#marriage immediately

[swampstew]

Beach date turned rescue? Even though you can swim and someone else cannot👀

Get that camera out of his face!

JEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS HOLY FUCK IM CRYING CAUSE I WOULD SO DO THAT

[moony-t0ast]

Y’all aren’t ready for the third installment of the vampire pandalily fic ft Mary.. So feral and scrumptious I’m so !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Shan. You fucking GENIUS. I’m on my knees for u 🫡

[thecoolestastrophile]

Domestic Zayne my beloved

zayne domestic fluff brainrot again except this time, it's you who comes home to him, and he finally gets to pamper and serve you the way you always do for him.

you're greeted by a warm waft of air the moment you open the door. the entire apartment is filled with the smell of your favorite dishes and you know instantly that, for the first time in weeks, zayne is home before you.

you hastily take off your coat and shoes, rushing past your cat sprawled in the middle of the hallway and to the kitchen where you find zayne. he's got an apron loosely tied around his waist. it takes you a second to realize that it's your gift from last week, the one that came in bright baby blue with ruffled, lace edges and an embroidered snowman dead center.

"it reminded me of you!" is what you had said when you handed it to him over dinner.

and he had thanked you with a feathery kiss on your knuckles, "i suppose i look a bit like this snowman, no?”

it still warms your heart, oddly enough, despite the fact that zayne has never been one to turn down any of your gifts, no matter how trivial or silly they were. he still has the keychain you gave him secured on the handle of his bag. the ceramic white kitten you got from your trip out of town five years ago sits comfortably on the desk at his office. one cutout panel from a photo strip of you and your cat is tucked inside an antique heart-shaped locket you found in some thrift store downtown. and there's not a moment where that locket isn't on him, one way or another, hung around his neck or buried in the safety of his pockets during surgery.

he adores you, and by extension every little trinket or piece of clothing you decide to give him.

the moment zayne turns down the heat on the stove is when you decide to make your presence known. you take light, careful steps as you walk towards him.

you wrap your arms around his waist, hands settling over his stomach.

and either he knows you've been lingering near the kitchen for a while or you weren't as sneaky as you thought, because he's not startled with your sudden arrival. he merely hums, as if to acknowledge your presence, before immediately melting against your touch. he takes one of your hands in his, the one that's not holding on to the ladle, and brings it closer to his lips.

"welcome home." he presses a kiss over your palm, absentmindedly tracing the lines with his finger. "dinner's almost ready. you should go and wash up.”

"this is a lot, zayne. thank you." you nuzzle a cheek against his back, trying to bring yourself impossibly closer to him as if you aren't already soul to soul at this very moment. "can't i at least set the table? wanna help you.”

"don't worry about it, my love." zayne turns down the stove completely. he faces you for the first time this evening, and you try not to be taken aback at how he looks at you. a bright gaze that makes him look like he’s in a trance as he’s staring at you. his eyes track the few strands of hair that manage to escape from behind your ear. he’s quick to move them out of the way. from there, his hand naturally gravitates towards your cheek where his thumb drags across smooth skin. he digs into the flesh with little pressure. "let me take care of you tonight.”

"if you insist.”

you can't help but laugh at how he sends you off. he’s ushering you to go to your shared bedroom, to get out of the clothes you’ve spent your entire day in and freshen up, but his hand stays firmly clasped around yours. it takes a few weak tugs and a lot of coaxing, of dragging out his name and using every possible pet name that comes to your mind for him to finally let you go.

when you return to your dining area after a quick shower, half of the lights are turned off. there's a set of three candles in the middle of the table lined with the placemats you only ever bring out when your parents are visiting.

zayne notices your arrival as he’s in the middle of placing two bowls of soup near your plates. he pulls out your chair, revealing the small bouquet of red chrysanthemums resting on it.

“for you.”

you’re briefly surprised as you take the flowers in your hands. he moves closer until his palm finds the small of your back.

"if i didn't know any better, i'd say you're planning on popping the question tonight.” you tease.

zayne tries to hide the pink dusting his cheeks by looking the other way. “can’t a man spoil his beloved?”

“oh, of course he can.” you reach for his face, taking his jaw by your hand. gently and with little resistance, you turn his face towards yours. “and his beloved couldn’t be more grateful. really, zayne, you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“i got off work early. when you told me you were working overtime, i thought it was the least i can do.”

“then let’s not keep the food waiting.” you smile.

you and zayne eat in an almost complete absence of silence as you urge him to talk about his day. and you find that it was pretty uneventful for the most part, except for the little girl he met in the hospital’s cafeteria.

“her name's mika.” he says between sips of red wine. “she’s six and she owns a cat who's three years older than her.”

you hum, motioning for him to continue.

“i met her little brother too. his name's louis, but he doesn't like being called that because it sounds too much like the name of the girl he apparently hates in school.”

“wow,” you breathe, “look at you, doctor zayne. akso hospital’s world-renowned chief cardiac surgeon and speaker to all toddlers.”

he lets out a low laugh, “i gave them some of the macarons you baked.”

“that’s adorable! did they like it?”

"when they asked who made them, i said they were baked by someone i hold near to my heart." zayne nods as he wipes the edge of lips with a napkin. "they said i should make sure to give that person lots of love."

"oh?" you lean forward, reaching across the table and past the plates of food to find his hand. "i think they might be right, doctor zayne."

zayne chuckles, choosing to indulge you. “i think so too.”

“meet me in the bedroom after i clean up?” he stands up, moving to stack the empty plates on top of each other. but you decide to beat him to it, swiftly taking the plates in your hand and out of his reach.

"leave this to me, love."

zayne frowns. there’s a slight crease on his forehead as he tries—but ultimately fails to protest. “but-”

“no buts. you’ve done enough for me tonight.”

but if there’s one thing about zayne that drives you mad, it’s that he knows when to use your weaknesses against you. he knows which parts of your bare skin to touch, what to say, how to say it. he knows that his hand sitting dangerously low on your back makes it hard for you to think of anything else. he knows that him leaning down to speak directly to your ear, hot breath fanning across cold skin, is enough to cloud your judgement.

“how about we do it together, then?”

bastard.

“fine…” you relent, knees feeling a little weak.

you two work in the kitchen like a perfectly well-oiled machine for the next half hour. he transfers all the leftovers into containers you plan on reheating over the week while you begin to scrub the plates clean.

"perhaps i did make too much…" he remarks at one point. it pulls a laugh out of you, and you bring your soap-covered hand to poke him in the cheek.

"cute." you mutter under your breath.

as the moon draws closer to its peak, you find yourself tucked in zayne’s arms, hiding under the sheets. the silk adds a layer of privacy, an added solace to the already peaceful four walls of your bedroom. and as you drift further into the land of your dreams, you think there's nothing else that could possibly be better than spending the rest of your life with zayne.

and maybe he has been sitting on the question for a while now. maybe he does have a tiny box tucked at the very back of his drawer, just waiting for the right moment to be worn on your ring finger.

[theyluvbix]

"Is it okay if I use your art as inspo for mine ?? 😣" MARRIAGE IMMEDIATELY

[an-idiot-in-a-costume]

also other art

Thank you nankidai for the perfection that is shirtless kurumada (i have the urge to edit it and make his hair look like his current hair)

Kurumada please come home the kids miss you.

[morganbritton132]

Eddie during a Q&A where he specially asked his fans to ask him questions about his marriage: Oh, just saw the question who proposed to who and-

Steve, loudly off-camera: I proposed to him and he said no!

Eddie: …first of all, you couldn’t even get gay married at the time. And second, I said no because I-

Steve: He said no because he wanted to propose to me and then DIDN’T

Eddie: I did!

Steve: A year later.

Eddie: I had to plan! I had to prep! I wasn’t going to halfass our gay fake wedding!

Eddie: And, just for your information, internet! He’s complaining and he’s making me look bad but do you know what he did? Do you know what he did the next day? I put together this beautiful ceremony with all our friends and family and you know what he did the very next day?

Eddie: He went to the courthouse and married a woman!

Steve: …Well that was for tax benefits

[thecoolestastrophile]

HOLY JESUS CHRIST GUYS

Nomos (Xavier - NSFW/18+)

Pairing: Xavier/Queen Reader (based on Xavier’s first myth) Word Count: 3.7k Tags: religious imagery/desecration sex, angst, evol bondage, oral sex, orgasm denial, Knight Xavier on his knees repenting to his Queen MC, spoilers for Xavier’s first myth, female dominating, canon divergence, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

Summary: The Queen of Philos had sacrificed her heart ultimately and along with it, part of her humanity, in the wake of Xavier’s failed Backtrack mission; binding it to Philos’ core for eternity. Now, returned to her, centuries after, Xavier seeks his Goddess’ audience, and her forgiveness, within the stone-cold chambers of her castle. 

But centuries suffered alone, and with her heart now gone, she is a former frigid cast of the woman he used to love. Xavier is adamant on repenting, even if it costs him his life this time round. 

[A fic where Prince Xavier manages to return to Philos but he is too late; his Queen has long thrown her powerful core, her heart, into Philos’ centre and now, she has nothing to offer Xavier but her bitter resentment.]

O celestial body of mine, Slumbering adrift in darkness, Which never heeds the whispers of life, Till it fades into oblivion, nothingness. 

The rolling echo of thunder — knelling an approaching storm — was the only sound that rippled across the heavy, cold silence that had settled itself across the throne room. Wan shadows clung to the wide, dismal stone pillars of the great hall. Barely quelled by the flickering protocore lamps interspersed on either sides of the room. 

A looming, stone figure of the Goddess adorned the space right behind her great throne, staging Her chosen Sovereign to rule and obey, for all of Philos to see, placed by Her will upon the throne. The Goddess; doused in cool shadow, her sculpted eyes stared down glacial and unforgiving, set into regal stone. Her great Sword aimed at length towards the altar Xavier knelt at. 

The flagstone beneath his knee was a harsh and frigid reminder; Xavier considered, not for the first time how it too had frozen in on desolate isolation, just like his Queen’s majestic figure in front. She stood tall and silent — the paradigm of dignity she’d forced herself to be, for the sake of Philos... and for the sake of a lover who’d refused to accept the wretched Crown of a King.  

Solitary and unattended — he’d allowed her to experience the empty desolation that came with a Sovereign’s crown of lonely leadership. And yet, even confined to the yawning silence of her frigid throne room, she’d ushered Philos into an era of prosperity. While he— 

Xavier had failed her; her hopes, her dreams... her yearnings he’d turned blind to each time she’d granted him the soft brunt of her affections sifting like stone against his heart. So in love with her — she would never know — and yet, the distance he’d maintained stretched flimsy in between them; closer than friends, stranger than lovers.  

The burden of her past life, their first life, lived in futility, through a heart that brought her no end of pain until it had burned her life out of existence — and in turn, ended his, in spirit — with her untimely demise.  

And he had — in misguided intentions, she viewed them as — refused to let the cycle of tragedy repeat once more, in the sacrifice of her sole being. As Xavier, prince of Philos. And a mere man in love with a woman. The one heart he could never bear to let go. In the name of a ‘greater good’, his father, the previous King had called it such. For Philos.  

To hell with a nation his father and his wretched co-conspirators had painted from the ground up, drenched in the blood of numerous sacrifices before her. Xavier had wanted no part in the perpetuation of that horrifying ritual.  

Desperation had eventually led him to adopt far perilous measures, to prevent her oblation in this lifetime — two centuries spent in between their tentative meetings, and then several countless more spent traversing the stars and through worlds in search of a solution. To prevent Philos’ downfall without the need to hold on to age old rustic customs. 

And he had promised her, his beautiful lonely Queen, a victory he had failed to bring to her feet. Swore to her in centuries past, when she’d still looked upon him with love naked in her gaze and worry taut in her features, that he’d search for a better path for Philos from among his travel in the stars, while she’d resolved to stay behind as their planet’s sole Sovereign; their Goddess incarnate.  

The tender warmth of her skin as he’d traced her features into memory on their last meeting all those centuries back, within the plaza rife with life; a reminder of what they were fighting for. The way she’d layered her own hand against his, letting her eyes drift shut as if she too wished to forget their fast-looming separation. 

And on the day of her coronation, he’d left her, branded as a traitor. Chancing one last, proud look upon her majestic form as she’d leveled the blade of her sword against his shoulders apiece, in their private ceremony of two, knighting him as her Grandis Knight. 

A fleeting, tentative touch of her palm she’d pressed against his shoulder in farewell, determined eyes staring into his from beneath the weight of her crown as she’d wished him well. 

“The fate of our nation rests within your hands now, Xavier. And should you fail, the entirety of Philos shall have to pay the price for the Prince’s failings.”  

Her delicate hand had tightened against the pressed shoulder of his regalia, not caring for the badges of honor there, digging into her skin. “May the Goddess be with you. Goodbye, Xavier.” 

 Xavier’s eyes flitter shut in resigned recollection; the very last touch of her warmth still fresh in his mind. In the flex of gloved digits against the badge attached to the hilt of his sword, one she’d gifted to him, in lieu of her star tassel.  

Now, as he kneels at her feet, she hasn’t even moved to touch him. Hasn’t deigned him worthy enough to afford even the mercy of her hands on his body, even if just to strike him. In ire or curses; Goddess, his heart and body have missed her so dearly. And yet, this is not the time for personal weakness. But repentance. And Xavier has always been one devoted to his cause, his one sole duty; to live and serve, to die or be tortured by her will alone.  

His Demiurge regent, his sole Queen.  

She observes great clemency as is expected of a Sovereign of her stature, when her steps shift closer; the dignified brush of her mantle pooling about her feet. Soft fur fabric brushing against the polished heel of pale shoes, the slip of bare skin through the part of her flowing robes at her legs, filling his line of sight as it remains firm, fixated upon the ground. For she has not allowed him leave to freely gaze upon her form. And Xavier is her Grandis Knight, committed to propriety of duty, if it is for her alone.  

He, however, dares: gloved digits reaching for the sweep of her queenly cape brushing the stone-cold flagstone. The pads of them skimming the soft of fur that lines its edges. And when she does not move to refute his brazen touch, he curves his fingers into the fabric and guides it up to his lips, lashes descending shut as he lays a kiss against the cloth, in show of the proper reverence she deserves. “I have returned, my Queen.” 

Xavier feels her shift above his genuflecting form, a response she utters in the voice he has missed. “Why?”  

“I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary for my failure, your Majesty. If it is my life you seek—”  

“Why have you returned now?”  

“Forgive me, your Majesty.” 

“You are far, far too late.” The first hints of displeasure seep into her intonation, accusing strains of heat Xavier prefers to the thick monotone she’d employed previously.

“Forgive me, your Majesty.”  

An explicable tremor breaks across her still form; minute, missable, were it not for how finely attuned he is to her mannerisms, her emotions, her simmering ire.  

“Why have you returned now, after all this time? You made no promises.” She asks once more, cool resignation in her voice.  

He stares fixedly at the sight of her feet, a response she seeks from him, he has no answer to.  

Silence stretches long and taut, infinite, in between them. 

“After the first five hundred years spent waiting in futility...” she deliberates. “I finally concluded that you’d died. Perished among the unknown.” 

His fist, sunk into the unyielding cold floor at his knee, crushes tighter at her words. “...Please allow me to look upon your Majesty’s face.”  

Her footsteps glide forwards, another step closer. Ignoring his entreaty, she resumes, “I continued to make excuses for your failure to return.” She pauses. 

“It brought me some modicum of comfort to know you had not just abandoned me but that you were simply no more.” The terrifying frigid inflection of her voice numbs Xavier’s heart — cool tendrils of dread coiling vines within his chest, like their first life, he’d held her within his arms. Watched the life pool out of her eyes, leaving her dull and lifeless within his embrace.  

She has lost her heart once more, and the mere thought has Xavier’s nerves driven to near devastation.  

But he is here, he knew of the consequences. And he is here, to bear through them, to accept his Sovereign — and beloved’s — ire; no matter if she remains full or half. She is all he draws breath for, all he fights for, the pinnacle of his existence and his desires. His guiding star, his monarch, his God. 

“Forgive me, your Majesty.” He speaks, once more. 

The first signs of emotion other than cool resentment thread through her low voice: furied indignance. “Utter insolence.” 

The heel of her shoe rises before his very gaze — Xavier’s eyes falling shut to accept the brunt of her oncoming strike. One that does not come. He feels her press the harsh tip of it, instead, underneath his jaw, knocking his face upwards so that his eyes meet hers, glacial turbulence within her gaze. “How does it feel to be demeaned as if you were a mere traitor, at my feet? Do you feel as violated and desolate as I too did all those years ago?” 

She is kind, she remains so gentle; her punishment, she considers it humiliation for him to be put at her feet when it is anything but. As if it could ever be. She offers him her worship instead, and so he follows her regal command. 

Pitching his face to dig deeper against the tip of her shoe, his eyes remain devoted upon hers. Gloved fingers he brings to curl, slow beneath the sole of her boot to support, mouth skimming a kiss of reverence to the polished surface.  

Ire and heat fulgurate within her gaze at his brazen actions, she continues to watch as his mouth parts, pink tongue darting forth to slick a slow, deferential path against the cool leather of her shoe. “This is not punishment enough, your Majesty, when your Grandis Knight has been ever prepared to end his life at your feet, were it your will.” 

The spark of heat within her gaze retreats and shutters itself behind its glacial curtain. “Do you remember what it is I told you when you embarked on your journey, my Knight?” 

“I do.” He murmurs, just as she digs the edge of her heel deeper against his cheek.  

She rips herself away from his worship, sweeping right up close against his kneeling figure, until he can catch the drifts of her perfumed scent emanating from her bone-ivory robes. Can feel the brush of the silken cloth adorning her thighs, against the tip of his nose. 

Wretched, blasphemous desire churns vicious within his belly at having the woman he loves this close, after centuries spent without her — a woman that is not his, never will be. Immoral desires of a sinner for Philos’ Mother. A woman — and their nation — he brought to ruin by his own hand; Philos’ branded traitor. 

“I told you,” she speaks, in the neutrality of a Sovereign, “that were you to fail, all of Philos would have to pay the price for the Prince’s failure.” She stills. “And I am Philos, I am centered to Her core. I am Her life-force as she is mine. Our people paid a hefty price for our peace, oh Grandis Knight.” 

Xavier’s face sinks forward, brushing the edges of her silken robes against his cheek. “Forgive me, your Majesty.” In the harsh clench of his jaw; and when she does not move to spurn him, he devotes a kiss of resigned reverence to the cloth above her thigh. Her body loses part of its stillness at the action.  

“Even after all this time...” she murmurs under her breath. “You refuse to address me by my proper name, like a foolish coward.” A slipping fracture of something akin to torment in her voice.  

Xavier lets his mouth glide further up across the lustrous cloth in begging of her pardon, for the ache he has caused, has continued to cause to her. To Philos. For his protection that he has always known held a double cutting edge to itself.  

He drifts towards her other thigh, mouthing proper worship onto it and his Queen — benevolent, tender in heart still — lets the Sinner at her feet do as he pleases. Canting his gaze heavenwards to watch as she allows; her own eyes that burn into his kneeling form, observing him from her place on high.  

Her legs shift, allowing Xavier the fleeting sight of unblemished skin in between the loose flow of her fabric and like a devotee starved, he’s drawn to the catch of her inner thighs revealed with the slight disarray of her robes beneath his questing mouth. Finding her undeniably warm when his lips brush near the junction of her thighs at bare skin.  

“My Knight—” 

“You may call me by my name, your Majesty.” His hungering tongue slips past his lips to lave gentle at her. “After all, I am no more than servant to your Majesty and her great throne.”  

“Grandis Knight, you are—” 

“I am your Xavier, your sinner.” His hot gaze rolls up towards hers and beseeches. “So, please call me by name so you may curse at me.” 

He feels the fire of her indignant resentment sputter within her gaze, receding the glacial indifference of it. Her cold fingers slink into his hair and wrench harsh at the argent strands, ripping a groan free of Xavier’s throat. The very first gift she makes of pain, to him, one he receives with the reverent ardour it deserves.  

Xavier heaves forward once more to settle in between her legs, nosing at the fabric of her mound, breathing in her scent. Teeth catching at the cloth that keeps her concealed from view before he loosens it apart with a violent jerk of his head.  

Moisture glistens tempting in between her folds — the firm press of her digits against the back of his head is the sole permission Xavier requires to engulf her entirely against an open, hungering mouth, a low moan of desire breaking past his throat at the intoxicating taste of her on his tongue.  

He laps up at her; a man starved — one he is, after the emptiness of her endured in his soul, the burdens of his failures and desires commingled in the wet lave of his tongue from base to hood. Slicking the edge of his tongue against the pearl at her apex. Her low sigh follows the incessant push of his face deep into her mound, his nose brushing at the curls of it, accepting the gift of her benevolence.  

“Did you know, my dear Knight—” her voice skitters mildly in pleasure with the press of the tip of his tongue, cleaving gentle into her slit. “It did get easier.”  

Her wetness seeps past her opening and onto his fervent tongue as he dutifully swallows. He feels incredibly parched, open mouth pressing deeper against her as he works her pleasure, tongue slinking into her depths. She clenches around him at the intrusion, knocking a muffled groan free of his throat.  

“When time finally ran out for your chance to return and Philos neared the end of its life, with our people on the brink of desolate death,” her breath jolts. “I marched out there.” 

His brows knit into a severe frown, stroking his need for her ire to sheath itself deeper into his body. He requires it; his Queen’s rightful anger so that he may take all of it and her, let her bruise her emotions into it, until the moment she’s used him up to her heart’s desires and she finally weeps and hurts no more.  

And so, his lashes descend with the tight spasm of her fingers carded through his hair, steering his mouth however she pleases. 

“And I willingly bound my life force to Philos’ core so that it could continue to live. Cut out the part of me that loved and felt until I turned myself into something entirely non-human for the sake of our people. A true God.” A slow, desolate string of weak sound tapers out of her body before it augments itself into mirthless laughter that rings hollow through the great, empty space of her throne room. “It was all too easy to do so, in a world I knew my Star no longer existed. For my heart had beat for him alone.” 

A heavy bludgeon of agony rips through his chest, tries and clambers its way out of his body before Xavier tamps it mercilessly in the gentle scrape of his teeth against her tight bundle of nerves. Her violent shudders, he feels buffets her limbs before he’s reaching out for her on instinctual, fervid desire in the clasp of gloved palms against the sides of her legs, trekking his touch up her thighs. A low moan parts her lips at the touch. 

Xavier’s audacious attempt at desecrating his God further underneath his obsidian worship is foiled in the twin blades of light that cleave around his wrists, whipping them swift and away from her body to shackle them together at the base of his spine. 

His body jolts through the glaze of his desires, part sense rending through the thick of pain knocking at the back of his breastbone to realize she’s forced his submission in the resonation of her Evol against his. Emulated his Light seamlessly in the binds of radiance — befitting of Philos’ Sovereign — wound tight at his wrists. Even centuries past now, she remembers the precise shape of his Light. 

He tests a flex against his restraints, finding they do not give an inch. “You’ve grown far too bold in your time away,” her voice is a cold dagger that scotches itself right beneath his ribs. She heaves him away from her body, reluctant mouth drenched in the strings of slick and spit that trail from his mouth to the soaked space of her legs. “Grandis Knight, what makes you think you’ve earned even an ounce of me to embrace as you would, a lover?” 

“I have not, your Majesty, forgive—”  

Severing through the rest of his apology in the quiet catch of Xavier’s breath when the sole of her heel comes to rise, knocking a firm, uniformed thigh apart to reveal the indecency of his arousal to her gaze, straining painful against the placket of too tight trousers.  

The edge of her heel trailing the inside of his thigh, she switches towards the heavy length of him. Brushing the underside of his arousal, Xavier’s shoulders tense in heavy need at the barely present stimulation. Before her heel sinks firmer against the length of him, jolting a groan free of him. “Does that feel good then?” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” He breathes heavily.  

“Look at you, coming apart under the mere, filthy touch of my foot.” Her brow bunches in an irked frown.  

“No part of you—” His voice breaks apart into quiet, ragged breaths at the stimulation of her heel against the increasingly sensitive strength of his arousal. “—is filthy to me, your Majesty.”  

Xavier tugs against the leash she’s made of her fist at the back of his head and she allows him, in that moment, to arch forwards and nudge the part of her dress aside. Sink into the wet heat of her; a man imprisoned to her tender mercies and the flood of her taste in his mouth. 

He works her open against his tongue, laving at her desires. Back and forth, he doesn’t let a single drop spill past his hungering mouth until he feels the tell-tale evidence of her orgasm in the insistent clench of her walls.  

Her hips gyrate forward in tandem to the suck of his mouth against her tightened bead and Xavier lets his shoulders fall slack to allow her free reign of her release as she grinds herself against his tongue to a precipitous finish. The gush of her desires Xavier drinks down, humming in dazed arousal, to have let her find her relief; used as her personal seat of pleasure, to be tossed at her will alone.  

Her hands flitter about his head, curling on either side of his jaw to pull away from the heaven of her body, and up as she descends, her mouth settling against his in a violent kiss he receives with vehement pleasure.  

Releasing herself, slow, from him only when her desire to breath turns overbearing. The edge of her thumb slips just past his damp bottom lip, urging his mouth open further. Before she spits against his revering tongue and instructs him to, “Swallow.” 

Xavier’s mouth clamps shut on instinct, working the taste of her against himself. Gaze flittering in darkening, vicious desire at the heat of his Goddess’ gift.  

A low hush of withering laughter leaves her mouth. “I’ve tethered a rabid beast to my side.” 

Her thumb and index cup about his jaw, coaxing his gaze to remain on hers, bright, burning. “Swear to me,” she speaks. “Swear that your loyalty shall never lie with another.”  

He feels his Queen curl a tremulous fist into the robes at his shoulders, crumpling the fabric hard in between her fingers. “Swear that you shall remain mine, my Grandis Knight, for all time. That you shall never abandon me again, Xavier.”  

His gaze quivers in fleeting emotions for a moment’s weakness, steel gray resolve returning once more to utter his vow renewed. 

“I have always been yours to have or reject, your Majesty. This Knight — his Body and Soul is yours alone to wield.” 

Making of himself, a promise, he commits to her in the life she shall have; to end at the sweep of her sword, should he ever dare renege on it.  

Declaring himself, at long last, in his clear devotion; to his one Queen and God.  

Tagging: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas

(Skipping folks who do not have tagging permissions on, so they cannot be mentioned, unfortunately)

I had the angsty pleasure of reading Xavier’s first myth for the first time a few weeks back and with the help of a Xavier main friend and inspiration drawn from Xavier’s prayer pose in photobooth, this fic was born. I hope you enjoyed your read! 

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated, if you are so inclined, lovelies!

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM! You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

[knownoshamc]

[spottedgardeneelstan]

modern bingqiu au meet cute where they’re stalking each other and binghe breaks into sqq’s room and he has 5000000000 photos of him on the wall

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 3

Summary - After his mother's death in 115 AC Y/N Targaryen is summoned by his father Daemon to King's Landing in the hopes of forming a betrothal between the new heir to Runstone and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Warnings - targcest (cousins), general HOTD warnings, mentioned daemon x rhaenyra

Kingslanding reeked. 

(Y/N) wrinkled his nose as they got closer and closer to the gates of the keep. Daemon laughed at the sour expression on his son’s face, urging his horse closer to the boy. 

Daemon leaned toward (Y/N), speaking lowly, “You will get used to it.” 

“I don’t intend to stay long enough to get used to it, father.” (Y/N) urged his horse forward, hoping to reach the keep and escape the foul stench as quickly as possible. The people of Flea Bottom paid him little mind as he rode past, only pausing their daily tasks when his father and escorts strode past behind him. 

The gates of the Red Keep loomed over him as he and the riding party approached, and (Y/N) took in the vast courtyard. The squires and knights all paused their training to gape at the arrival of the prince and his son, and (Y/N)’s posture straightened at the attention. He reminded himself this was not the keep of Runestone, and that he knew naught of the workings and whims of the people here. He dismounted from his horse carefully, brushing his hand softly down the mare’s snout. 

A stable boy took the mare’s reins from his hands and guided the horse away from him. (Y/N) turned to face his father, who waved him over. Taking his place next to the white-haired prince (Y/N) looked to the keep’s steps. A stout brown-haired man awaited the party at the bottom of the steps, flocked by two kingsguards in white. The stout man wore the badge of the hand, pinned to his tunic. He bowed to both princes before speaking. 

“Prince Daemon, welcome back.” The man turned to (Y/N), “And Prince (Y/N), welcome to Kingslanding. The King awaits you both in The Great Hall.” 

“Thank you, Lord Strong.” His father spoke next to him. “And congrats on your promotion.” 

The man, Lord Strong, nodded his thanks to Daemon before turning on his heel and making his way into the keep. The halls of The Red Keep were filled with murmurs as (Y/N) and his father followed the King’s Hand through the halls. He could feel the eyes of the courtiers and servants following him as he walked, keeping his eyes straight ahead so as to not meet their curious gazes. He could hear his name whispered with delight and curiosity, as was his father’s over and over again. 

Once again his father walked close to his side, whispering to him, “You must not let them bother you.” 

“What?” He kept his eyes forward, but his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“The stares and whispers,” Daemon clarified. “This is not Runestone, you are a mystery to them.” 

“They are a mystery to me as well.” 

Daemon chuckled, “Yes, but you are a prince, they are not.” 

His father stuck by his side the rest of the walk through the keep until they reached the grand ornate doors to The Great Hall. (Y/N) took an uneasy breath as they both approached, and his father whispered to him one last time as the doors opened, hand softly resting on his shoulder. 

“They will love you.” 

And with that, his father stepped away and the doors opened.

“Prince Daemon of House Targaryen and his son, Prince (Y/N) of Houses Royce and Targaryen” 

Silence fell over The Great Hall as her uncle and cousin entered. Her uncle walked tall and proud, his clothes black as they possibly could be, the red sigil of their house stood bright across his chest, and his blade was sheathed proudly at his side. Shadowing him was her cousin, her betrothed, she supposed, dressed not in the colors of their house but in his mother’s colors instead. His (H/C) hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few curls escaping and framing his face. He donned a brown tunic, leather covered in runes Rhaenyra did not recognize, covered his chest and shoulders. Although he walked nearly as tall and proud as his father, there was something in his steps that gave away his discomfort. 

Rhaenyra caught her father straightening in anticipation, he was as much a stranger to Daemon’s son as she was, she remembered. He was a comely boy, looking more like her uncle than she had expected. For that at least Rhaenyra was grateful, for she would have no trouble pretending to be interested in him even if only for his looks. 

“Your grace,” Daemon bowed to her father, “May I present my son, Prince (Y/N) of Houses Targaryen and Royce.” 

Rhaenyra could not help but chuckled at the disdain for the title in her uncle’s voice. 

“Your grace.” (Y/N) kneeled next to his father. 

“Rise, the both of you.” Viserys smiled at the father and son duo, getting up off the throne and approaching them. He turned to (Y/N), studying him, he placed his hand on the boy's cheek, causing him to flinch in confusion slightly, “I am saddened that we have remained strangers for so long, nephew. But know that you are, and forever will be, most welcome in my court.” 

“Thank you, your grace.” 

Viserys turned to her, “Rhaenyra come.” 

Rhaenyra walked toward the three men, pointedly avoiding her uncle’s gaze, she did not wish to anger her father in the middle of court. She caught her cousin’s gaze instead, his violet eyes widening at the sight of her. 

“Princess,” He breathed, before remembering himself and giving a bow. 

She smiled at him, “Rhaenyra, we are family, cousin.” 

He nodded, reddening slightly. It was obvious to the princess that he would rather be anywhere else but under the gazes of her father’s court. 

Rhaenyra turned to her father, “Perhaps it would be best to dismiss the court, father. So that we may discuss things more privately.” 

Her father looked around them at the curious and whispering courtiers, all trying to catch a look at the fabled son of Prince Daemon. Only then did he seem to realize how uncomfortable his nephew seemed to be under the weight of their judgment. 

“Of course,” Viserys nodded solemnly, he turned to his newly appointed hand, “Court is dismissed for today Lyonel, I wish to speak with my family privately.” 

And with that Viserys wrapped his arm around Daemon, speaking to him as they turned and walked back down The Great Hall. Rhaenyra walked up to (Y/N), grabbing onto his arm which startled the prince slightly. 

“We should follow.” Rhaenyra smiled at him, and he blinked at her before speaking. 

“Right,” He blushed, “Of course.” 

They trailed after their fathers, (Y/N) only tensing further with every step they took. 

“I suppose the court is intimidating to those unused to it,” Rhaenyra said, hoping to ease some of her cousin’s nerves. She needed him to relax if she was to grasp an idea of what her future husband was like. 

“I am not quite sure what to make of it yet, princess.” 

“Rhaenyra,” She reminded, “It is good to be unsure, (Y/N). It’s harder to fall for their schemes if you do not trust them.” 

He smiled, genuinely, at her comment. He leaned closer to whisper to her as they walked, and she realized that he was more than just comely, “I take it you are not fond of everyone in your father’s court, Rhaenyra.” 

She made a noncommittal noise, shrugging but giving her cousin a smile all the same.

She had been angry with her father’s decision to betroth her to Daemon’s son without her permission, seemingly out of revenge on both his daughter and his brother. She had promised her father she would do her duty as wife and heir, but only if he’d dismiss the scheming vulture that was Otto Hightower. He’d done his part, now it was her time to do hers.

His uncle took his place at the head of the table, and Daemon took a seat by his side. Rhaenyra let go of his arm, striding over to the table and picking up the pitcher of wine, walking around the seated men and filling their cups. (Y/N) stood at the table, a comfortable distance from the rest of his family, hands resting on the back of the chair. When Rhaenyra was finished she stood directly across from her cousin, giving him a look that made him avert his eyes. 

Anyone with eyes could see the beauty in Rhaenyra, it was no wonder to (Y/N) why she was called ‘The Realm’s Delight’. 

“You may sit, my boy.” Viserys said, and (Y/N) turned to face his uncle and father. Daemon was smiling smugly at his son’s discomfort. 

“Forgive me, your grace.” (Y/N) took a seat. “But I am eager to discuss the reason I was summoned from Runestone.” 

“Yes, of course.” Viserys’ smile faltered at his words before he composed himself. He turned to Daemon and Rhaenyra, clearing his throat before continuing, “I have proposed a marriage to both your father and grandsire. Between you, (Y/N), and your cousin, my daughter, and heir, Princess Rhaenyra.” 

(Y/N) froze, looking at his cousin with wide eyes, and his uncle continued. 

“House Royce is one of the most ancient houses of Westeros, descended from the First Men. They were once themselves kings, and the further unification of House Royce and House Targaryen would bring strength not only to both houses, but the realm itself.” 

“I am aware of my house’s history, your grace.” (Y/N) spoke, tearing his eyes away from his cousin to face his uncle and father, “But forgive if I say I am confused at this proposal. I am to become the Lord Royce of Runestone upon my grandsire’s death-” 

“I was saddened to learn of the death of your mother.” 

“Thank you, your grace.” (Y/N) continued, “But as I was saying, I am to be Lord Royce, and Rhaenyra is to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. How will the succession be handled, if we were to wed?” 

Would it not be easier to marry his cousin to a second son? As was done with his mother and father. (Y/N) was to take the name Royce when he claimed his seat as well, would Rhaenyra’s children with him be Targaryen’s or would they be Royce’s. As beautiful as his cousin was, this marriage had too many questions to comfort (Y/N). 

“Rhaenyra is my heir, upon my death my throne and titles will pass to her,” Viserys spoke, “Your first born child, regardless of gender, will inherit the Iron Throne from her. Your second born child will inherit Runestone from you.” 

“As Royce’s or Targaryen’s?” 

“You are a Targaryen, (Y/N).” Daemon bit out, clearly frustrated with his son’s questions. 

“Yes, but when I take my seat I will do so under the name Royce. Will our children take my name when they are born?” 

Viserys smiled, “Like you, upon their birth your children shall take their father’s name, be that Targaryen or Royce, in keeping with our traditions. However, at such a time when your first born ascends the Iron Throne, he or she will do so bearing the name Targaryen.” 

Daemon smiled, “Dragons will rule The Seven Kingdoms for the next hundred years just as they did the last.” 

(Y/N) had come to Kingslanding expecting a marriage between him and some lord’s daughter, but Rhaenyra was the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not some minor lord's daughter. (Y/N) did not wish for the complexities of this marriage, but by a simple glance around the room, he realized that his future had already been decided for him. 

He was to be the future King Consort of The Seven Kingdoms, no matter his wishes.

“House Royce worships the Old Gods, do they not?” 

(Y/N) startled at the sound of Rhaenyra’s voice, standing from where he was kneeling to face his betrothed. “Rhaenyra. How did you find me?” 

He and Rhaenyra had been dismissed from the Small Council chambers hours ago, their fathers talking amongst themselves about further preparations. (Y/N) had given Rhaenyra a small apology before giving her his goodbye and asking to be shown to his chambers. He’d hoped to find some peace in the solitude but found himself restless as he paced around the unfamiliar room. It had only taken half an hour before he’d felt mad and went looking for a Godswood. 

The Godswood in The Red Keep was pitiful compared to the one in Runestone, but (Y/N) supposed it would make due as he knelt to pray. He’d hoped to be undisturbed till night fell but alas his betrothed had found him nearly an hour later. 

“Your guard said you were here.” Rhaenyra smiled at him, stepping close. “You do not wish for this match.” 

“Princess I-” 

“I could see it on your face, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said, “Don’t fret, I know this union is not what you would choose. I did not choose it myself. But if it has to be someone I am glad it is you.” 

“You do not know me, cousin.” 

“Yes, but-” Rhaenyra bit her lip. “I hold nothing against you.” 

“Nor I you.” (Y/N) sighed, “Truly, Rhaenyra, my qualms with this match are not an insult against you. I am simply worried that our duties as respective heirs will conflict with our duties as husband and wife.” 

“I understand.” Rhaenyra smiled, she took a seat at the roots of the tree, and (Y/N) followed suit. “We will just have to find a balance between the two, cousin. I have faith it will not be as hard as you fear it to be.” 

“Istiti jorepagon.” (Y/N) said solemnly, and Rhaenyra lit up at his words. 

“Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?” 

(Y/N) nodded, “My mother made sure I was properly educated.” 

“I think we will both find happiness in this marriage, cousin.” Rhaenyra said. “I see no reason why, if we both do our duty to the realm, we cannot dine where we see fit.” 

(Y/N) laughed, surprised at the princess’ boldness in her desires. “And where would you like to dine, Rhaenyra?” 

She shrugged, smiling at him, and he mused that maybe this match could work for them after all. They would simply have to make it work to fit both of their tastes. 

“I have been told my tastes are not proper for a lady of my status.” She said, and (Y/N) clicked his tongue. 

“Well I will not starve you of your desires, cousin.” (Y/N) said. “I only ask that you do not deny me mine.” 

She leaned close to him, and he could smell a faint hue of wine on her breath as she spoke, “I have told you of my desires, cousin. It is only fair that you return the favor.” 

“I am not picky, I dine where I am welcome.” 

Rhaenyra smirked, leaning back slightly and looking (Y/N) up and down. (Y/N) bit his lip, watching her movements. She leaned forward again, pressing a kiss to his cheek, she lingered long enough for it to be considered improper, and (Y/N) was glad for the privacy of the Godswood. 

“I will see you at supper, (Y/N).” 

She walked away, leaving (Y/N) to watch her as she left him in the Godswood.

---

Translations -

Istiti jorepagon - We must pray

Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha? - You speak valyrian

[padawansuggest]

Okay so I want to make an arranged marriage AU for Obi-Wan/Jango. But like. Instead of it being all ‘neither of us want this’ it’s a contract that they both willingly signed and honestly it was obsession at first sight.

Lemme explain.

See, Stewjon (ruled by King Yoda and his mess of adopted kids, so adoption is very common on the planet and they don’t even mind that Prince Jango already has kids) is a peaceful little world that cares about arts, parties, and farming. It’s a mixture of fun and practical. Most Mandalorians think it’s kinda shallow, but fun for party weekends to run off to. A lot of New Mandalorians that still hate the republic send their kids off to school there.

Obi-Wan is 25 minutes late to the meeting and Jango is all ‘you know what, I can handle not having to entertain him, clearly he’s got better things to do Lmao, this marriage will be easy’ and then the next minute someone flings open the meeting room doors, and you can just SEE Prince Qui-Gon’s face fall. He’s been toting the qualities of his baby son for the whole time they’ve been there, talking about the art degrees the kid has (Obi likes painting and sculpting in canon okay) and Jango is all ‘that’s great, he can paint his own wedding armor I’m sure it’ll be lovely’ and about how Obi-Wan is great with kids and loves to read ‘that’s great, he can entertain my father AND son at the same time’

And then the door slams open, and in comes a wild looking Xanatos, physically dragging a snarling young man who’s trying to bite through Xanatos’s wrist.

‘DAD HES TRYING TO REMOVE MY HAND’

‘Oh my. He’s not normally so… violent.’

‘THATS A FUCKING LIE AND YOU KNOW IT’

Anyways, Obi-Wan is eventually soothed into submission when Jango, who can’t stop laughing, asks if Obi-Wan really finds him so distasteful, cause he can just leave if so. Obi-Wan, after pulling his slightly bloody mouth off his brother’s arm with an air of dainty sweetness, just licks his chops and mentions Xanatos told him the Mandalorians would take away his pet Varactyl because they wouldn’t want Boga running around the city.

Jango just laughs even harder and tells him he can have whatever big dangerous pets he wants to. Obi-Wan gets up to go meet his new future husband and inform him that he would like a nexu. Jango says yes but also gifts him a new virodagger that makes Obi-Wan squeal about how pretty it is.

Jaster expected them to leave the planet with a very tenacious plan for breaking off the marriage but instead Jango is sighing lovingly and telling his new beloved that they shan’t be parted for much longer. Lovesick strill pups at first sight.

[ambeauty]

Ok let’s discuss partnership agreements for a quick second. I own a business and I have a partner. It’s common and it’s necessary to have a partnership agreements. It’s going to list the official profit share, how much time each partner is going to commit, what skill each partner brings to the business, and what factors are in place in case one partner wants to leave or dissolve the business. This is a very basic overview of a partnership agreement. Sydney needs this. It will legitimize her position as partner in the Bear. So Carmen extending this agreement to her is significant. He can’t necessarily force her not to leave but they have to have a protocol in place in case she wants to. It could get sticky but not if they follow the agreement. Unless she doesn’t sign it…

What’s strange to me is him saying “So I can push you and you can push me.” This makes me think he knows that he’s going to get toxic and he doesn’t want her to just walk out like she did in review. It’s like saying “for better or worse.” And also tell me when I’m fucking up because I don’t want you to leave. I have it in writing how much you mean to me and this business. So neither one of us can just fuck off when the going gets tough. Signing this agreement would make her (both of them) contractually committed to working things out with him even when it (he) gets difficult. That’s still a spiritual marriage. A business is a marriage and a (legal) marriage is a business.

[kazz-brekker]

congrats to colin bridgerton for being the least emotionally repressed of his siblings so far by (a) declaring he had romantic feelings for his love interest in a timely manner and (b) not almost marrying someone else beforehand

[science-lings]

That one video where this couple is getting married and after the vows are read the guy brings out his fiancées kid to give them their own set of vows and the wife is just in tears, anyway, that but with Narumitsu and Trucy.

Just… Edgeworth surprising Phoenix by giving Trucy her own ring and promising to love and protect her, like Phoenix loves her so much and Miles knows that and I’m sure the whole ‘being a father’ part of their relationship scared him at first bc of his past but he loves Trucy too! So Phoenix is just on the verge of bawling bc Edgeworth has grown past his fears and Trucy is his light and they’re a family. Okay yeah he’d be full on sobbing

[herrlichersonnigertag]

Do the tumblrinas know about Le Nozze di Figaro (1786, Mozart/Da Ponte)

[ratatatastic]

"im excited to be here [in Finland]" is the understatement of the century matthew ill be real

Primetime Panthers | 11.6.24 (x)