#fresco answers

[greennoobartist]

Ay hello mate!

I saw you're excited post about your first ask, so heres a second one:

What was your favorite part of the newest LU update?

Mine was when Wild and twi played around and acted all brotherly. My heart went up with it ^^

AWWW THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH FOR ASKING ❣️❣️❣️🥹🥹🥹 I really appreciate it 🫶🫶

But you're asking rhetorical questions 🙃

Just kidding😁 but fr though the whole update was hilarious and wholesome

I also loved the brotherly twi and wild part, they act like such siblings sometimes 🫶

Though, if I have to choose, i think I would go with the first two pages (i think these two were the first ones not sure)

Mostly cuz Legend showed up to be protective over his brothers 💖 (and generally just showed up he lifts up my mood and my headcanon since 4ever was him being protective so now finally having a proof adds to the mood)

Also the bunny joke on the second page made me laugh so hard and now every now and then i do the same and my family always looks at me like im a psychopath lol and I just say "oh, it's a joke in the comic" and it is i didn't lie

So yeah, i would say these two pages :)

Thank you sm for asking, i really appreciate it but sorry for the long answer im trying to stop myself from replying in essays but it just doesn't work 🥲

[spookygibberish]

I love Jar of Mice! I've never seen creature designs like Thrones before.

You mention Ibis tissue in some of the posts, and I read the old post about it - has the lore changed since then? Does it have anything to do with the bones of God at Godtomb?

I'm very flattered! I don't think of Thrones as particularly creative but I suppose that's because I know all the ingredients for them... Actually let me take this post as an excuse to go into them a bit!

I extremely enjoy taurs and human "hybrid" style creatures like sphinxes a massive amount, but there are a ton of artists who's particular styles and sensibilities have inspired me. Coming to mind off the top of my head are artists on social media like Bwusagi, Suzumori521, Deerchip, Theveryworstthing, iliothermia, and definitely more...

I tend to collect a lot of art of centaurs, sphinxes, harpies, and dragons that catches my fancy, here's some of it:

(An Islamic depiction of Sagittarius, Salome Sphinx by Nicholas Kalmakoff, ????, Nagas by Rabi Behera, Şahmaran)

Edit: forgot the Lamassu, which is a more specific inspiration than any of the things above or below.

Jim Woodring is one of my inspirations for Thrones that people tend to clock, and they're correct. It's probably the colors, patterns, eyes, shapes.....

Oh and.

Her.

And for the second question, yes! The tissue was once on the bones, although the Ibis tissue used in the temples for the creation of dagnyds is much more equivalent to a cell culture than anything at this point. It's desire to grow and take form is the creative force that humans have harnessed to create dagnyds..... for better or worse.

I don't have any art of it i'm happy with, but here's some several year old pixel art of an Oracle Computer, which is filled with the stuff. Honestly though, I don't think "black goo" is very compelling or visually interesting considering what the stuff actually is. It needs work.

Everything always needs work...

[poorlydrawneridan]

whats your favorite cryptid?

CA: wwell i wwouldnt call it a favvorite exactly but ivve been chasin somethin awwful cryptic for a real long time

[potatocatullus]

istg this teacher...

[vi0letw0lf]

# VI0LETW0LF ⸻ ❝ The students of Weston College are under strict discipline that stresses the importance of traditions and customs. They are raised to become the sophisticated gentlemen of Britain through an exclusively boys' dorm life and their individual high-level educational curriculum. ❞

↳ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 is portraying &. writing as 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 from the KUROSHITSUJI ( black butler ) franchise. the following triggers will be referenced: murder, abuse, depression &. child abuse.

navigation links ~ ! ⸻ * about . * rules . * ask memes . * carrd .

⸻ ❝ 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 .

𝐈 . as aforementioned, any transphobia will result in a block. this includes racism, homophobia, antisemitism, and any sort of other discrimination against minorities. be a generally courteous person, not an ignorant loudly proclaiming prejudice.

𝐈𝐈 . activity is sparse. real life comes first. with that in mind, be aware my silence is due from external means. tumblr writing is not my obligation, it is a side project and/or hobby.

𝐈𝐈𝐈 . i openly ship. if i have an idea for romantic chemistry, i may reference it. however, i will not push it upon another, nor would i appreciate others pushing their characters onto me.

𝐈𝐕 . no, you are not spamming my inbox. always send prompts or memes. i wholeheartedly welcome it. so long as there is no anonymous hate sent, my inbox is open to all.

𝐕 . i am an adult. i presume most of my followers are. please act your age; any drama, vague-posting, will result in an instantaneous block. this isn't twitter, you're not a vigilante seeking justice. resolve your issues privately.

[onarete]

This is the “Bull Leaping Fresco” from Knossos, Crete, Greece. It is late Minoan—which is to say, created between 1400 and 1100 bce. It’s showing a sport in which athletes appear to flip over running bulls—like a backflip, but with Extra Danger!

Probably the Minoans didn’t just invent backflips to flip over some bulls… it’s likely flipping already existed and they just made a sport out of it

these are the questions about history that the people really need to ask

[enha-stars]

Do It For Me ; L.HS

beg me to stop, i promise i’ll love you if you do it, so do it for me

Pairing: Advisor!Heeseung x F!Princess!Reader

Synopsis: To all the subjects, all the servants, and all other royalty, you’re next in line for the throne. You’re a Princess, their Princess. However, in the depths of the night, far away in another tower, you’re nothing but a filthy, sluty, whore. Master to all, servant to one.

Warnings: porn with plot (little plot), SMUT, p in v, MDNI, fluff, minor angst, lowkey (highkey) master/servant/ownership themes, learned new things about myself tbh, unprotected sex (don’t), switch!heeseung, switch!reader, lots of kissing, genuine trust, all consensual, both are freaks, praise & degradation, abuse of authority (both into it), minor exhibitionism, choking, oral (both), sweat kink, mentions of death & hell & religion (brief), reader has big boobs bcuz i do (not sorry), biting, spit (lots of it), reader has hair long enough to pull, brief lactation kink, crying, overstimulation, 11.9k words

A/N: Well. I didn't think my comeback would be linked to a five second hentai scene I stumbled across, but alas, here we are. This is for my girls, my freakhoonz, who have been so patient with me. I'm pretty proud of this one, actually.

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows of the castle’s grand dining hall, painting the ancient stone walls with golden hues. The air was crisp, the faint scent of lavender from the nearby gardens carried in on the light breeze. 

Despite the magnificence of the room–the high, vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes, the crystal chandelier that sparkled like captured starlight–it felt eerily empty. 

You sat at the center of the impossibly long mahogany dining table, a gown of soft ivory silk pooled around you, delicate lace cuffs brushing against your wrists as you reached for your teacup, the scent of chai wafting through the air. The delicate porcelain looked almost fragile in your hands, a stark contrast to the quiet stiffness in your posture. 

You glanced up briefly at the empty seats surrounding you, expression unreadable. The solitude of the grand room seemed to weigh heavily but you bore it with practiced grace, familiar with the chilling quietness that had long seeped into your bones. 

Behind you stood your advisor, his figure tall and shadow-like in the glow of the morning light. He remained still, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his brown eyes watchful. “You’ve hardly touched your breakfast, Your Highness,” he said, his voice low, measured. 

You sighed softly, setting your teacup down with a faint clink. “I’m not that hungry,” you replied, tone polite but distant. You toyed with the edge of your napkin, gaze drifting toward the massive windows. Beyond them, the lush gardens stretched endlessly, the vibrant colors of the blooms concentrated well with the muted grays and browns of the castle’s interior. 

Servants moved quietly around the room, their footsteps muffled by thick rugs. A maid approached with a tray, setting down a plate of freshly baked pastries. You nodded in silence acknowledgement before the new, baby pink she was adorned in caught your eye. She barely noticed as she bowed, silently walking away. 

You stared at her departing figure, intrigued by her outfit. It was new; with a white, crisp blouse with a lace trim on the collar, the baby pink apron consisted of a full bib that had covered her chest with wide straps that criss crossed along her back, the skirt of the apron was pleated as it rested on the petticoat. In sum, it was beautiful. You had half a mind to call her back, just so you could simply admire the subtle embroidery that you were sure consisted of different floral patterns. 

Heeseung stepped closer, his voice softening. “The day ahead will demand much of you, Princess. Perhaps a few bites, if only to sustain yourself.” 

Instead of answering him, you pointed to the empty space that the maid had retreated to. “What was she wearing, Heeseung? Has mother changed their uniform once again?” 

Heeseung nodded, and although you could not see it, you felt it. “Yes, Your Highness. The Queen suggested something that would lighten the castle. They have just arrived from Japan.”

“Hm,” you hummed. You leaned back in your chair, picking at a sugar cookie. Expression laced with something unspoken and a faint smile, you tilted your head in question. “What do you think?”

“About what, Princess?”

“The maid outfits. Poor things have to wear them all the time, don’t they?” 

Heeseung narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, the sides of his lips twitching at the faux sympathy in your voice, hiding your intrigue. “They are certainly prettier than their older garments. As long as they look good, I believe the Queen will remain satisfied.” 

Wiping your fingers with your napkin, you folded it in half and set it beside the tray. “You think so? Mother is hard to please.” 

“For the sake of the maids, I hope so.” 

The faintest laugh escaped you, so quiet it might have gone unnoticed if not for the way his lips curved ever so slightly in response. Despite the coldness of the wide room, the warmth that Heeseung’s honesty provided you was enough, unusually so. 

Interrupting the moment, Heeseung stepped forward, placing a folded parchment on the table beside your plate. “The morning reports, as you requested,” he said, his tone reverting to its usual professionalism. 

You glanced at the parchment but made no move to open it. Instead, your eyes flickered to his retreating hand, catching the faintest twitch of his fingers. You knew that if you turned back, you would have caught his expression, sure of the soft hesitation that would have lingered. 

Instead, you smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Heeseung.” 

Before you could pick it up, his voice brushed against your ear. “Would you like me to read it to you, Princess?”

“Would you, Heeseung? I’m not quite in the mood.” 

He stepped forward, fingers brushing against the paper before he picked it up. “Of course, Princess. Anything for you.”

His words weren’t unique, they had been uttered a few times an hour daily, but they were different when he said them. There was a certain…genuinity to them, a quiet promise just for you.

You loved it.

Reveled in it, even.

Sighing, Heeseung pushed open the large wooden door to his quarters. He was lucky enough to be liked by the King to receive his own space, no matter how minimal it was, it was his. He could do whatever–whoever–he wanted to.

Rolling his shoulders, he dragged his feet and stretched his neck, rubbing at the knot he was sure was forming. His dark blue tunic was crinkled by the bottom and all he wanted to do was take a warm bath and wash away the dirt of the day. 

He pushed his bedroom door open, ready to sink onto the floor when a familiar, too familiar, irritated voice called out to him, draining the tension from his body and igniting a fire in the pit of his stomach. 

“Finally!” You stood across from Heeseung, arms crossed. “What took you so long? I requested for father to let you leave the meeting early.” 

“Princess?” Heeseung slammed the door shut, pressing his back against it, mouth agape. He was staring at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. He clutched the neck of his tunic, as if his panic was clawing at him. As if you hadn’t found yourself in his bedroom, many times before. 

“Well?” You raised your eyebrow. “What kept you?” There was a certain edge to your voice, one Heeseung had heard in meetings and gatherings, the voice of royal blood, companding, booming, and oh so luring. 

His throat dried up immediately, blinking once, twice, before you tilted your head and he straightened. It didn’t matter that you stood in front of him in one of the new maid outfits, all tangled and mismatched, strings undone and pieces folded, he still had to answer to you, still a subject. 

“The King,” he began, trying to even out his breathing and push all the darker thoughts back into the depths of his brain, “he wanted new territory lines drawn.”

Still standing in the middle of the room, you were a masterful figure, illuminating his room better than the few candles that were littered around his room. “And did you? Help him? Advise him,” you whispered, mocking his discomposure. 

Heeseung swallowed, slowly pushing himself off his door. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

Instead of answering him, you simply smiled at him, and his legs almost wobbled at the sight. It was different here, seeing you so close, face to face, when he often spent time behind you, deciphering your moods and expressions by the twitch of your ears and stiffness of your shoulders. Like this, with you standing before him, he almost couldn’t handle it.

You were the prettiest in the land, the most beloved jewel of the kingdom, but standing in the dim light of his flickering candles with disheveled clothes and a curved smile, one just for him–he thought you had never looked more beautiful. 

He was almost completely undone. 

“Your Highness,” he stepped towards you, “what are you doing here?” He knew. He knew. But he wasn’t bold enough to want it, not yet. 

Grinning at his question, you spread your arms and motioned towards your body. “I wanted to try this on. It looked so pretty.”

“Yes,” Heeseung nodded, “it does. But why here?” You were always bolder than him, at least in the beginning. 

Your eyes shined with something sinister, something lustful, something he could have been hung for, and he wanted it. He wanted to taste it. He wanted to drown in it. 

“To show you, of course. But I seemed to have done this wrong.” You pouted, a bit frustrated at yourself for failing to put on a maids outfit. Surely you were more capable. 

Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath at your words, his heart beating loudly in his head. He had an inkling, the smallest of feelings that you would pull something like this but he hadn’t thought about it, hadn't gone as far as to want it, in case he was wrong.

He rarely ever was. 

“Help me, will you?” You stepped towards him and smiled softly, peering up at him with shiny eyes. “Help me put this on.”

Heeseung held his breath for a second, looking for any hesitation, any sign that would immediately push all his sinful thoughts out of his mind, but all he saw was pure, unfiltered trust in your eyes. You wanted this, whatever it was, you wanted it completely. 

He’d give it to you. Of course he would. He’s never denied before you. 

“Of course, Princess.” He reached out and gently brushed his fingers against your arm, igniting a raging fire in the pit of your stomach, and he knew he had you. He maneuvered you closer to his bed, closer to the candles so he could see you properly, before he began undoing the laces and straps of the apron, his nimble, long, and veiny fingers gently ghosting over your skin but never touching. 

Breathing in his scent, the mixture of musk, old wood, and his sweat made you want to bite into his skin. You stood still as he moved around you, towering over you as he undid the mess you had made of yourself. His fingers brushed against your skin, nails barely grazing your clothed body, and it was almost enough. 

When he got to your chest, you felt him hold his breath and you purposefully pressed further into him, forcing his fingers to graze your erect nipple. You had abandoned your corset, letting your breasts press freely against the cotton material. As he shifted the apron to cover your chest–or as much as he could–you tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck. 

Heeseung wanted to lick the exposed skin but he bit his tongue instead. He had to be patient. Right now, he was still your subject. You were still his master, he was yours to command.

After a few moments, he tied the final bow in the back and breathed down your neck for one, quick second before he stepped back.

“There you are, Princess.” 

Slowly, you turned around and tilted your head in that endearingly dangerous way and smiled at him, shiny eyes staring up at him. “How do I look?” 

Like I should be on my knees worshipping you, he wanted to say. 

Instead, he whispered, “Beautiful. You always look beautiful, Princess.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from giggling at his wondrous expression. 

“Beautiful enough to serve you?” You fluttered your eyelashes, licking your lips in delight.

Pupils blown wide, Heeseung swallowed his tongue.

“Pardon?” 

Smiling at his dumbfoundedness, you moved towards him, grinning when he stepped back. You continued to step towards him until the back of his legs hit the edge of his bed and he fell back, staring up at you like he was afraid you’d eat him at the first sign of weakness. 

Before Heeseung could find proper footing, you were sinking to your knees and he suddenly couldn’t breathe all over again. You found a comfortable position between his legs, resting your cheek against his thigh, staring at him as if he was the only thing you wanted to focus on. 

Holding himself up by his arms, Heeseung tried to control his breathing. “Princess,” he gasped out. “What are you doing?” He let out a strangled breath when you brushed your smaller, delicate hand against his growing bulge. 

“What does it look like, Heeseung? I’m serving you.” You twisted the threads of his trousers before undoing them. His hand landed on yours, almost fervently. He squeezed once and you glanced up at him.

“Tonight,” you whispered against his inner thigh, “I serve you. I’m yours to command.” Pressing a soft kiss to his thigh, you trailed your fingers all over his pelvis.

“My master.” 

Heeseung couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed in quite some time and he was surely never going to breathe again. Despite your words, the soft shift of power, he knew that like this, between his legs, you had all the control.

You tapped the waistband of his trousers and in less than a second, he had pulled them off. They pooled between his legs, sinking to the floor and you gathered them before pulling them right off, leaving him completely naked from the waist down.

You started at his ankles, fingers pressing down on his sun-kissed skin, fingernails grazing upwards, watching in fascination as goosebumps erupted on his skin. Reaching his thighs, you spread his legs further, swallowing the whisper of a whimper he released, and kissed his inner thigh until it was littered in little red marks, fading quickly. You kissed his other thigh, licking and nibbling the skin, acutely aware of the way Heeseung had begun to shift under your hold. 

Once you were satisfied with the constellations you had etched onto his skin, you lifted your head and almost gasped at the way he was leaking, his tip red and veiny. Mesmerized, you leaned forward, but before you continued, you shifted your eyes to his and found nothing but darkness staring back at you. His bambi eyes, the ones you loved so dearly, had been replaced by something predatory. 

Yet, you could see the softness threaded into the crinkles of his skin, the way he refused to move, to touch you, unless you made it clear that you wanted him to. You rested your cheek against his inner thigh and smiled up at him. 

“Can I?” Your voice was low, a mere brush of air against his skin, but he heard you. “Please, Hee. Can I?” 

Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded. You blinked up at him, unmoving. Swallowing the lust that had clawed its way to his throat, Heeseung tilted his head forward. “Go ahead, Princess.” 

His rough, almost choked voice vibrated against your heart and you slowly lifted your head and shifted as close as you could get to him, knees scraping against the wood of his bed. He didn’t know what to expect, unsure of your next moves. He hated being so disheveled, so not-in-tune with you, but he couldn’t complain, not when you leaned forward and pressed your nose against the base of his cock. 

Jerking forward, Heeseung barely had enough time to cry out your name before you licked a long stripe from his base to his tip, circling your tongue around him once before you repeated the action once more. All his empty words died in his throat as he released a shaky breath at the feeling of your warm mouth taking him in, engulfing him completely. 

Pressing your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, you could taste the salty taste of his sweat and precum. It took over your senses and you shifted upwards, circling your tongue around his tip before sucking, the taste of him took over your senses. Pooling some spit on your tongue, you let it drip down his length as you wrapped your hand around him, using his own precum mixed with your spit as lube, jerking your hand up and down as you continued to press soft kisses around his tip. 

Heeseung groaned, his breathing getting heavier as his legs spasmed around you. You put a bit of pressure on his legs with your arms so he wouldn’t move too much, needing the taste of him down your throat more than you needed anything else, so you sucked on his tip harder, slopplier without stopping the motion of your hand. 

“Y/n,” his broken voice moaned out. 

Your name on his lips made your legs quiver and you looked up to the sight of his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back. His face had flushed pink and a thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead, his hair half brushed back and half sticking to his skin. His chest was rising rapidly and he looked so beautiful, hands clenched tightly as his legs flexed continuously. 

Without stopping, you used your free hand, the one that had been pressing into his skin, to grab his fisted hand. His eyes opened at the touch and he watched with amazement as you uncurled his fingers and guided them to your hair. Instantly, they curled around the strands and you hummed in satisfaction, making his cock twitch in your mouth. 

“I’m–Oh, fuck,” he whimpered out, his voice cracking, and you pushed him further down your throat, ignoring the burn because the sound of his broken voice was addictive, it was sweeter than the honey farmed in your land, and it satisfied you more than any of your fingers ever could have. 

His grip on your hair tightened and you wanted to giggle when he slowly began controlling your movements, pushing your head down until the tip grazed the back of your throat and you gagged around him, squeezing your own legs together. 

“That’s it, Princess,” he whispered. He pulled at your hair a bit, trying to give you the opportunity to breathe but you didn’t want to, so you licked along one of his veins and you glanced up at the exact moment his eyes rolled back into his skull and he moaned, loud and raspy and so broken. 

Your free hand trailed his skin, sliding up his tunic and you felt the way his abs flexed, the way his thighs shook as his head slowly fell back, the pleasure overwhelming. His grip on your hair loosened further and you licked at the tip once more before kissing his balls, your hand still wrapped around his length, tight and warm. 

Heeseung was close to crying, he was gasping and he could feel the coil in his abdomen tighten further as you licked and sucked on his balls, seeing stars and almost losing feeling in his arms when you nibbled at one of them. His chest rose rapidly, almost as if he was a man in his last moments of life. He could feel it, the way every muscle in his body had flexed, constricted against his will. 

“Fuck, I can’t.”

Choosing to fondle his balls instead, you licked up his shaft only to suck on his tip, staring up at him, fascinated at the way his adam's apple bobbed painfully against his skin and the way his skin had flushed even more. 

When the pleasure became too much, too blinding, Heeseung threaded his fingers back into your hair, and pulled. “Stop.” He pulled until it hurt, until he had pulled you off his dick and it rested against your cheek instead. “Enough.” His voice was guttural, vibrating against your teeth. 

You blinked up at him, mouth agape. His eyes fluttered shut at the sight of you; hair a matted mess, lips plump and bruised, eyes blown wide, and his precum and your own drool dripped down the sides of your mouth. He could have cummed at the sight alone, but he wanted to be inside you. 

He had to be inside you. 

Slowly, his hand slid from your hair to your face. He cupped your cheek, eyes smiling softly when you leaned into his hand. He wiped the drool off your lips with his thumb only to bring his finger to his mouth. You felt your pussy flutter around nothing and he didn’t have to hear it to know you almost whined. 

He brought his hand back to your face, trying to ignore the urge to push his cock back into your mouth, and wiped away your tears. You looked surprised, not even realizing you had begun to cry. 

“How did I do?” Your voice was hoarse, a bit broken, and his cock twitched. He rarely had the chance to ever hear it like this. He brought his other hand to your face, cupping both your cheeks and forcing you to look into his eyes. 

“Perfect. Always so perfect, Princess.” He could see it in your eyes, the need. So he gave it to you. “Serving me so well. You take such good care of me.” 

Your eyes lit up at the praise and he almost cooed, despite being on the urge of cumming. If he had this, if he had you like this, he wanted to enjoy it. And, above all, he wanted you to enjoy it. 

He was good at giving you what you needed, not just what you wanted. 

“Stand up for me, Princess.” He brushed his fingers against your neck. “Stand up.” 

Immediately, obediently, you managed to stand on shaky legs. Heeseung’s gaze traveled from your skirt to your apron, eyes focused on your nipples poking through. Despite fixing your attire earlier, it was all twisted and wet now. He loved it. 

You looked at him expectantly and he almost gave it up, almost begging for you to take him, to have him anyway you wanted him, but he couldn’t. A bigger, more selfish part of him couldn’t. 

“Strip for me.” When you began pulling at the strings, he coaxed out, “Leave the apron.” 

Your fingers paused before quickly pulling off the blouse, biting your lip when the cold air brushed against your skin. You pulled down the skirt and kicked it all to the side until you stood in nothing but the pink apron. It barely covered your chest and left your entire backside exposed, but you loved it; loved the way Heeseung’s eyes drank you in, eyes becoming impossibly darker. 

“Come here,” he motioned. You moved towards him, stepping between his legs. At once, he was gripping your hips and pulled you in, his face pressing into your stomach. He breathed you in, trying to burn the memory of you like this into his soul, hoping that when he goes, you’d greet him to the gates of hell like this, ever so enticing, so perfect. 

Even though he hadn’t given you permission, your hands found home in his long, shaggy black hair. You brushed your fingers through it, loving the length. He looked up at you and you almost, almost, wanted to ring the local church, wanted to tell them they had it all wrong because one of their angels, one of the sinful devils was here with you. 

The look in Heeseung’s eyes had changed. You could see it, feel it in his gaze. The way he looked at you now was anything but sweet. He wanted to eat you whole, in pieces if he had to. 

“Want to please me? Make me cum?” He spoke against your stomach, the cloth of the apron muffling his words but you heard him. Your knees weakened in response. You nodded, “Yes.” 

You could feel the curve of his smile against your skin as he pressed soft, open mouthed kisses to your stomach. You hadn’t noticed his trailing hand until it landed on your ass and he squeezed hard. You almost yelped at the feeling and jerked forward, his other hand steadying you. You held onto his shoulder, his hair, as his hand grazed your backside, fingers drawing circles on the fat of your skin. 

At once, Heeseung shifted and lifted his head, looking up at you. His eyes met yours and you both stared at each other, millions of unsaid words, thoughts, filling the minimal air between you both. The way Heeseung looked at you now, like he was staring up at the starry night sky, absolutely bewildered by the stars that littered the sky, it was better than anything else anyone could have ever given you. You’d trade all your fancy dresses, all your jewels, every single piece of gold you could get your hand on for him, just for him to look at you like this for the rest of your life, like you’re something precious, something beautiful, more than just the blood that ran through your veins. 

The weight of your look was too much for him, too terrifying, so he caught your wandering hand instead and rested it on his cheek. He leaned into it and you soothed the skin under his eyes, noticing for the first time just how strained it was. Heeseung kissed the edge of your palm before he pushed himself upwards on the bed until his back rested against the headboard. 

You watched him closely, watching the way his length still stood hard and tall but he paid it no mind. His eyes were on you. They had and always would be on you. He spread his legs, his muscles flexing before he patted his lap. “Come, Princess.” 

Obeying him immediately, you hastily, ungracefully, crawled towards him and his hands, his large, needy, hard working hands, grabbed you, caressing your skin softly as he settled you on his lap, the apron bunching up between your bodies. He paid little attention to his throbbing dick and more to the warmth of your cheeks, the bashfulness he could see in your eyes. 

Like the good girl you were, or wanted to be, you kept your hands to yourself and waited for him. Heeseung smiled at your patience and squeezed your hips once before he rested against the wood, ignoring the way it pierced his skin. You were soaking, knowing that your own wetness coated your thighs, making the apron stick to you in all sorts of uncomfortable ways. 

“Take off my tunic, Princess. Undress me.” There was something menacing in his soft voice, a slight tease at her, at her skill. Surely a maid like her, a servant, could undo a simple tunic, his voice had said. 

You nodded and reached for the tightly done threads, fingers trembling as you slowly pulled and loosened his collar, keeping your eyes on his chest. If you had lifted them, you’d see the way Heeseung was lazily resting against the headboard, the way his hair was a mess, the glint in his eyes that promised demise. He’d kept himself at bay for now, towing the power between himself and you, but when he took it again, completely and unruly, he’d have broken you tenfold. 

Once the neck of his tunic had loosened, you grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled up, smiling briefly at his immediate compliance, lifting his arms. You tossed his shirt to the side somewhere, solely focused on his skin, his solid, glistening chest. 

“Go ahead,” he smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. “Touch me.” 

Gingerly, you lifted both your hands and settled them on his chest. Heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of your cold hands on his burning body, the way you were gentle as you grazed his toned abs, the way your fingers paused on all the cuts and scars that littered his body. 

“Can I?” You didn’t lift your eyes, focused on a new scar right above his heart. Heeseung’s hand travelled from your hip to your stomach and he pushed down.

“Yes.” He swallowed. “Please.” 

Gently, like he was fragile, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the scarred tissue. His breathing hitched, his grip on you tightened, and he was a complete goner when your kisses became heavier, sloppier, and soon, his entire chest was littered with the remnants of your saliva. 

Pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Heeseung lifted your head, his gaze almost scoldering. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation, before he glanced down at your lips. Unconsciously, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, a habit you had yet to grow out of. 

Sliding his thumb upwards, he coaxed you to release your lip and when he did, he pressed down and you shifted on his lap, his length brushing against the apron and he winced, a mixture of pleasure and pain shadowing across his face. 

“I’m going to kiss you, Princess.” Heeseung was already breathless, unsure if he was warning you or asking, only wanting your plush lips against his. 

“Please,” is all you managed to whisper out. If the kingdom could see you now, begging and writhing on top of Heeseung, a man not of royal blood or even any land. They’d never understand, you decided.

What it felt like to be wanted like this. 

Sliding his hand up from your waist to your throat, he wrapped his fingers gently enough to entice you. Your hands laid flat on his chest and you could feel the rapid pace of his heart, knowing he wanted this just as much, if not more. 

Pulling your head down, he tilted his chin to meet your lips in the middle. His lips, plush and pink, brushed against yours and you tilted your head, trying to chase him. His grip on your throat tightened and he kept you where he wanted you. He brushed his lips against yours once more, smiling against your pout. 

“Pretty thing,” he cooed. “You’ll take what I give you.” 

You whimpered against his lips, keeping your eyes on his. You knew he was being generous, knew he was being kind and sweet, the version of him you loved, but it wasn’t the one you needed. You needed him to abuse the power you had easily surrendered. 

“How bad?” He asked against your lips, brushing his lips against your chin, nose, cheek. “How bad do you want this, Princess?” 

“Very,” you whispered against his lips. “Please, Heeseung.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of your chin. “Begging for me like this. What would your mother say?” 

At the mention of your mother, the Queen, you shifted on his lap once more, his length brushing deliciously against your soaked core. His grip on your throat tightened just for a second before he composed himself. 

Unsure whether or not he wanted an answer, you parted your lips to say something, anything, and he interrupted you by crashing your lips against his, swallowing your surprised gasp greedily. His lips moved roughly against yours, so perfect, as one of his hands slid down to your ass, gripping tightly as he moved your hips against his, not caring for the way the apron you had on had been completely soaked by now. 

His grip on your throat tightened once more and you moaned into his mouth, moving your lips feverishly against his. Heeseung slipped his tongue into your mouth, tracing the crevices of your teeth and gums before sucking on your tongue, guiding your hips so your cunt rubbed against the side of his cock. 

His eyes almost rolled back at the lack of air and he pulled back, mesmerized by the string of spit that connected both of your lips. He pulled further away, just to see how far he could stretch the glistening string before it broke, surging forward to lick it from the edge of your mouth. 

He licked and kissed down your throat, his hand sliding downwards until both his hands were focused on the bow on your lower back. He pulled it apart as he nibbled and sucked your neck, only pulling away to pull the apron off your head. His lips immediately reattached to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone and your head fell back, trying to pry yourself open for him. 

Heeseung bit down on the skin just above your collarbone and you cried out, hands flying to his hair, gripping for dear life. He grinned against your skin and pulled at your own hair, making you arch for him so he could reach your breasts better. 

He began kissing down your body, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, swallowing the taste of your sweet sweat, knowing he’d fight a war for the taste. 

You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pulled and scraped his hair and the nape of his neck. Your entire body was on fire and you almost couldn’t breathe. 

Under a trance, Heeseung pressed a soft kiss on one of your breasts, his fingers brushing the nipple of the other. He kitten-licked your swollen, aching bud before latching on, sucking and kissing, circling his tongue as if he could have convinced your body to submit to him completely, as if he could milk you dry. 

His other hand pinched and squeezed your other nipple, before he released your swollen and wet nipple with a pop, not even breathing as he latched onto the other one. All of your senses were going crazy, overwhelmed to the point of hysteria and tears. Heeseung jerked his hips upwards, pulling you impossibly closer and flush against him, his cock sliding perfectly between your soaked folds. 

Once he’s sure that he’s marked every inch of you, every inch of your supple skin red and pinched, he pulls away and revels in what he sees. You’re gripping onto him tightly, grinding yourself against him, head thrown back as a sheen layer of sweat coats your throat. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. 

His voice breaks the trance you seem to be in and you slowly halt your movements and tilt your head forward, eyes locking on his. He pushes himself up, resting his forehead against yours as both of your chests heave. You lean forward and press a swift kiss to his swollen lips, licking his bottom lip. He lets you have it because he captures your lips again, heart beating rapidly against your chest as his arms circle your waist. 

“Ready to make me cum?” He asks, voice unbelievably gravelly and hoarse. He knows that if you simply touched him, simply grazed his tip with your fingers, he’d cum like he never has before. 

“I need to,” you tell him. “Please, Heeseung. Use me.” You’re so earnest in your words, the way your eyes shine with trust and lust, like he could do anything to you and you’d let him. 

A darker, sinister part of him wants to know how far he could go before you stop him. 

Heeseung grins at you, a curve of his lips, teeth on display as his hands slide up and down your exposed thighs. “Ride me, Princess.” He watches the way your eyes widen, he can feel the way your pulse quickens, and he wants to be the only person to ever see you like this. He wraps one of his hands around his hard, leaking cock and slides up and down once. “Ride me like the good, pretty little slut you are.” 

Your pussy flutters at his words and he can feel it against his legs. He almost, almost, loses it right there and then and has half a mind to flip you over but he needs to prolong this. So, instead, he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek, looking as sinful as ever. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you held onto his shoulders with trembling arms and slowly lifted your knees. Like the saint he could sometimes be, Heeseung gripped the underside of your thighs, helping lift your body. 

Exhaling a short breath, you gripped his cock and lined him up with your entrance. The soft scrape of his tip against your pussy was almost enough, but you wanted more, needed more. With his red tip positioned at your entrance, you slowly sunk down, moaning loudly. 

The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls made you both moan in unison, your body falling limp into his as you sunk down completely, the base of his cock hitting your core. The stretch felt amazing, so good, and all you could do was tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob. 

“Fuck,” he groans out, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping your skin. “Fuck, so fucking tight.” You press a soft kiss to his neck and he jerks his hips upwards, filling you to the brim, his tip reaching parts of you only he had discovered. 

“Move,” he ordered, weakly. “Fuck yourself on my cock, Princess. Just like you said you would, like you want to.” 

Your head fell back onto his chest and you bit his shoulder, holding onto his neck tightly as you used all your strength to move. He twitches inside you, against your sensitive walls, and you almost cry out. As if sensing your distraught, one of his hands grips your waist protectively and he presses a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

Lifting your legs, you slowly moved on his lap, sliding him in and out of your pussy. His hold on your waist helped lift you up and down, guiding you to a delicious pace. Once you find your rhythm, Heeseungs hands slide from your waist to your ass, resting there. 

He throws his head back when you begin to jump on his cock, his balls slapping against your ass. Your grip on his shoulders is piercing, he can feel his skin breaking as you dig your nails into his skin, the creak of his bed is loud in the room filled with your moans. 

You slow down, pressing down on his length to catch your breath. Grinding on his lap, his cock brushes against all your sweet spots, stretching your walls with a familiar enough burn. As you wriggle around on his cock, Heeseung’s eyes fly open and he stares at you with a heavy lidded gaze. 

“Tired already, Princess?” He chokes out, trying to be amused but his voice breaks. You don’t answer him, you can’t answer him, so he cooes at you instead and slides his hands up your sweaty body until his hand rests on your throat and he grips it, forcing your eyes open when he presses down with his thumb. 

Your eyes fly open and there are tears in your eyes as you try to push him to the brim, needing him to cum inside you before you lose your mind. “Heeseung,” you breathe out, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

“I got you, Princess,” he whispers against your skin, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I got you.” 

He kneads the flesh of your ass before he grips on tightly and thrusts into you. He begins fucking into you at an unsteady pace, your jaw going slack as his tip presses against your cervix with each thrust, making your eyes roll back. 

You could feel each and every vein bulging against your walls as he pounded into you, your hands flying to the headboard when his pace became rougher, more animalistic. 

“Wanting to serve me,” he mumbles against your throat, licking and biting your skin. “Can’t even fuck herself on my cock for long,” he chastises, spreading your ass so he could fuck into you harder. He bites into your skin sharply, almost breaking skin, and you tug at his hair, whimpering loudly. 

He can’t stop his rough movements, his thrusts never faltering as he brings you both closer to your release, abdomens twisting and churning. You felt your ears ringing when he pulled your hair, exposing your neck to him. His lips found home on your breasts, licking and biting as his cock continued to slide in and out of you at an abusing rate. 

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Imagine if others saw you like this.” At his own words, his pelvis jerked upwards, grazing that gummy, sensitive part inside you. He’d kill whoever saw you like this. But the thought of his Princess, the Princess, being dumb and sloppy for his dick for an audience made his legs burn.

“Don’t–” You started, voice breaking when he pinched your nipple.

“Don’t want what?” He asked, glancing up at you. “Tell me.”

“Don’t want others to see me,” you whispered. You looked down at him and smiled hazily, eyes unfocused and spit coating your lips.

“Just you.” 

Desperation clawed at Heeseung and his thrusts became erratic as he pushed your body flush against him, forcing your hips to match his bruising pace as more slick poured from your legs and onto his lap and sheets, your needy moans mixed with his broken ones. 

“Close–I’m, oh,” you stuttered out, eyes closing when Heeseung’s fingers grazed your clit, his own eyes shutting for a second when your walls squeezed him impossibly tight as he pressed his fingers against your clit. He could feel it, the dizzying feeling of euphoria building in his chest, the way it was running through his veins. He could tell you felt it too by your breathing, the way your pussy was weeping for him. 

Stars danced around in your vision and he knew his own vision mirrored yours, the tightness in his core was almost unbearable and he tipped his head forward and pressed his lips against yours, smiling briefly when your hold on him tightened. “Go ahead, Princess. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” his voice was sweet, borderline crazed. 

You fell limp in his arms when he thrusted into you once, twice, right against your cervix, and you had come undone for him, release washing over you, body weak as your legs shook on top of Heeseung’s. His hands were all over your body, caressing your skin to comfort you as your body convulsed for him. 

His lips were littering soft kisses to any skin he could reach, and when your walls tightened completely, coating his cock in your cum, he softly cried out your name as warm ropes of his cum filled you to the brim. 

You could barely blink, senses still overwhelmed as he kept kissing you, kept cumming, filling you up so well, until you could almost taste him. Quiet praises filled with love and encouragement were whispered against your skin as he remained buried up to the hilt in you, his hips still pushing his cum into you, almost as if he had no control over himself. 

Your entire body was shaking and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing your back gently until your whimpers turned into heavy breathing, until all you could mumble was some variation of his name. He forced his hips to still, forced himself to breathe deeply. 

Bodies sticky and sweaty, he ran his hands up and down your back, nails grazing your skin to ground you. He was sure he was still cumming but if he could distract you, keep your attention on anything other than your overly stimulated, stuffed pussy, he’d do so. 

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed lovingly, kissing the shell of your ear. “I got you.” He smiled when he felt you nod in the crook of his neck. “Did so well for me, Princess.” You simply hummed in response, unable to form any sentences at the moment. Heeseung rested his cheek against your head, fighting the urge to grind his hips against yours. 

You breathed in Heeseung’s scent slowly, head safely tucked in the crook of his neck. The way he held you now, so soft, so lovingly, had your heart settling. You still could barely feel your legs, moaning lightly when his cock twitched inside you. Wrapped around his body, you pressed an open mouthed kiss to his neck, sucking softly when he tilted his head to give you more access. 

Your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck and he shuddered. You could have fallen asleep right there and then, with his cock stuffed safely in your pussy, sticky wetness fusing your both together.

But, as you should have known, Heeseung had other plans. Gently, oh, so gently, he coaxed you up. The movement had you both hissing but he was quick to steady you, quick to brush your hair from your face. You stared at him and his legs wobbled at the look in your eyes. You brought a hand up to his face and traced the length of his eyebrow, brushing your fingers down his nose, and along his nose. 

“Pretty,” you mumbled, and he leaned forward and kissed you softly. 

It was different, slower, more intimate as he cupped your cheek and tilted his head, lips plush against yours. You moaned into his mouth at the intimacy of it; the way his cock was still buried inside you, the way your mixed juices still leaked out of you, the gentle caress of his hand as he whispered loving praises into your mouth. 

Your hand trailed down his face until it rested against his throat. In a surge of confidence, a sudden flicker of realization, you pushed down on his adam's apple and he moaned into your mouth, tightening his hold on you. 

Before you could indulge yourself, take back the power you had so easily given way, Heeseung was lifting you, he held you close as he pushed up on his legs and you held onto him tightly as he guided you to fall back on the mattress, his cock still buried deep within you. 

You stared up at him in bewilderment and he grinned, a wicked look in his eyes as he leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your nose. Your legs had naturally lifted and he rested them against his shoulders, needing the access. He grinded his hips against yours and smiled devilishly when your walls clenched around him. 

“Not so fast, Princess,” he nipped your chin. He dragged his lips down your throat, leaving a trail of saliva. “You’re still here to serve me, aren’t you?” His breath was hot against your ear, voice tantalizing. 

You nodded and wriggled under him, needing any sort of friction. He gripped your hips and halted your movements. “Behave,” he mumbles. Just when you’re relaxing against his hold, shoulders loosening and back straight on his mattress, he tightens his hold on your hips and pulls you forward, pelvis’ meeting as his tip digs deeper into you. 

Crying out, you clutch his arms, digging your nails into his skin. He stays there for a moment, buried deep inside of you, cock twitching in sensitivity, to catch his breath. He glances up at you and breathes out a quiet laugh. 

At the sound, you open your eyes and glance up at him, smiling at the sound. He leans down and kisses your lips softly before peppering small kisses down your neck. He slowly guides your legs back down, settling on either side of him as he kisses down your body, licking and nibbling. 

He slowly shifts his body downwards, coming to lay between your legs. When he pulls his cock out of your seeping hole, he watches in absolute amazement as his seed drips out of you. He watched until it stopped, blowing onto your folds just to watch them flutter. 

You lay there, mind on overdrive as the immense pleasure from all your muscles begged to lull you asleep. Instead, you dug your hands into his hair and ran your fingers through the matted threads, needing to ground yourself. 

Heeseung takes his time as he reaches your breasts, kissing around them both softly before he sucks on each nipple interchangeably. When you moan out his name, he continues on, kissing and licking down your stomach. He presses a wet kiss to your belly button and despite the sensual environment, soft laughter erupts from your throat at the feeling and Heeseung rests his forehead against your stomach at the sound. 

He lifts his head and rests his chin on your stomach, simply staring at you. You’re looking down at him, eyes shiny with a small, bright smile on your lips and he can’t help but smile brightly at your joy. He almost says it, almost begs you to accept his devotion, but he simply presses a kiss to your hip. 

“I’d go to war for it,” he whispered against your skin. 

“For what?” Your hand is in his hair again and your nails scrape against his scalp. “I’d never ask you to go to war, Heeseung.” To get your point across, hoping he could see the mirrored devotion in your eyes, you pulled at his hair so he’d look at you properly. “You’re not going.” 

“I would, though,” he responded. He traced different shapes into your skin before kissing you again. “For your laugh? I’d go.” 

Before you could reply, before you could forbid him, he shifted downwards and pressed his nose against your cunt, holding down your hips as your legs twitched. You cried out and pulled at his hair but he was adamant, ignoring the pain and pushed your legs further apart. 

You squirmed under him as he stared at your cunt before blowing warm air on it, finding your agony humorous. Even now, you could have said that you couldn’t take any more, but he knows you’d be lying. 

He spread your legs even further before he kissed your pussy softly. “Such a pretty pussy, Your Highness,” he praises, a twinge of mockery in his voice. He meant it, he loved it so dearly, almost as much as he loved you, but there was something unforbidding in his words. 

Here he was, treating the next in line for the throne as his own personal servant, using her until she begs to stop.

Heeseung smiled against you, knowing you’d never ask to stop, even if you needed to. Nothing he could do would warrant such a reaction. 

“Hee,” you whispered. 

“I know, baby,” he nodded, his nose brushing against your slick folds. “Such a good little thing you are,” he mumbled, the vibrations going straight to your core. “Letting me have my way.” 

“Please,” you begged. “Please.” 

Instead of giving you what you wanted, he brushed two of his fingers through your pussy, holding your hips down with one arm as he coats both fingers in a mixture of both of your releases. Once he’s pleased enough, Heeseung lifts his fingers to your mouth and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Suck.” 

Like a man starved, you latched onto his fingers. He watched with dark eyes as you sucked on his fingers, twirling your tongue around them, cleaning them completely. Just as you’re about to pull his fingers out, he presses down on your tongue, making you gag. The taste of yourself mixed with him has you rutting against his nose. 

At that exact moment, he licked a harsh stripe of your core, holding you down as you writhe under him, still gagging on his fingers. 

He presses his face closer to your cunt as his tongue pushes in and out of your sopping hole, licking and sucking as if you’re his last meal. You might as well be, knowing what could happen if you’re discovered. That thought urges him to drag his tongue along your pussy, fucking it into your cunt before sucking on your clit. 

Tears are gathering in your eyes as Heeseungs fingers remain in your mouth, you’re sucking and licking but he’s still pushing down on your tongue, drool tipping over the edge of your lips. 

He traces his name, his devotion, into your gummy walls, his nose pressing against your clit. You moan out a broken, gagged version of his name and arched your back as his nose digs further into your clit, rubbing it until he’s sure you’re all he’ll smell for weeks. 

And he will. He won’t clean himself as well, hoping the scent of his sweat and your juices mixes into his skin and it becomes his new scent. It’ll waft through the air of the castle, enticing all, but only he would know the truth. 

Heeseung pressed his face even closer to your cunt as his tongue licked and suckled, lapping up all your juices. The taste of himself mixed in with yours has his eyes rolling back, knowing he’d never taste anything that would compare. 

The sounds of slurping and his lips smacking around your clit made your legs shake as you tried pulling his fingers out of your mouth, if only to get another taste of your mixtures. He tilted his even further, pushing his tongue deeper within you and you moaned. 

He curled the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost screamed, tears falling down your cheeks at the pleasure. “Yes, yes,” you chanted, words muffled by his fingers. 

Lifting his eyes, Heeseung hummed at the sight of your pleasure, the way tears prettily fell down your cheeks, and lifted his fingers from your tongue. Before he could bring his hand back towards him, you grabbed it and settled it on your chest. His wet, dripping fingers pinched your nipples, teasing the sensitive skin. 

Needing more, you began moving your hips feverishly against his face, grinding down on him. Heeseung groaned into your cunt, making your insides vibrate, as you smeared all your slick over his face, his chin dripping with drool and arousal. 

Your sweet scent and taste overwhelmed his mind and he began losing it, rutting against the mattress like a schoolboy, his lips latching onto your clit as he pushed himself closer to your dripping cunt, nose rubbing deliciously against your bud as he slid his tongue in and out of you. 

“Seung,” you cry, eyes barely open as you watch him suck you dry. His hand shifts from your chest to the one in his hair. He threads your fingers together and squeezes once, twice, before your legs are pulsing erratically and your walls clench around his tongue. “I’m close, baby, please.” 

Heeseung’s brain short-circuited at your words, at the term, and he spread you open wider and licked at you harsher, his tongue inching towards your anus, licking long strips as he teases your clit with his nose. 

“Cum, pretty thing,” he edged, lulling you closer to your orgasm.

“Cum all over my face, Princess.” 

His words were enough to break you and your vision blurred as you moaned, your stomach coiling and uncoiling as your orgasm washed over you like cold water, soaking you completely. 

Throwing your head back, Heeseung continued to push his tongue into your gushing pussy, lips coaxing all your juices down his throat, not wasting a single drop. He licked and sucked harshly, even as you mumbled incoherently about it being too much. 

He knew it was too much, it was taking all his power to hold you down, but he needed this more than he needed life. More than he needed anything else, more than even the King could offer him. He needed every last drop you had to offer in his mouth, he needed to imprint the taste to memory, the velvety of your juices healed him, he could feel it, the way his heart had mended and his scars had healed and he was perfect and worthy of you. 

His tongue continued to lap up everything that dripped out of you, including his own drool, as you breathed harshly, chest heaving up and down as you tried to pry yourself from his hold. You didn’t really want to break free, you just wanted his mouth on yours so you could taste a bit of yourself again. 

Once he was sure he had sucked you completely dry, cleaning your inner thighs with his tongue, leaving nothing but warmth in his wake, he pressed a soft kiss to your clit. You watched him with half lidded eyes as your body twitched with sensitivity. 

“So good,” he whispered against your skin. “Such a good girl, cumming for me again.” 

He looked up at you and your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight of him; eyes wide and hair wild as your cum and slick coated his face, his sun-kissed skin glowing with sweat as he smiled at you with swollen lips. 

He looked so pleased, so completely, irrevocably and ardently in love with you. 

He kissed up your thighs and you threaded your fingers in his hair and tugged. He let you drag him up, let you bring his face to yours and he grinned at the fucked out look on your face, the way your pupils had been blown wide, lips swollen, tears staining your cheeks. 

Pulling him down, you looked up at him, his warm gaze meeting yours and you could have sworn you saw a shooting star in his eyes, or, perhaps, it was one outside. Regardless, you knew your wish. You tilted your head up and kissed him, pressing your lips flush against his, licking his bottom lip, slipping your tongue into his mouth. 

You groaned into your mouth as the taste of him and yourself flooded your mouth. Shifting his body weight, he cupped your cheeks and deepened the kiss, pouring all of his love and all of the unspoken promises he’d keep for you. 

You nipped at his lips and his legs wobbled. Resting an arm on either side of you, he held himself up as you kissed him sloppily, teeth against teeth, before you nipped at his top lip, pulling until he whined.

Pulling away, you smiled as you kissed down his throat, needing him. You licked and sucked, nibbling down his throat. With shaky arms, Heeseung tried his best to stay upright, tried his best not to crush your body. 

When you kissed his adam’s apple, his hold trembled. When you licked a long stripe of his neck, sucking his adam’s apple until it was red, he collapsed on top of you, his cock leaking against your stomach once more. 

You welcomed the weight of his body. He felt so warm; so real, so attainable, you could feel the weight of his muscles against yours, the weight crushed the lingering loneliness that had crept into your bones. 

Wrapping your arms around his body, you scratched his back and pulled at his hair as you littered his throat and jaw with kisses. He held onto you just as tightly, afraid that if he let go, he’d be back in that barn all those years ago and you’d be in your tower, and he’d never get to hold you like this. 

You both breathed deeply until your breathing synched and everything was alright in the world, you decided. Nothing else really mattered, not to you. Heeseung was here, in your arms, pressed warmly against you and that meant everything would be alright. 

You kissed his earlobe, pulling at it with your teeth, reveling in the small moan that vibrated against your chest. It cleared your mind a bit, opened your eyes. Your nails began to dig deeper into his skin, leaving marks. 

“Had your fun?” You questioned him quietly, your words nothing but a mere whisper. 

Unbeknownst to Heeseung, your lips twitched upwards when his whole body froze. You felt the way his breathing paused, the way his length twitched against your stomach. He could hear it in your voice, in the way you had sucked all the warmth out of the room. 

Slowly, as if he was beguiling a predator, Heeseung slowly lifted himself off you, legs still intertwined. His chest peeled off yours and he kept some space between your face. You looked up at him and he glanced down at you, a gentle plea in his eyes. 

Cupping his cheek, you rubbed your thumb across his cheek. “Well? Did you?” 

There it was, he shivered. Gone was your breathy, submissive voice. The one you loved to use and the one he found so much pleasure in. But this, the slightly deeper, authoritative voice, the one that bounced off the palace walls and negotiated with Princes, this voice could ask for his life and he’d give it. If it asked for his heart, he’d rip it out of his own chest and hand it over. 

Hesitantly, Heeseung nodded. “Yes, Princess. I did.” He swallowed and tried for a smile, trying to show how much he didn’t enjoy this, the sudden switch of power, hoping to conceal the way his cock was leaking onto your stomach. 

“So polite,” you teased. You trailed your hands up and down his chest, brushing your fingers against his nipples, a knowing look in your eyes when he flinched. 

“Your Highness,” Heeseung begins, ready to beg, but you press down on his bottom lip and he loses his footing. Tangling your leg with his, you push him to the side as you flip over, sitting in between his legs as he stares at you with wide eyes. 

You smile at him, the laughter in your eyes not matching the way you grab his length and shuffle forward, incredibly close to him. His breathing hitches and you brush your thumb against his tip, bringing it to your mouth, staring directly at him as you suck it clean. 

“You’re so good at it, Heeseung.” Your voice is soft, genuine. One of your hands rests on his inner thigh, too heavy on his skin. “So good at taking care of me. At giving me what I want.” 

Heeseung swallows, eyes starry and abs flexed at your movements. “Anything for you, Princess. You know that.” He was pleading. Have mercy on me, he was yelling. I’m not as strong as you, he wanted to cry out. 

“I do,” you agree. “Tell me,” you leaned down, “do you enjoy having me at your mercy? Is it arousing? Being my master? Being the only one to control me?” 

Your voice was too casual, too sultry, he couldn’t handle it. He wanted to cry but his hard on twitched in your hand and you grinned down at him. “Answer me.” 

“Yes,” he breathed out. “I do. It’s liberating and I love it.” You, he almost said. I love you. 

Your eyes darkened and you nodded, licking your bottom lip. “Me too.” You have me, she could have said. I love you. 

“Will you let me take care of you, Hee?” You squeezed the base of his cock and he arched his back, gasping at the feeling. He was so incredibly sensitive, ready to blow at any recond. 

He nodded before he spoke. “Yes, yes, Princess,” he mumbled, “Anything you want. I’m yours to use.” His eyes beseech you and you can’t help but loosen your hold on him. 

“Mine?” It’s a question you ask every time, every time you find yourself in his bed, in this room, you ask him without fail, and everytime, his answer is the same, genuine and honest. 

“Yes. Always.” 

A small, soft smile twists onto your lips and Heeseung exhales a sigh of relief. You tilt your head at him and he matches your gaze, staring at you with nothing but adoration. You lean forward and he pushes himself up, meeting your lips halfway. 

The kiss is soft, despite the fire behind your eyes. He’s soft as he kisses you, letting you control the pace. Your hand is still sliding up and down his cock, using his precum as lube, getting it ready for you. 

You pull back and to remind him that you’re as devoted, you press a soft kiss to his cheek and he falls back with a smile on his face. 

You move your hand a few times, enjoying the way his whole body twitches, how hard he tries to keep still for you, before you turn around and you miss the way Heeseung’s head falls back, knowing what’s coming. 

Shifting back, you use one hand to line him up with your entrance and your other hand is on his thigh, holding you up. “Beg,” you whisper. 

“Please,” his voice immediately breaks out. “Please, Princess. Use me, fuck me.” 

His words shoot straight to your core and you drip all over his cock, glad you had turned away, knowing you would have trembled if you had the chance to look into his big, shiny eyes. 

Slowly, you sink down on his cock, hissing at the familiar stretch. It's different than before, burns less than before, but it’s still too much, still enough to knock your head back as he bottoms out, filling you up to the brim. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles behind you, eyes twisted shut. His arms are behind him, gripping the headboard because he knows, knows you’ll tell him when he can touch you. Right now, you were in control. You needed your royal blood to pump through your veins, regain control over your composure. 

“Oh, God,” you moaned out, grinding down on his cock. Your pussy was greedy, sucking him in as if wasn’t filled to the brim only a while ago. Steadily, you pushed yourself up, biting back a groan when his veins brushed against your walls. 

Heeseung willed his eyes open, needing to burn the memory of you fucking yourself on his cock, your ass slaming into his pelvis as you used him like he was nothing but a slave, into his brain. He wished he was artistic so he could paint this picture a thousand times and keep them all for himself. 

Instead, he writhed and gasped under you, wishing he could see your face. He wanted nothing more than to run his fingers along your skin and kiss your lips but he had to behave, had to listen, had to just take it, because you asked him to. 

Heeseung watched as your movements began to slow, as your shoulders trembled and your toes flexed every time you had to lift yourself. Biting his bottom lip, his eyes glinted with something primal, something possessive as he waited, and waited, and waited, and then, he heard your choked sob. 

“Heeseung,” you cried, drained of all your energy. 

At once, like it was practiced, like he was made for it, Heeseung gripped onto your hips and pulled you backwards, flush against his back as he began to slowly rock his hips forward, fucking his cock into you. 

Back arched, you moaned when his hand travelled to your throat and he held you firmly against him, tilting your head backwards as he applied just the right amount of pressure to your jugular veins, making you lightheaded as he slid in and out of you at a bruising pace. 

He smiled when you whimpered, teeth grazing the side of your throat as he bit down, pressing your ass flushed against his pelvis, the tip of cock brushing against your cervix, making you see stars. 

“T–‘S too much,” you babbled, tears lining your waterline as you tried to breathe. 

“When will you learn?” Heeseung whispers into your ear, fucking you fiercely. You don’t recognize the sound of his voice, a mixture of his sweet, advising tone mixed with something more predatory, something that has you seeing stars. “Princess to all, but a whore for me,” he breathed out. 

You almost couldn’t understand what he was saying, not with the way his thrusts grew blinding. His other hand slid down your body until it slapped your cunt, making you cry out further, arching your back, trying to get away, but his grip on your throat was strong and he kissed your neck softly.  

“I got you, Y/n. I’m the only one who ever has,” his tongue licks away your tears, “who ever will.” 

He rubs your clit, pushing down randomly and changing his speed as he continues to fuck you, aware of the way your body had given up to him completely, the way you could only mumble his name. 

He felt the way you squeezed his cock, making it almost impossible for him to slide down, the way your legs trembled, and he bit your earlobe.

“Cum.” 

You moaned as you squirted and came all over his cock, your walls clenching around his walls hard enough to pull his own orgasm, moaning loudly as he cummed inside you, hand still rubbing your clit. 

You continued to cum and he emptied himself inside you, the squelching sound becoming louder and louder as your juices mixed and he fucked into you with the same crazed pace. 

You babbled a string of words he couldn’t decipher and continued to pump into you, lost in your cunt, unable to stop. You were crying, overstimulated and emotional, and ready to fall back against him. 

When he was sure he had emptied himself completely inside you, he slowed his pace and pressed kisses all over your neck and shoulder, slowly halting the movement of his hips. You fell into a slump against his body and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, mumbling quietly to you. 

“Baby,” he whispered after a pregnant moment. “Princess.” 

You hummed, eyes too tired and droopy to open. He rubbed your stomach soothingly, trying to ground you before he moved. “Are you okay, beloved? Did I hurt you?” 

“Okay,” you mumbled, unable to turn to face him. “No.”

“Okay,” he responded. He stayed in that position for a while more, waiting until your breathing had evened out and your body had begun to respond to his light touches. Once he was sure that you were okay, not as stimulated, he tapped your arm three times. 

“I have to pull out, my Princess. Can I?” His voice was sweet again, honey and silk against your skin. 

You opened your eyes and nodded against his chest. “Yes, pull out.” 

Gently, Heeseung pulled out of your sopping cunt, biting back a hiss. He shifted his weight and maneuvered your body until you were laying in his arms, your back pressed against his chest. He knew he had much to clean up, but your eyes still fluttered shut occasionally so he put it off, knowing you needed him more. 

He ran his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he was right behind you. You snuggled into him, back pressed flush against his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Tell me you’re okay,” he asked, quietly. “Tell me three things you can see.”

Licking your lips, you opened your eyes and rested your own arms over his. “I’m okay, Heeseung. I promise.” You lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “I see… your hand, the candle I made you, and your bookshelf.” 

Heeseung released a breath of relief and kissed your shoulder.

“Come, lovely, let me run you a bath.” 

“Later,” you said. “Later.” Before he could protest, you slowly shifted in his arms until you were face-to-face, chests pressed together, hearts beating as one. 

“Just hold me, please?” 

Tilting his head down, Heesueng brushed his nose against yours and kissed your lips softly. 

“Always and forever, Princess.” 

[unvendaval]

public sex for valkyrie and thor, as in scenes at a club.

KINK RATING .

SCALE : fuck no | gross | not for them | eh | no opinion | kinda | hot | fuck yes | p l e a s e do this

" i despise ... tons of people . why would i want them to see me love ? " others may see the appeal , but she's much more private , protective of her secrets & pleasures . " depends on the day , i think . flaunting doesn't come naturally for me ."

[adhdedrn]

Previous polls (one, two, three, four)

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 8

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (piv, morning sex, come marking?, cock warming) DOWN BAD!DAEMON, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this chapter became 6k+ words so i had to split it T_T. at least that means i'll be updating relatively faster lol. i hope you enjoy since all the fluff is here HAHAHAH and if you do, please leave a comment/reblog to let me know <3 <3 <3. once again, the high valyrian is internet translated, so it might be wrong. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching

Otto nods as he passes a group of clergy members. He makes his way down the otherwise empty temple, eyes forward as he clutches a firm figurine in his hand. He grunts as he gets down on his knees in front of a fresco of the seven pointed star.

He lights three candles in front of him, saying three different names each time. He places the figurine he brought with him beside them. Of course, it wasn't a figurine but a woolen doll. He says another name, your name, then starts this prayers.

"Father, guard my family through this trying time, my son, my daughters... my daughter," he brushes the face of the doll then closes his eyes. "Stranger, put the souls of the departed Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon to rest.

"Warrior, strengthen my daughter and spare her and her unborn child from succumbing the same fate. Mother, grant her comfort and good health through her journey to motherhood. Crone, guide her and grant her good discernment, so that she may not fear the unknown. Maiden, preserve her beauty, her light."

He opens his eyes and stares at the point that represented the Smith. He grits his teeth before sighing in defeat, "Smith, fortifier... mender... I beg," he sighs, "mend her heart. Mend her body. I beseech you. Let not my prayer fall deaf on your ears any longer."

The candlelight before him glows as he waits another day for the answer to his decade old prayer.

Meanwhile, the candles in your room have long been put out, including the one you normally keep lit by your bed. You are first to rouse today, and yet you could not rise from bed, as you were pressed beneath the body of your husband. Daemon sighed contentedly on your chest, one arm and leg draped over you. You have never slept together (or so you think) so you figured that Daemon probably moved a lot in his sleep, which is how you both ended up in this position.

You stare at the top of his head, continuing to brush through his silver hair. In truth, you did not want to rise. You wanted to stay in this peace, in this stillness. It would not last long, you knew it— you dreaded it.

Goosebumps form on your skin when you feel your husband's hand brush over your belly before hooking on to your hip. You begin to feel your heart race as you remember what your father told you the night before.

How could you tell him? How could you possibly tell Daemon that you were with child, when you knew he was so diligent in assuring you would not be? Was it even possible to carry his seed when he never finished inside you?

Against yourself, you remember the day you caught Gwayne kissing a lady behind a curtain, and how you attacked him because you thought he had gotten her pregnant. The poor girl ran away as you beat your twin, and Gwyane defended himself, saying that's not how you do it. You did not know any better, so you told him you did not believe him and nearly forced him to go to your father to announce you would be marrying the lady. He, in turn had to explain what he knew, to both your horror.

You were no fool to simply believe the words of your stupid twin, so you made it your mission to find out the truth. After sneaking books from the Citadel itself, you read many a book only to find out your twin was telling you the truth.

That was why dread rippled across your skin, for could there ever be a world where Daemon purposefully pulled out and is not angered by this news, where he does not accuse you of infidelity?

You go between worry and peace as you brush your fingers across the prince's skin. You try to convince yourself that all will be well, but each time you do, another part of your mind raises that nothing's ever been well with you. You decide then, even if just for this moment, you will pretend the calmness of your husband will remain.

But the world is cruel, for at this same moment, Daemon awakens.

He stirs with a groan, face rubbing against your sternum. The robe you had on was no longer covering your chest. Your heart races as he looks up at you, his violet eyes still sleepy, "sȳz ñāqes."

You do not understand, but you assume it means good morning, and so you say, "good morning."

Daemon sighs as he pushes himself up, removing his pants. You tense as he comes atop you and kisses your neck. He nudges your head to the side with his own and soon, he pushes your legs apart with his knees.

Your hands come to his hip bones, where you then dig your nails in, making him groan. You whimper when you feel him grind his groin into yours. He is half-hard.

"Sesīr isse ñuha ēdrugon, jaelan ao." Even in my sleep, I want you.

You whimper yet again when he begins to rock against you, digging your nails deeper into him.

"Gīda ilagon," he mutters as he fully parts your robe, repeating in common tongue, "calm down."

You are taken aback by how he pecks your lips once before kissing your neck again.

"Dreamt about fucking your pretty cunny," he mutters lowly between kisses, "wanna make it real."

His words make you ache and throb. In a way, you were comforted by the thought Daemon wanted you, even if it was just your body. You close your eyes and let yourself relax. You sigh against his ear, nuzzling into his shoulder, and brush your hand up his back. As your hands trail to his biceps, his skin breaks out with gooseflesh and a high pitched whimper leaves his lips.

"Fuuuuuuck," he whines out rather pathetically.

There is a languidness to his movements unlike you've ever experienced. His normally brash and pointed demeanor is soft and gentle, his kisses even more so. There is no sense of urgency whatsoever as he rolls his hips against you. If you didn't know any better, you would have believed that he wanted to savor the moment.

He did. He wanted to savor your body, as dreaming of it had him feeling some indistinguishable way. You would never know this though, for he would never tell you.

By the time you've become shaky and your cunt was absolutely sopping wet because of Daemon's now fully hard cock rubbing up against it, he finally pushes into you, drawing out a deep groan from your throat. You tighten your legs and arms around him and your teeth sink into his shoulder.

Daemon grips your thighs as he thrusts into you. He barely pulls out, seemingly determined to go deeper and deeper each time, wanting— needing to be pressed flush into you. His hands sneak beneath you, fingers raking up your shoulder blades to your nape before tangling into your brown hair. He breathes heavily against your ear as your bodies grow hotter and hotter.

You both remain in this snug position, doing this constricted dance until your bellies begin to burn. He doesn't speed up at all or pull out any more than he already has. You feel your body begin to tense and your climax begin to build, and then, just then, a spirit overcomes Daemon.

The next moment, he has his hand on your jaw, forcing your head back. Just as you reach your peak, he pulls out and thrusts his wet cock on your slick folds, once, twice, until his hard member is soft and twitching. His load shoots out up to your chest and sputters down on your belly, garnering a surprised gasp from you. It's hot and viscous against your skin and you wonder what it would have felt like had he released in you. There's so much of it too.

"Fuck, fuck, fu-" Daemon repeats, thinking the exact same thing you were.

You expect him to roll over, because there is no way he wouldn't after soiling you, but you gasp yet again as he comes crashing down on you, skin sticking with a squelch.

He is arrested by your warmth and wants nothing but to plunge into you again. So, in his greed, he grabs his still twitching cock and pushes it into you, releasing a long and throaty groan as he does so. It makes you tremble and whimper his name. You were not expecting the intrusion, so you brush your cheek against his, hoping he understands to give you a moment of repose before going again.

After a while, though you still felt tender from your orgasm, you brush your cheek against him once more, signaling you were ready for him again.

He does the strangest thing however, and simply brushes his cheek back. He pulls his head back, looking down at you, "litse riña." Pretty girl.

You notice the softness of his violet eyes and knit your brows at it. He is so overwhelming you cannot help but kiss him. There was still remnants of morning breath in your mouths, but neither of you cared.

Daemon is loathe to have you pull away. He leans into your touch as you brush his unruly hair back. You slowly shake your head, "I do not understand, my prince."

"iksā sīr rāpa se bāne," you are so soft and warm. He brushes your noses together, "ñuha ābrazȳrys," my wife.

A line forms between your brows at the foreign tongue. You wait for him to translate as he brings his hand to your cheek. He stares at you for a long moment, thumb brushing your skin.

He makes no attempt to decode the High Valyrian for you, and soon, a knock comes upon your door.

Daemon is instantly irritated as he glares over his shoulder, muttering, "who the fuck is that?"

"My servants. I-"

Before you could even finish, your two servant girls are waking in, and Daemon watches them as they head for your bathroom, horribly and painfully unaware of him. He waits for them to reemerge, and the moment they do, he is instantly screaming, "FUCK OFF, CUNTS! THE DOOR'S CLOSED FOR A REASON."

You hear their gasps, squeals, and apologies before scurrying off, slamming the door behind them as they did.

Instantly, yet again, Daemon relaxes and nuzzles against your neck.

"D-Daemon," you whisper, sinking your fingers into his long hair, "they normally wake me up at-"

"I don't give a fuck," he quips, tightening his hold on you, "they'll know better now."

You clench your jaw and sigh, making mental note to apologize to your girls for the prince's actions.

You begin to doze off, as does Daemon in all his gluttonous glory. The two of you stay in bed until lunch time, which is far longer than you've ever personally stayed.

Arryk, who had been stationed outside your door for a while now, is concerned by this. He raps at the entrance to your room and calls your name. When he receives no response, he peaks inside and inspects the stillness of it all. Unnerved by the idea you were sleeping in, he thinks the worse and walks in, calling your name again. His breath is forced down his throat when he sees the flash of white hair on the bed. He sees a hand rub down a toned back and he immediately reels back, quiet and as quick as he possibly can.

You wake the second time because of the growling of your stomach. It is loud and painful, so much so, it wakes your husband.

He groans, brushing his nose against you, "hungry?"

You huff, craning your neck to look at him, finding his closed eyes, "clearly, I'm starving."

A rich chuckle rumbles from his chest. He opens his eyes and they twinkle with mischief, "I could feed you something meaty."

Your face contorts, "I do not think you'd want me to bite your cock, my prince."

Daemon laughs, hard enough to fully awaken him. He wheezes, and rolls of your chest, "I did-" sigh, "not say it was-" wheeze, "my cock."

You hum, "oh, of course not. Apologies."

Your sarcasm only maddens him further into amusement.

You take this as a chance to wriggle away from him, and so you do. The semen still on your skin is tepid and pasty as it smears against your chests. Your robe is completely lose as you come to a stand. You decide not to dirty your garment with Daemon's seed by covering yourself, so you head for the bathroom with your robe open.

You gasp at the swiftness of how your are grabbed and pulled back. Your body collides into Daemon's chest. Your care for your satin robe if for naught, because it sticks on his come anyway. Daemon's is hypnotized by your scent. He is quick to brush your hair over shoulder and mumble against your nape, "you wound me with your eagerness to flee me, wife."

His hands come to squeeze your breasts and you whimper as you turn to him. You knit your brows and pout, "that is not true."

"No?" he says a little louder than he ought as his emotions slightly get ahead of him, "are you not running from me this moment?"

You frown and fully face him, having to peel your robe off his chest as you do, "I'm simply going to bathe." You stare at his chest, "you've made a mess of me."

Daemon tilts his head, "not nearly enough, in my opinion."

You find the self-satisfied grin on his face, "you should too bathe with me."

"Mmm, well then," he takes your hand, "bathe we shall."

The water that your servants had brought was now cold, but you both made do with what you had. Daemon is simultaneously unsurprised and taken aback by how you tend to him first, he does not know why. You've bathed him once before, and yet it somehow feels different. You scrub his chest with cloth and inspire him to do the same for you. You lean into his touch as he washes you off, and it makes his stomach roll.

He takes a good look at you, your skin, the marks he left on it, your nose, your knees, your hair, everything, and he cannot believe something so... so immaculate, so resplendent could be borne from a man so detestable.

"You are not your father's daughter," he says so casually.

You look up at him, freezing because of his random sentiment.

"You are the gods promise to me. A woman made to sate my fire."

Your brows knit at his words. You tilt your head and it makes him nearly goes mad. How darling you ask, "I sate your fire?"

He hums and pulls you into him, kissing your arm as he did, "stoke, perhaps, is truer."

Your breath hitches when he brings you to his lap. He sighs as he feels your flesh against his, it wont be long until he's hard all over again. He licks a stripe up your left breast, "I am, in fact, insatiable."

Your heart races and he peppers kisses up your neck. You lean your forehead against his after kissing your lips. You whisper in earnest, "I will try."

Daemon pulls back, hands coming to your neck as he looks at you.

"I will try to sate you."

Fuck. The thought should have made him laugh, but it doesn't. It makes him burn. He cannot say anything, for his mouth seeks yours. He kisses your lips and you two sequentially spend another hour or so turning the water warm as it splashes all over the floor.

You're antsy and eager to feast by the end of it all.

You help each other get dressed, and Daemon finds the way you hastily button his doublet ever-so-endearing. When it's his turn to help, he shushes you and rubs your shoulders before securing your corset from behind, "your food will not fly off the window."

You rub your aching stomach, "I pray it flies into my mouth soon."

He snickers as he finishes tying your laces.

You quickly run towards the vanity and hastily begin to brush your still damp hair.

He watches you bounce your leg and the faintest of smiles graces his lips. He watches your chest begin to rise and fall rather quickly, and soon his brows furrow. He walks up behind you, "aeritta run." Restless thing.

He takes your hand and your jaw, but it is unlike most times he does so. His touch is gentle. He does not force you to hand your brush or look forward, but you do. You look at each other from the mirror; your chest continues to heave.

"Paez ilagon," Daemon enunciates, "say it for me, won't you?"

Your brows furrow in slight confusion. You release a breath, "pez ilegon."

"Paez," he corrects.

"Paez."

"Good," he nods, "ilagon."

"Il... Ilagon."

"Rōvēgrior," Daemon leans in and mumbles against your temple, "excellent. Now..." he kisses your temple, "once more: paez ilagon."

You take a breath, doing your best to mimic his accent, "pa...ez i- ... lagon."

"Arlī," again, he motions with his pointer, "speak confidently."

"Daemon."

"You can do it," he tilts his head at your reflection, "paez ilagon."

You sigh and nod your head, "paez ilagon."

His violet eyes twinkle, "rōvēgrior," excellent, he claps his hands, "spoken like a true Valyrian."

You turn to him, breath hitching at the sight of his smile, "wha-"

Daemon takes your face and makes you turn forward.

You look at his reflection and grip your skirt, fearing you'd upset him. But then he begins to style your hair and butterflies overcome your belly. You try to ignore the thump of your heart by clearing your throat, "what d-does it mean?"

"Paez ilagon is slow down."

"Ahhh," your jaw drops in slight embarrassment, "I see."

Daemon points, "hand me your pin."

You get the hair pin on the vanity and hand it over, "and the other one?"

"Hmm?"

"Ro... roz- rovevegregor."

Daemon tilts his head as he chuckles through his nostrils, a soft smile remaining on his face as he finishes securing your hair in a similar manner he does himself.

You witness all of this and your heart skips a beat.

"Rōvēgrior," he repeats, "try to roll your tongue."

"..."

"Go on."

"RRRRozeofoieve-"

He laughs and takes a hair tie from the table. He quickly does his own hair then takes you by the hand. He ushers you to the door as he continues to chuckle, "we should get you something to eat. You sound ill."

You are hypnotized by his melodic laugh. You don't dare interrupt it, so you whisper under your breath, mostly to yourself, "but what does it mean?"

"Excellent," he says, hearing your whisper. He opens the door for you, "it means excellent, gevie."

You do not notice Arryk as you exit your chambers, "but what about that?"

Daemon does not notice him either, "what?"

"Ge- gevie?"

"Gevie?" he repeats.

You nod.

Arryk bows and greets you, "princess."

You turn to him as he bows again, "my prince."

Daemon does not spare him a glance. Beautiful, it meant, but he instead tells you, "it is a secret."

You do not respond to Daemon, but he does not mind. He is fully content to stare at you. You smile at your ward, taking a second to guess who it is, "good morn, ser. Are you... Erryk?"

Arryk examines you, finally breathing a sigh of relief to know you are unharmed. He is also glad to see you are not dressed in attire that... exposes the good works of your husband. In the same second, he notices your said husband, and how keenly is gaze is set upon your beaming form. He clenches his jaw, "nay, your grace. Neither am I my brother, nor is it morning."

"Oh," you purse your lips, "my apologies, dear Arryk."

Daemon quickly pulled out of his haze, raising a brow at dear Arryk, "you may go."

Arryk turns to him.

"I will keep my wife company today," he says, wasting no more time in idle chatter, taking you by the hand.

You both walk off and you offer Arryk a smile and nod in regard.

Arryk clenches his jaw but forces himself to smile back at you. He is uneasy by the prospect, knowing how fickle and volatile Daemon can become regarding you. He stares at your joined hands as you walk away, deciding to trust the prince for your sake.

[greennoobartist]

Hii 👋 I've been getting into zelda games lately and wanted to ask what game you thought was the best (I've only played minish cap and og so far)

First of all: OH MY FUCKING GOD FIRST ASK HOLY SHIT THANK YOU!!! 🫶🫰 I LITERALLY SCREAMED WHEN I SAW IT THANK YOU!!!

Now to answer: *cleans throat*

That's a hard question honestly, all Zelda games are amazing on their own way. I only played Twilight Princess, Skyward Sword and am now in the middle of Oracle of Ages (I also played Four Swords Adventures long ago and probably will never finish, alongside Ocarina of Time which I'll probably start from beginning once i get the expansion pack on my switch)

Minish cap and the og Zelda are also pretty great and ill also probably play them very soon.

But the best Zelda game... It doesn't exist :)

I really can't choose since I haven't played a lot of them, and every single game is special and unique in its own way. Everyone will give you a different answer if not the same as mine that the best one is nonexistent.

If I really have to choose, i would go with the Ocarina of Time or one of the Zelda games i beated (Twilight Princess and Skyward Sword).

My final answer would be Twilight Princess, though. It's my first Zelda and the whole story and gameplay is amazing. Just to let you know, every Zelda game is the best, i only said TP bcuz it's my first one so it holds a special place in my heart.

If you're planning on playing another Zelda, i suggest you TP or OOT. They're both really great and really loved in the fandom. Maybe you should go with OOT first since it comes before TP and those two are really connected.

So yeah, that's all :) I hope i helped

Thanks for the ask and sorry for the long answer but talking about Zelda is one of my favorite things to do :]

[fideozepam]

The Price of Obedience - Chapter 1

Camilla learns of her impending arranged marriage to one of the deceased emperor’s sons. She grapples with the weight of leaving her home and stepping into an uncertain future in Rome.

The world here, in Lusitania, was much simpler.

The breeze carried the smell of lavender and warmed the sunlit fields she was laying on, a half-read parchment rested beside Camilla, forgotten in her soft haze of sleep

“Lady Camilla? Lady Camilla!”

A distant voice called her name, blending with the rustling of the olive trees and the chirping of cicadas, but it grew louder and closer.

“Lady Camilla!”

She stirred as she laid on the grass, groggily blinking at the golden light. “Mm… Yes, I’m coming.” Camilla mumbled, brushing her tunic free of grass and dirt as she stood up. A strand of hair fell over her face, quickly tucking it back as the servant approached.

“Your parents wish to speak with you.”

A sigh escaped Camilla’s mouth, picking up the scroll with reluctant fingers. She had been midway through a particularly amusing monologue and the interruption soured her mood.

"Can't it wait?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.

Her silence confirmed it, and with a reluctant stretch, she began the walk back home. The villa loomed ahead, white and golden under the afternoon sun, its colonnades glowing warmly. Camilla felt a twinge of unease; it was unusual for both her parents to summon her like this.

Usually, they left her to her books and musings, more content with her quiet obedience than with involving her in household matters compared to her sisters.

Stepping into the cool shade of the atrium, she was struck by the sight of her parents seated side by side. Her father, sat with his hands clasped on his lap and besides her mother, watching as Camilla approached with an unreadable expression. Something was wrong- No. Something was changing.

"Camilla," he began, his voice firm yet heavy. "We have received news from Rome."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she glanced between her parents

Lusitania had long been under the Roman Empire’s shadow, a province folded into the vastness of their dominion, but its distance had always shielded her from its grandeur and its burdens. The Empire was something distant, abstract—gilded temples and mighty legions, names whispered with awe and caution.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice steady but her heart racing. Her curious eyes darted between them. What kind of news from Rome could possibly involve her?

Her mother’s gaze was unreadable, drifting toward the frescoed walls as though seeking solace in the painted pastoral scenes. Her father, however, looked directly at her. There was pride in his eyes—a rare glint of emotion she had not often seen. It unsettled her.

“Camilla,” he began, his tone weighted with significance, “you have been noticed. Among all the daughters of noble families in Lusitania, you have been chosen.”

“Chosen?” she repeated, frowning slightly.

“By Rome,” he clarified, his voice swelling. “The Empress herself, Julia Domna, has heard of your beauty, your refinement, your wit—and she has seen fit to select you as a bride for one of her sons.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncanny. Camilla stared at him, the weight of it pressing into her chest as her breath got caught in her throat. The room seemed to dim, the painted walls blurring into the edges of her vision.

“But—” she began, faltering. “I… I don’t understand. Why me? What do I even have?”

“Because you are extraordinary,” her father said with a rare softness, his pride bleeding into his voice. “Because your presence in Rome will bring honor to our family and strengthen the bond between Lusitania and the Empire.”

Camilla’s mother finally spoke, her voice low but firm. “It is an opportunity, Camilla. A life you could never dream of here.”

Her father leaned forward slightly. “You were not raised as an imperial daughter, but you have the qualities of one. You will be an asset to the dynasty, and with your intelligence, you will thrive there.”

Camilla sat frozen, her mouth slightly agape, brows furrowed into a confused grimace. The words had struck her like a stone to the chest, and her mind spun wildly, searching for answers that made sense.

“Why me?” she finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible, more to herself than her parents.

She glanced down at her hands, twisting them nervously in her lap, the words repeating in her head like a mocking echo. Why her? Why not her older sisters? They had always been more secure, more confident, their golden locks and sapphire eyes drawing admiration wherever they went—so unlike her.

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding as she risked another glance at her father, who still looked down at her with unwavering pride. But why not them? she thought bitterly. Her sisters seemed made for this role, shimmering like figures from the frescoes of their villa. Camilla, by contrast, had always felt like the black sheep of the family.

Her dark brown hair and deep green eyes were a mirror of her father’s, a legacy she had once treasured but now found dull compared to her sisters’ luminous beauty. Where they radiated charm and poise, she had always been quiet, more comfortable in her own solace than the company of others.

“An emperor’s wife?” she blurted suddenly, her voice cracking under the weight of the thought. She looked at her mother, then her father, as if pleading for this to be some cruel joke. “Compared to them, I—”

“You are extraordinary,” her father interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “Your beauty is unique, as is your intelligence. Rome values wit and character, not only golden hair and pale eyes.”

Camilla blinked, the praise washing over her in waves that didn’t quite reach her. Intelligence? Wit? Her father might believe in these qualities, but how could she trust them when she could barely gather the courage to speak to men at all? Even her father’s company often left her tongue-tied. And now she was expected to stand beside a Roman emperor, to speak, to serve, to be perfect.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling. “I—I can’t even hold a conversation with you without fumbling my words, Father. How can I… how could I…”

Her mother’s expression softened, but her tone remained practical. “You will learn. Rome will shape you. And you will thrive.”

Camilla looked at her again, then at her father. But all she could feel was a deep, gnawing fear that this path was not hers to walk, that she was being thrust into a world she didn’t belong in—and could never belong in.

Her father came closer, lowering himself to meet her gaze. "Camilla, this is no punishment. You were chosen because you are remarkable."

Remarkable. The word felt foreign, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

But she didn't argue. Years of being taught to never question authority held her tongue. Slowly, she nodded, forcing herself to her feet even as her legs trembled beneath her. Without another word, she turned and left the room, her feet dragging as if they carried the weight of the empire itself.

Her mother watched her go, her brows knitting together with unspoken worry. "Do you think she's ready for this?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with doubt.

Her father's answer was immediate, his smile confident. "She'll be perfect."

tags

lmk if u wanna be tagged ! : @quuinyoung

[pastabaguette]

question as someone looking to make my own mspfa at some point how do ppl make the like. animated gif panels. like what program is that in how do you make those. seek the highblood looking great btw I don't think I've ever seen an au like it before and I'm curious to see where it goes ty

hi! it’s very simple, really: all you need is any program that lets you create frames and export gifs. personally i use adobe fresco on ipad (it is free), but there are many options available.

now, mspfa panels are generally 650 x 450 pixels. i’ll finish up the foreground completely before moving on to the gif part. i always keep the foreground and background on separate layers. then, I’ll take the foreground part, create a duplicate (just in case, so i can keep the original) and merge it all into one layer.

if i have multiple pieces of the foreground that i want to move separately (example below; the leg, head, body, and text move different amounts), i’ll create an individual layer for each of them, to make animating easier.

after i have the foreground merged, i have a static version of the finished product. all that’s left is to make it move.

this is very easy: i just create a duplicate frame of the one i already have, then on that second frame, move whichever piece i’d like to move in the final product a few pixels from its’ original position. now you should have a two frame gif with a sort of “shaking” effect. note: most mspa panels are animated in 20 fps.

for more complicated movements, all you need is a few more frames. equius’s arm uses three frames here, just to make it look more “wobbly.” nepeta spinning uses four frames, two of her facing up, and two of her facing down. this is just so the individual positions are clearer, but to try and keep the crispy kind of mspa animation style.

here’s a helpful page with more information on mspa style animation.

if anyone wants me to clarify anything, let me know! i’ll try my best to answer it.

[lafaiette]

Some spoilers for Veilguard

I'm still convinced Solas was the happiest he had ever been when he was in the Inquisition.

Addressed as a scholar and wise expert of the Fade, asked for advice on magic and lore, surrounded by people who can potentially become dear friends and respected companions, potentially falling in love with Lavellan and being seen by her as simply Solas, and not the rebel god Fen'Harel. Some people consider him a bit odd, yes, and some can't help but refer to him as "messere", after witnessing his wisdom and knowledge, and talent with ancient elven frescoes.

"He wants to give wisdom, not orders", Cole says in Trespasser, and we're all sure he's referring to him, to what really drives him, his true passion: learning and sharing knowledge, asking and answering questions, not planning rebellions, killing, and lying. And for some time, Solas was able to live that simple life, so be what he really wanted to be: a man, not a god.

Now, in Veilguard, he's forced back on the path of rebel and trickster, and he's treated just as the Evanuris treated him during his rebellion.

Everyone in Thedas is looking for him (the Venatori, the Antaam, the ex-Inquisition); everyone is talking about him, everyone knows what he did (the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan say he's "a bastard", "the god of lies", but acknowledge the good reasons behind his rebellion); his agents kill and steal in his name; Rook and their companions explore his main base and peer into all his memories and regrets without permission, because they see him as an adversary, so they feel allowed to do that.

He's not the nondescript, respected hermit mage of the Inquisitor's inner circle anymore - he's a well-known, feared, hated, misunderstood figure once again, forced to constantly flee and hide in dangerous, ruined, forgotten places (in the comic The Missing he sleeps in a small room underground, surrounded by darkspawn!).

He's under the spotlight once again, starting a ritual he doesn't really want to do ("Do you believe that I would do this if there were some other, better option?").

I think he will never be able to be friends with Rook, at least not in the same way he was able to be friends with the Inquisitor and the Inquisition companions, because his full identity is out in the open now - he's too important, too awe-inspiring to be simply seen as Solas the Fade expert. The Inquisitor, Varric, and Harding are the only ties to that innocent time he has left.

So I'm hoping he will be finally allowed to be who he really wants to be at the end of Veilguard: not a feared divine-like figure, but a scholar who wants to spread wisdom and live in peace.

[amalthea-abstractions]

Manifesting more Solavellan Banter in Da4

/Part 1/

Rook: Soooo… the “dread wolf” huh? Is that literal?

Solas: I can manifest as a wolf if necessary, yes.

Rook: So, do you have anything to do with that wolf the Inquisitor keeps seeing in her dreams, perchance?

Solas: … if you have any questions that pertain to the mission at hand, I would be happy to answer those.

Rook: Solas, tell me— is the Inquisitor as beautiful as she is depicted in the paintings?

Solas: That depends. Which paintings do you refer to?

Rook: uuuuh. Yours I guess?

Solas: Hm.

Solas: No. Despite my best attempts, I could not come close to replicating her beauty. My frescos are mere candles to a blazing fire by comparison.

Rook: aww, that’s actually so sweet.

Varric: Hey, Is Chuckles there right now?

Rook: Yeah, why?

Varric: He can hear me?

Rook: Yes..?

Varric: Good. I just want him to know that, to celebrate defeating Corypheus, the Inquisitor had some special frilly cakes ordered. And they went cold and stale.

Solas: …

Rook: Um, okay???

Solas: To see a live griffon… What an incredible and magnificent creature. I wonder what it would be like to mount one.

Rook: I bet that’s not the only thing you wonder about mounting ¬‿¬

Solas: *Sighs* I suppose I should have seen that one coming.

Varric: Hey, Fen’Harel! Question for you.

Rook: He’s listening.

Solas: *Sighs* I suspect this is not going to be related to our progress, nor the veilguard.

Varric: Does time feel different to you than it does for all us mortals? Because for us, two years is a long time.

Rook: What’s he talking about?

Solas: I suspect the fact that I did not see anyone from the Inquisition for a period of two years after the fall of Corypheus.

Varric: And yet, she waited. All. That. Time. She deserved some kind of answer. And instead, all she got was another broken promise, and lost a limb.

Solas. …ah. I see what this is about.

Rook: Care to fill me in??

Solas: …Another one of my many, many mistakes.

Rook: So, Solas, you were at the Winter Palace with the Inquisition, right?

Solas: Indeed, the Inner Circle assisted *insert user choice result of Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts*

Rook: Right, that. I’ve seen paintings of that night, and there’s always an elf…

Solas: *sighs*

Rook: …wearing a funny hat….

Solas: … What is your question?

Rook: That WAS you? Ha!! What was up with the hat??

Rook: Solas? Solas! Hey! This is an important question!!

If you want more Solavellan banter @lillotte17 has some here :)

[themuseumofwitchcraftandpaganism]

Did Christianity Steal From Paganism? Yes... No... It's Complicated. Part 1: Rome

Tis the season so I figured I'd talk about the topic that's been the subject of debate for a long time, most recently with the 2024 Olympics. I will be discussing the visual aspect of these religions, not the theological aspects.

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: No

Let's get into it: It took about a hundred years after the death of Christ for Christianity to start gaining popularity in the Roman Empire. At around 100 AD the first congregations secretly started meeting in basements and had to be very subtle with their worship. Being Christian at this time was a crime; they refused to pay the federal taxes that exalted the emperor as a god. At this point, after the Roman Emperor died, the Senate would vote to either add them to the pantheon or erase their legacy from public consciousness. Some emperors weren't very lucky but most of them got deified. The Christian citizens of Rome refused to offer sacrifices to the emperor because it broke the first of the Ten Commandments, "Thou shalt not have no other gods before me." There isn't much Christian art from this time, and they were definitely the religious minority.

Skip forward to 306 AD, there's yet another civil war over the throne of the Empire. The two men fighting for it were Constantine I and Maxentius. In addition to battles, the two of them funded public projects to gain the approval of the people. They both built baths, aqueducts, and basilicas. Basilicas were the Roman equivalent of city halls: the local government operated out of them, trials and town meetings were held there, and there were small niches in the walls dedicated to different gods. Maxentius built the basilica on the left (below) and Constantine built the one on the right (below). Constatine's basilica, Aula Palatina, is still the largest remaining Roman structure that's a single room.

Maxentius' basilica was bigger but in 310 AD Constatine beat him and took the throne, partly because of the support he got from the Christian citizens. In 312 AD, Constatine converted to Christianity and enacted the Edict of Milan which made Christianity legal.

But look at Aula Palatina. It looks like our modern idea of a church. It has rows of benches, which would've been used for town meetings, and a semicircular niche at the end called an apse. In a Christian church, the apse is where the altar goes just like the niches in the Roman Pagan basilicas where different gods would be worshiped. Constantine didn't change the design from a Pagan basilica at all --because why fix what isn't broken? -- and just placed it into a Christian context.

For the next hundred years, Roman citizens started to mix Christian and Pagan imagery.

Families would bury both Christian and Pagan members in the same catacomb and decorated it accordingly. The fresco below (320-340 AD) is from the Catacombs of Priscilla (200-400 AD). It has an image of Christ as the Good Shepard in the middle, but the birds along the outside represent the four seasons; an image that featured commonly in Pagan catacomb frescos. Christ's clothing and contrapposto posing is also reminiscent of Pagan statues, particularly of the god Apollo.

The fresco on the left (below) from the Catacombs of Saints Marcellinus and Peter (~300 AD), is visually similar to the last one fresco we looked at. Christ is in the middle and around him are the four Evangelists and Bible stories like Jonah and the whale. In the four corners again, there are personifications of the four seasons. Elsewhere in the Catacomb, there's a depiction of Christ as Orpheus (right, below), again combining these Pagan and Christian icons. In the Bible, it says that Christ will tame all the wild animals, and the artist is likening that to the Roman Pagan story of Orpheus taming animals with his music.

If you look at the middle of this complex fresco on the left (below) from the Catacomb of Commodilla (100-800 AD), it has a depiction of Jesus and three of the apostles dressed like Roman senators (300-400 AD). On the right is a depiction of St. Paul as a Roman philosopher from the same Catacomb.

But this interest in combining artistic traditions extended to the sarcophagi that people were buried in too. Roman Pagans usually opted to be cremated rather than buried but when they did choose to be buried, they liked to carve scenes of their gods into their sarcophagi. Roman Christians, who almost always chose to be buried, did the same. The sarcophagus on the left (below) belonged to a woman named Arria (b.~350 -- d.~400 AD) and depicts a story about the Roman Pagan moon goddess Selene. The one on the right (below) belonged to a Senator named Junius Bassus (b. 317 -- d.359 AD) depicts difference scenes from the Bible like Adam and Eve and Jesus entering Jerusalem. Do you see the visual similarities? Both sarcophagi are also carved from marble.

The mosaic below is perhaps the best example of how Christian and Pagan imagery and theologies were mixed. It used to be the floor in a wealthy Roman's villa and was found in Hinton St Mary, Dorset, England; it's the furthest north Roman mosaic ever found. The bottom panel depicts a beardless Christ with a chi-rho behind his head. (The chi-rho, XP, came from the first two letters of Christ's name in Latin. It's a Christian symbol that's still used to denote that a figure is Christ.) On either side of him is a pomegranate. Pomegranates were sacred to the goddess Persephone; Roman Pagan religion taught that she went down to the Underworld for half the year and then up to the mortal world for half the year, fueling the changing seasons. Persephone and Christ are both gods that went to the afterlife and then came back to bring new life to humans; it's not hard to see how they got conflated on this mosaic. In the corners around Christ there are four men. Their imagery is reminiscent of both the four Evangelists and the gods of the four winds, again doubling Pagan and Christian imagery. In the upper panel, there's a scene portraying the Pagan story of Bellerophon spearing the Chimæra while flying on Pegasus. That story is frequently understood to be the "Good triumphing over Evil" story archetype, much like the story of Christ triumphing over death/sin is. Whoever owned this villa literally mixing both the visual and theological elements of both Paganism and Christianity.

In the late 300s, the Emperors (who were all Christian now) started introducing laws that made it harder for Pagans to practice. They banned animal sacrifices eventually Christianity was officially declared the religion of Rome in the late 400s. However, the enforcement of these laws wasn't applied very well and people continued to practice Roman Paganism until the fall of the Empire.

But even after the fall of Rome, Roman Pagan imagery persisted in a Christian context. In the West, Emperor Charlemagne of the Holy Roman Empire, which was Christian, purposely copied the imagery of the Roman Emperors. He used equestrian statues and coinage of him wearing a Roman laurel to demonstrate his power. The top two images below are of the Chrisitan Emperor Charlemagne and the bottom two are of the Pagan Emperor Marcus Aurelius.

In the East, the early Byzantine Empire were still interested in Roman drapery and architecture. Below is Archangel Michael (left) as well as Emperor Justinian and Theodora (right) preparing the Eucharist. Both images display Roman architecture and drapery. Byzantine would eventually move away from Roman influences but in its early days, they were definitely inspired by it.

So, the answer everyone is looking for is NO.

The Christians didn't steal anything from the Pagans, they made an association. They produced art in the style that was popular and followed the artistic trends of the time. Christian and Pagan imagery was produced in the same medium and combined until Paganism was phased out over hundreds of years. They saw similar gods and iconography and combined them to make a message that was understandable to all audiences.

Happy Yule! Happy Winter Solstice!

Further readings:

The Deification of Roman Emperors (Chapter 4) - Invented History, Fabricated Power

BBC - History - Ancient History in depth: Roman Religion GalleryThe Paleochristian Art of the Roman Catacombs ~ Liturgical Arts Journal

Chi Rho - Wikipedia

History of Christianity - Wikipedia

Anglicanism: a Gift in Christ – Part 1: An Ancient Church

Constantine the Great - Wikipedia

Maxentius - Wikipedia

Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus - Wikipedia

Marble sarcophagus with the myth of Selene and Endymion | Roman | Severan | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Smarthistory – Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius

Persecution of pagans in the late Roman Empire - Wikipedia

Equestrian statuette of Charlemagne - Wikipedia

Smarthistory – San Vitale and the Justinian and Theodora Mosaics

ARH1000 Early Christian & Byzantine Art.pdf | Free Download

The image of Christ in Late Antiquity | Semantic Scholar

mosaic floor | British Museum