out of the castle altogether, tell everyone the truth about his parentage. The possibilities were endless. Nikolai had opened the door just a crack and slid into the stables. Vasily had then realized that he had not planned so far. Nikolai was inside. He was out. Should he follow him? Let his brother know he'd tailed him the whole distance from the Palace? But it was cold outside, and soon, the decision was made for him as thunder sounded in the distance. It would rain soon. Vasily slipped into the stables behind his brother. Now, the blue eyes watched him with such intensity, as Vasily let his gloved hand traced the lines of its face. "What was his punishment?" Asked a voice. Vasily startled, turning to find a girl standing there. She can't have been older than eighteen, wearing faded black pants tucked into high boots. Her white shirt was buttoned up to the collar, brown hair tied into a tail at the name of her neck. She eyes him, her dark eyes demanding an answer. She didn't bow or courtesy. Likely she doesn't know who I am, Vasily determined. "Pardon?" He asked in response to her strange question. "Your brother, the one you were just speaking of, what was his punishment?" She explained, looking irritated at the need to repeat herself. "I..." Had he been talking aloud? "I don't believe I told anyone in the end. I was rather distracted. You see, before, I'd never been allowed near the horses. Ever since I've loved to ride or just to watch them run, they truly are beautiful creatures." "I agree," she said, canting her head in indication. She walked over to where Vasily was standing beside the horse itself. "Which do you think will win?" She asked. Which will you bet on? Vasily glanced at the horses passively, his eyes landing once again on the lovely creature before him. "This one," he said confidentially "he's not like the rest." The girl snorted in a very unladylike manner "No, she bloody well isn't," Vasily looked back at the horse again. Of course, how had he missed it? He canted his head in acknowledgment, "Right. Either way, I intend to leave with horse and Rider in tow." He said, making up for his mistake with this. The girl eyed him, brows lifted in what could only be amusement. "Just like that?" She asked. "Just like that." He agreed. The whistle sounded outside, signaling that all the Riders should head to their horses for final preparations. He should be back with the other Ravkan diplomats, where they would watch the race. "Do you always do that?" The girl asked, reaching for something in the horse's stable. "Do what?" Vasily asked, distracted now, as the Riders began pouring into the stables, heading to their horses and putting on their gear. Where the devil had Artur gone? Where was the Rider of this horse? He leaned away from the wooden door, separating him from the horse, as it was pulled open. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, he counted the riders. The sound of something clinking made him turn back to the horse. He frowned. The girl had climbed onto it, resting one hand gently on the horse's mane, and holding something in her other hand. A helmet. "Underestimate those around you?" She replied, smirking a little. She didn't wait for his answer, just gave the horse's side a gentle kick, then rode out of the stables, riders left and right waving to her as she left. Vasily watched, dumbstruck, as the only horse he'd believed could win, and the one person he'd dismissed so easily rode away just as another whistle sounded. "Did- did you meet the Rider? Did she agree, Mr.Lantsov?" A sweaty-faced Artur called out, pushing past some of the other Riders that were leading their horses away. He glared at the man in response, straightening his coat as he strolled past him. "Find me another decent Rider, Artur, and make sure he wins."