#the vasilis three

[pain-del-doge]

Days 13 to 17: Dance, Music, Flowers, Free Day, and Crab

Giving myself some few days off. Also, Free Day is just Aurora doing Luffy's Gear 5 pose lmao

[dostoyevsky-official]

Boris Spassky, who has died aged 88, was the gallant loser of the most famous match in chess history. The Russian champion conceded his world title to Bobby Fischer at Reykjavik in 1972, but gained a host of admirers for his sportsmanlike behaviour and dignity in defeat. When Fischer had failed to appear for the opening ceremony, Moscow wanted Spassky to claim victory by default and return home. But he had struck a bond of friendship with the American at their previous meetings, and agreed to a first game postponement that allowed the London financier Jim Slater to save the 24-game match by doubling the prize fund.

Spassky then won the first game after his opponent blundered, followed by the second when Fischer defaulted after a dispute over television cameras. The German arbiter Lothar Schmid arranged for game three to be played in a small backstage room, despite renewed opposition from Soviet officials. There was still a narrow escape at the start of the game when Fischer began to complain and Spassky headed for the door, so Schmid forcibly sat them at the board and demanded: “Play chess!”

Once he got into the match, Fischer proved in irresistible form and won five of the next eight games, effectively deciding the outcome. Spassky was stunned, but joined in the applause at the end of the impressive sixth game, and maintained his friendship with his rival when they analysed together at the final ceremony. He was also pragmatic, depositing his share of the prize money in a western bank in defiance of an edict that winnings should be handed to the USSR sports federation.

Spassky was born in Leningrad. Neither his father, Vasili, a construction engineer, nor his mother, Ekaterina Petrovna, a teacher, played chess, though his younger sister Irina became a USSR women’s draughts champion. Spassky first played chess at the age of five on a train during the evacuation of Leningrad to escape the German siege, but then forgot about the game until he returned home after the second world war. By then, his parents were divorced.

In the summer of 1946, Spassky began to visit a chess pavilion in the city’s Central Park and became obsessed with the game: “I used to go at 11am and return home at 11pm. When the pavilion closed in September it was like death, with no chess.” In 1947 he joined the Leningrad Palace of Pioneers (a youth centre for extracurricular activities), where the inspirational Vladimir Zak, who had coached several grandmasters, recognised his talent. At the age of 10, Spassky beat the world’s best player, Mikhail Botvinnik, in a simultaneous exhibition, and improved rapidly. By 15, he was the youngest ever Soviet master, with a positional and solid style.

[...] Spassky was cultured, handsome, calm and athletic. At college he was a high jumper and volleyball halfback, and after he lost the world title he became a keen tennis player. Sometimes he would arrive at chess games in tennis gear, put his racket beside the board, and agree a quick draw. His conversation was often ironic, and he was a mimic whose favourite targets were Lenin and Botvinnik. But he also had an introspective, modest and sometimes melancholy side to his character.

Spassky’s peak period in world chess was relatively short, and his rout by Fischer at Reykjavik was a career-defining moment, yet history is likely to regard him as a great champion. His harmonious and universal playing style combined grace with power, and his best games have the classic lucidity that can inspire amateurs. His forte was the middle game, where his imaginative yet sound and deeply planned strategy could erupt into decisive tactical attacks. His notable opening was the king’s gambit 1 e4 e5 2 f4, rarely seen at the top level, where his 16 wins and no losses included victories over Fischer and Karpov.

Spassky was unlucky in that he had to contend with Tal and Karpov at their peaks as well as with Fischer. As a personality, he was among the most articulate and likable of the world champions, a man who charmed ordinary fans while keeping the respect and admiration of his peers.

[pmamtraveller]

VASILI VLADIMIROVICH PUKIREV, THE UNEQUAL MARRIAGE, 1862

The scene resembles a highly theatrical moment in a play; the church's light casts upon the three central characters in the artwork; the bride, highlighting her sorrowful and lovely form, the aged and weary-looking groom, and the bent priest. Around the couple are different attendants and spectators whose reactions vary from apathy to intrigue.

The bride is positioned on the right, wearing a classic white wedding dress and a veil. With a downcast face and a solemn look, she holds a lit candle in her hand. In sharp contrast, the groom, an older serious-looking man, stands on the left, wearing formal clothing with a medal on his chest, holding a matching candle, and gazing at his future bride.

The inspiration for the painting originated from a specific true story; Pukirev’s acquaintance, Sergei Mikhailovich Varentsov, a young merchant, was deeply in love with a twenty-four-year-old woman named Sofya Nikolaevna Rybnikova. However, her parents believed it would be more advantageous for her to wed a wealthier and more accomplished man, a thirty-seven-year-old named Andre Aleksandrovich Karzinkin. Sergei was compelled to attend the wedding and witness his beloved wed another for family reasons; his brother Nikolai had married Karzinkin’s younger sister. Sergei subsequently expressed concerns about Pukirev's painting, prompting the artist to alter the artwork. Pukirev ultimately positioned himself behind the bride.

The artwork is filled with symbolism that enhances its story, in the backdrop of the ceremony, among the spectators, two older women wearing wreaths resembling that of the bride (one behind the groom to the left, and the other on the far left barely visible behind the priest), with one of them depicted in white garment. The woman is barely visible and is adjacent to the priest, a rare arrangement since regular guests aren’t allowed to stand beside the priest during the ceremony. This might imply that these women are not physically present but instead represent the deceased ex-wives of the groom.

"The Unequal Marriage" created a stir when it was initially displayed at the yearly academic exhibition in 1862. Both critics and the public were impressed by its impactful social critique and deep emotional resonance. The artwork's bold depiction of the disparity in arranged marriages struck a chord with audiences, igniting conversations about social conventions and the treatment of young women.

[arcadia-smith]

I need next part for that undercover story.

Previous.

Undercover part 2.

The next day, you found yourself in an empty safehouse, standing in front of a mirror, frowning at your reflection. Ghost sat on the couch behind you, arms draped lazily over the backrest, watching your attempt at "practicing" with barely concealed amusement.

"Alright," you muttered to yourself. "Confidence. It’s all about confidence."

"You talkin’ to yourself now?" Ghost asked, voice laced with mock concern.

You ignored him. Rolling your shoulders back, you turned around, putting on your best sultry expression. "Hey there," you purred, slowly walking toward him. "Buy me a drink?"

Ghost blinked. Then, he snorted. "You sound like you’re auditioning for a bad soap opera."

Your expression dropped. "Oh, piss off."

He shook his head, chuckling. "C’mon, you can do better than that."

You exhaled sharply, planting your hands on your hips. "Alright, fine, hotshot. If you’re such an expert, why don’t you show me how it’s done?"

Ghost didn’t hesitate. In a blink, he was on his feet, closing the distance between you with that predatory grace he always moved with. His large frame towered over yours, forcing you to tilt your head to meet his gaze.

Then, his voice dropped to a deep, smooth murmur. "That’s a lovely dress, darling," he rasped, his accent thicker, richer. His gloved fingers barely brushed your arm, and the lightest touch sent a ripple of heat down your spine. "You mind if I join you?"

Your brain short-circuited.

It took a solid three seconds for you to recover, and by the time you did, Ghost was smirking, clearly pleased with himself.

You shoved him lightly. "Alright, alright, I get it. You win."

His eyes twinkled with mischief. "That was barely trying, love."

You groaned. "I hate you."

"Not yet," he murmured. "But give it time."

Your stomach flipped again. This mission was going to be the death of you.

***

The mission had officially begun, and you were regretting every second of it.

Dressed in a sleek black dress—one that Ghost had oh-so-helpfully commented was “too short to be practical”—you walked into Vasily’s lavish club, the bass of the music thrumming under your feet. The room was drenched in dim golden light, the scent of expensive cigars and top-shelf liquor lingering in the air.

Your earpiece crackled.

“Alright, love,” Ghost’s voice filtered through, smooth but tinged with amusement. “Time to turn on the charm.”

You gritted your teeth, ignoring the way your pulse jumped at the sound of his voice. This wasn’t the time to be distracted by your insufferable partner.

Spotting Vasily at the VIP section, you took a deep breath and made your way over, putting extra effort into each step, letting your hips sway just enough to look natural.

"Easy now," Ghost murmured, voice like velvet in your ear. "Don’t rush it."

You resisted the urge to mutter shut up.

Vasily noticed you before you reached him, his gaze dragging up and down your figure like a man assessing his next meal. You fought the instinct to deck him on sight. Instead, you gave him your best coy smile.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked smoothly, channeling every ounce of fake confidence you could muster.

Vasily grinned, motioning to the seat beside him. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

Oh god. You wanted to gag.

But instead, you sat, crossing one leg over the other, leaning in just enough to seem interested.

Ghost’s voice hummed in your ear. “Good. Now keep him talking.”

Easier said than done.

Vasily leaned back, swirling his drink lazily. “And who might you be, beautiful?”

You offered a slow smile. “Just a traveler passing through.” You tilted your head, feigning curiosity. “But I’ve heard you own half this city. Thought I’d see for myself if the rumors were true.”

Vasily chuckled, clearly pleased by the flattery. “You hear a lot, then.”

You hummed, sipping your drink. “I listen to the right people.”

Ghost’s voice was quieter now, but still present. “Not bad, love. Keep him on his toes.”

As if it wasn’t nerve-wracking enough without his commentary.

Vasily leaned in slightly, his cologne thick and cloying. “And what else have you heard about me?”

That you’re a power-hungry bastard who needs to be taken down.

You smiled instead, tilting your glass toward him. “That you only deal with people you trust.”

His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Smart girl.”

Your pulse quickened. Not from excitement—no, this was the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if you’d fall or fly.

Ghost’s voice came again, softer this time. “Careful.”

Yeah, no pressure.

[atlabeth]

can i request a bridgerton au fic with nikolai? (i was reading not so simple earlier and was thinking about nikolai and now i can’t get the idea out of my head lol) maybe the reader isn’t the diamond of the season, so she has no idea why nikolai (A PRINCE!!) wants to court her

sweet relief

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!reader (bridgerton au!!!)

summary: you meet a striking stranger at your first ball, only to discover he is not a stranger at all.

a/n: thank you so much for requesting this man it was so much fun to write i got carried away!!! i hate nikolai and his charming self so much

wc: 3k

warning(s): none that i can think of ??

Nikolai is bored. 

In truth, he does not fully know why he is here. Vasily has already been declared as the catch of the season, and the heir to the throne is much more valuable than the second son. But he is back in London after years spent traveling—not in search of a wife, he might add, to the chagrin of his mother—and he supposes that is cause for some interest. 

In the most basic sense of the word, Nikolai is also a prince, though he hardly has claim to the title. Not with the rumors of his true parentage floating about. 

If he was lucky, he figured he’d find some fun around Mayfair. If he was unlucky, he will be forced to deal with swarms of eager debutantes and even more eager mamas. 

And at this ball, Nikolai has realized that he is unlucky. 

He’s already had to fight off a horde of eligible ladies and their mothers, and explain ten times over that he is not here to participate in the season, he is just here to visit family. He doesn’t think they’ve heard a single word he’s said. They only see the lack of a ring on his finger. 

It is why he has found himself in some corner of the ball, a glass of champagne—that he wished was brandy—held loosely in his hand as he tuned out the idle musings of the men he’d somehow ended up around. His eyes dart around the ballroom, looking for anything even remotely interesting to get him through this night. 

He catches a glimpse of a pair walking through the doors, a mother and a daughter that he recognizes as a debutante from earlier in the day, but before he is granted the chance for further inquisition, his thoughts are interrupted. 

“Your Highness,” someone says, and his attention is drawn from his glass to not just one, but three pairs of mothers and mares, surely trying to vye for his hand. “It is an honor to meet you.” 

“I was unaware of my popularity,” Nikolai says wryly, looking at each of the women in turn. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“The pleasure is all ours,” another mother says brightly, and he sees her nudge her daughter. “If I may introduce my daughter, Miss Eleanor Woodbridge?” 

Nikolai bows his head in greeting, and she curtsies. When Miss Woodbridge speaks, her head is still bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” 

“So I’ve already heard,” he remarks.

Her cheeks flush bright red as she stands back up, and the next mother begins to introduce her daughter, and then the next—a Miss Evelyn Frances and a Miss Anna Huntsbury. 

Nikolai ends up in a dance with Miss Huntsbury at the nudging of her mother, and though it is perfectly pleasant, he can’t fully enjoy it with all of the eyes on him.

It is not as if he doesn’t enjoy attention. He is perfectly fine with being the center of attention, with being adored by women, with dancing and balls and all sorts of revelry. 

But this— especially after his travels to other countries, away from good society and the expectations of nobles— is so unbelievably predictable. All of these mothers attempting to find their daughter a husband, only interested in Nikolai because of a title he likely won’t earn. He doubts a single one cares of the man behind the Lantsov brand. 

But a second prince is better than no prince at all, and thus the moment he is off the dance floor, he is once again swarmed by women. 

He allows an inward sigh as he plasters on a smile. 

It is going to be a very long night. 

-

You are inexplicably nervous. 

You’ve just debuted and you are already in attendance of a ball. God, why must they hold the season’s first ball the night of all the debuts? You haven’t even had the afternoon to soak everything in—to truly absorb the fact that you must search for a husband—as your mother and lady’s maid spent every moment ensuring you were the image of perfection for tonight. 

In your mother’s opinion, they succeeded. But you already feel as if you are suffocating in your gown.

You are not the diamond, but in truth, you are thankful for it. There is already a huge weight on your shoulders to make a match—you could not imagine having the queen’s eye on you the entire time. You wished luck to Miss Jasmine, both that she could avoid horrendous suitors and the queen’s ire. 

Your mother says your name softly as you cross the threshold into the ballroom, immediately overtaken by the dancing and the musicians and glittering jewels. “Are you alright?” 

You shake your head rapidly. “No, Mother, I do not think I am alright. I am at my first ball of the season and I believe I may pass out.” 

She breathes a loose laugh as she shakes her head as well. “You’ve nothing to be nervous about. You will shine just as you always have, my love. I’ve no doubt that a suitor will see that.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” you huff. “I’ve equal fear both of finding a husband and not finding one. How is one meant to dread both of their options?” 

“You’ve nothing to be nervous about, and nothing to be afraid of,” she repeats, “and certainly nothing to dread. I’m sure by the end of the night, you will have suitors lining up for a chance at your affections.” 

You truly doubt that, but you do not voice anymore of your concerns. Your mother has already done you a favor working through so many of them with you—the least you can do is smile prettily and dance a time or two. 

And you do. More than you imagined—your mother sends you away to fetch glasses of lemonade after a few minutes of idle chatter, and after you’ve poured the first glass you are approached by your first suitor. 

Lord Kenneth Barham, son of the Earl Pritchard. You’ve no idea what a man of title is doing around you, but he is agreeable and kind throughout your first dance. Had you the ability, you would have stayed by his side for the rest of the night only so you could avoid the rest of your expected debutante duties. 

But you do not, and so after a respectful if not slightly boring conversation between the two of you and your mother, he parts ways with the promise to call on you. You are not granted reprieve, to your mother’s delight, and it is not until a near full hour of dancing that you are able to get away. 

You slip away while your mother is busy discussing things with the Baron Ashford and his son, and you have never been so thankful for the outdoors when the cool air hits your skin. 

You let out a long, deep breath as you attempt to calm yourself. Things are going well, much better than you expected—you are already expecting five gentlemen to call on you by the morrow, three of which are titled. 

But you are not even halfway through the ball, and you are already exhausted. Your feet ache and you’ve grown weary of the weight of jewelry on your head and wrists and neck. You’ve truly no idea how you are meant to make it through the entirety of the season, if it is like this. 

“I apologize, my lady. I was unaware there was another out here.” 

You turn around and hold back a sigh. Even in your attempts to be alone, men still find you. 

“I do not have a claim to these gardens,” you say wryly. “You are free to roam.” 

He chuckles as he nods, and he takes another few steps towards you. “I wish not to roam—just to take after you and wrestle out a moment for myself in this schedule.” 

“Then you have picked a wonderful spot,” you say with a nod. “I will give you time to enjoy it on your own.” 

You start on your way, but he steps in your way. “There is no need, my lady. I already rather enjoy your company.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “You have been in it for but a moment.” 

“And what a lovely moment it has been,” he says. 

Normally, irritation would have won over by now. You should not be out here with a man unchaperoned, and you truly just want to be alone for a moment—you’ve a myriad of reasons to stick to your bearings and leave. 

But you have to admit, he is agreeable. His blonde hair is artfully styled, he’s dressed rather finely, and his hazel eyes seem to twinkle as he looks at you with a smile.

“...Alright,” you say, and you decide to stay in place for now. “Have you a name, good sir?”

“You can call me Lord Sturmhond,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow. “I apologize, my lord. I’ve not yet heard of you.” 

“That just means I am all the more able to make a good impression,” he says, his smile only growing. “Which is rather imperative with a lady such as yourself.” 

You feel your cheeks grow warm, and you bite back a smile of your own. “You are quite the charmer. It could be quite scandalous for us to be found alone.” 

“You needn’t worry,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I doubt anyone will leave the ballroom. They are all too focused on the visiting princes.” 

Your eyes widen. “There are princes here?” 

“The Lantsovs,” he nods, and this time his eyebrows rise. “Had you not heard?” 

“...My mother may have told me, but it would not come as a shock if I neglected to listen,” you say sheepishly. You let out a deep sigh as you wring your gloved hands together. “I should be all the more thankful to be out here with you, then. The only thing to come of my meeting a prince would be disaster.” 

“Oh, I surely doubt it,” Lord Sturmhond says. “I enjoy your presence, and I enjoy your conversation. I believe the princes would feel the same.” 

“You flatter me, my lord, but I am in doubt.” Your gaze drifts off to the sky as you take a moment to appreciate the stars. “Truthfully, I am out here because I am overwhelmed. I’ve spent the hour dancing and in conversation with various men, and already I have had to venture out here for reprieve.” 

“All of this takes practice,” he says. “It is an unreasonable expectation for debutantes to be thrust into the season and perform perfectly. None of this is a light matter, and yet it is treated as one.” 

You sigh. “I just cannot imagine doing this for so many more months. It is going to be a very long season.” 

Lord Sturmhond chuckles. “I have thought the exact same thing tonight, my lady.” 

You find yourself smiling, freer and more genuine than anything you’d mustered earlier in the night. The other men you’d met were fortunately kind, but you just felt… different out here, with him. 

There were no eyes on you, meaning you did not need to act the pinnacle of propriety. That must have been the difference—not the man himself. 

In the distance, you can hear the changing melody of the strings, signaling the start of a new dance. Your eyes fall to your dance card, and as you read the last few names, you remember you still owe three more dances. You bite back a very unladylike curse. 

“I apologize, my lord,” you say, hurrying through a curtsy as you begin to back your way towards the ball. “I really must be going. My mother will have my head should I stay out here any longer.” 

“I understand.” Lord Sturmhond catches up to you in a few quick strides and he takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks. Your breath catches as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, and your heart hammers in your chest even with the barrier of your glove. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” His hazel eyes are nothing less than enchanting as they focus entirely on you, and had you any less sense, you could easily find yourself talking away the hours of the night with him. “Have confidence. I am sure this night will go your way should you wish it.” 

“It was a pleasure to meet you as well, my lord,” you say. “I hope it is not too forward of me to wish on our meeting again.” 

“Do not worry,” he says. “We will.” 

You open your mouth to ask him how he can be so sure, but the strings grow louder and you huff a sigh. In lieu of another goodbye, you nod and grin at the lord before you rush back indoors. 

Your mother doesn’t berate you when you appear by her side again, so you were not gone for too long. You get through your next three dances, and your last suitor is just leaving when your mother jabs you in the side. 

“Darling, the queen is coming our way,” she whispers. “And she has the Lantsov princes with her.” 

You nearly collapse just at that combination of words, but you hold fast—quite literally, as your hold tightens on your mother’s arm. You are thankful to the Lord Sturmhond for alerting you to the presence of princes tonight, for your shock would be exponential without it. 

“Why are they coming our way?” you ask. 

“They have been making the rounds together,” she says. “Straighten your back.” 

You do, and then you nearly collapse yet again when your eyes meet those of one prince. 

Those gorgeous hazel eyes stare back at yours—you know yours are as wide as dinner plates, despite your attempts to hold back—and he gives you that same damned smile, bowing his head ever so slightly as if to acknowledge your meeting. 

You met the prince. 

You told the prince of all your worries. 

You were kissed on the hand by the prince. 

You only hear your mother saying your name when she nudges your shoulder, snapping you out of your reverie. You blink and look at her, then to the queen.

“Your Majesty,” you rush out, ducking into your best bow, “Your Highnesses. It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”  

The queen greets you and your mother with your surname, and though all your attention is on her, you can still feel the prince looking at you. 

“Have you met my sons, Vasily and Nikolai?” she asks. 

Vasily bows politely, respectful but reserved. “A pleasure, my lady.” 

You curtsy in return, and your Lord Sturmhond steps forward. You are thankful, at least, to put a name to the lying face. 

“It is a pleasure to meet such a beauty,” Nikolai says. He takes your hand and bows down to press a kiss to it, and your skin burns from his touch just as it did out in the gardens. He does not let go when he straightens, instead looking to your mother. “I do not wish to end our meeting prematurely, but I would love to have this dance.” 

“Of course!” your mother exclaims. “It would be her honor, Your Highness.” 

Nikolai nods and smiles, looking back to you for your permission. You nod as well through your haze, and he leads you out to the dance floor. It takes a moment for you to fully come back into yourself, and it only occurs once he has laid his hands in the correct position. His feather light touch is like lightning. 

“I did tell you we would meet again,” Prince Nikolai says, that sure smile on his lips yet again. Had it not been for your years of dance lessons, your weakened knees would not be enough to carry you through this waltz. “Did I not?” 

“...You did,” you say. “But you did not tell me you were a prince.” 

“I find it invites unnecessary pressure,” he says. “Did you not enjoy our time together?” 

“...I did,” you say again, unsure of your words. 

“And I am proven right in your manner,” the prince says. “You spoke so easily in the gardens, and now you seem to be putting thought into each syllable.” 

“You— you are a prince,” you repeat, your still-lingering shock making you speak plainer than you intend. “Of course I am putting thought into my words.” 

“You needn’t worry around me,” Nikolai says. “I am just another man in London.” 

“You are a prince.” 

“As we have established,” he nods, and when you let out a light huff he grins. “You have a lovely smile.” 

“As do you,” you say, and you shake your head. “I cannot believe you allowed me to make a fool of myself out there.” 

Nikolai frowns. “However did you make yourself a fool?” 

“You allowed me to ramble!” you exclaim. “I told you of my worries, of being overwhelmed, of all my thoughts—” 

“And what is the problem with that?” he asks. 

“It is unseemly to complain to a prince,” you insist. 

“We see our meeting quite differently, then,” he says. “For I left it with a most favorable image of you, and a wish to see you again.” He cocks his head. “Did you not leave with the same?” 

“...I did,” you say after a moment. 

Your conversation stalls for a moment as you part from each other, following the steps of the dance, before joining back again. His hand is sure in yours, startling but welcome warmth. 

“Then I do not see the issue,” the prince says. 

“You have made this night all the longer,” you intone. “Your attention makes me something of a target among the ladies of the ton.” 

“Do not worry,” he says, that irritatingly pretty smile aimed at you yet again. “I believe we can get through it together.” 

“Together?” you ask. 

“You wished to meet again,” Nikolai says. “I plan to grant that wish several times over.” 

“...I would like that,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

“And just to think,” he says, amused, “you said your meeting with a prince would be a disaster.” 

[salemssimblr]

My Top 24 Screenshots Renders of 2024!

I was tagged by the so many lovely mutuals and creators! Thank you @elderwisp, @savagemagician3, @sikoi, @blvckentropy, @mosneakers, & @azeterna! I love yall so much!

I'm so sorry, despite my very best efforts I couldn't choose just 24, so have 30 instead 😅

Looking at all these together, I'm worried I may have plateau'd just a bit 😅 No but in reality, it's really cool to see that I've refined my style and methods over the year, starting in January and continuing it all through 2024. Seeing progress and improvement is one of my favorite things about this process, so doing these recaps is always enjoyable.

January:

Looking back, I'm still so proud of the first dancing set of renders for Ariss & Vasily, and who could forget the first Alice sighting?? I can't, look at her.

February:

February was a bit of a slow month for me but I still love how this A+tM album cover came out!

March:

March was a bit slower, but I love this set of Ariss (:

April:

April was a goood month, I'm still so in love with all three of these.

May:

MerMay was lacking for me a bit this year, but I really love how my contribution turned out (: & this spicy render of Ariss & Vasily is one of my favorites, if for no other reason than his little fang peek.

June:

June was all about Alice + the Madness! & like LEGIT? I still can't believe I made this Rolling Stone cover? I have a secret, I've tried to make another one for Alice, but nothing has or probably will ever look as good as this one so I've given up lmfaoooo

& this render of Erisande was such a labor of love. I sat down and said it'd be really quick and then spent hours editing meshes and adjusting the lighting... but then, that always happens with me and "quick" renders 😅

July:

Bit of a slow month, but I'm still so floored (& happy!) about the love Millie has gotten! This isn't even a completed render and it's one of my most well-received posts to date haha, but I can't blame anyone, look how cute she is.

August:

Ramping up into spooky season we have two of my favorite renders of all time, my "bog demon" and mothwoman! As obsessed as I am with Ariss and Vasily, it's really nice to do creative one-off renders and these were both SO FUN to do. I hope to do more in the new year too (:

September:

This iconic portrait of Ariss will always be one of my favorites (& is actually my computer's wallpaper rn, but a version updated with her 'new' tattoos), & this render of Kai could definitely be improved on (maybe in the new year...) but it was a really fun challenge! I do see flaws in it now but that's growing and learning!

October:

October was (not surprisingly) a very busy month for me! The idea for the render of Theo & Millie had been rolling around in my head since I first created them, & while the end result wasn't exactly what I was envisioning, I still really love how it turned out.

& though this set of renders for Ariss & Vasily took me FOR-FUCKING-EVER, and I see a lot of flaws even now (after trying my damnedest to have NONE), I still really love it. The end result/edit/colorway was NOT what I planned but I really fell in love with it.

November:

November, the month of ambitious scene-building, pose-making, and upping my skin shader game in a BIG way. I spent literal hours perfecting Ariss' new tattoo, and literal days building the scene for that gorgeous render of Kai.

& I'm so glad yall love that pose set! It was definitely a learning experience and a labor of love.

December:

Looking at this overview, December has been dark and spicy lmfao but I actually love it. Once again, all of these took wayyyy longer than I thought they would when I sat down to start them, but I'm genuinely in love with all three!

& that's a wrap (so far) on 2024! I'm having surgery tomorrow so not sure I'll be able to create/post anything else this year, but I have big plans for 2025! So stay tuned (:

I'm tagginggggggg @kuroashims, @a-m-pyra. @acidheaddd, @gothoffspring, @pralinesims, @thebramblewood, @moonfromearth, @nepotisim, & YOU, I want to see all your creations!

(There were a LOT more creators I wanted to tag but I saw yall have already done this!)

[sentient-stove]

“Silly boy, do you know where your heart is?”

Same place it’s always been, he assumes. Stuck under his rib cage and nestled between his lungs. Leo tilted his head to mimic the cat and tapped over his coat, right where his heart would be.

“Here.”

“Maybe now, maybe then, maybe in a hundred deep breaths. Your heart isn’t there when it needs to be little human-god.”

“Will you tell me where it is then?”

“And what will you give me? You’re the one who needs entrance here, not me.” They yawned, teeth sharp and yellowed with age. “Why should I offer freely?”

“I don’t know cat, I already gave you half a rabbit. And some of my memories to a pooka twice over.”

When the cat yawns again, their head folds backwards, jaw unhinging to lead off their body disappearing. The branch springs up, as if the cat leapt off it and Leo’s backpack suddenly feels just a bit heavier.

“Along the edge of the knife, slips the sinew and vein, sawed bone and a heart in the enemy’s paled palms.” The cat hissed in his ear. “Without it, the heartless wander forever and ever and ever.”

Delightful.

Leo already hates it here.

“Metaphorically, right?”

“Why of course half-god child.”

[fyxestroll]

The Unequal Marriage

pairing: sanguinius x reader (fem.)

description: marrying an angel sounded like something straight out of a fairytale but in your reality, it was exchanging one gilded cage for another.

warnings: implications/allusions to acts of self harm by reader, forced marriage (this isn't yandere), overall angst and reader not having a fun time

notes: prequel to this fic. wanted to write abt marrying sanguinius in a fluffy way but this came out instead. this fic was inspired by a painting of the same name by vasily pukire, belated sanguinala everyone!

As a child, you would find your mother staring at her window for hours, peering into the port and the seas beyond. You’ve read of her adventures, of her mapping out the ever-changing isles on this planet. She was a legend, a hero larger than life and at that time you did not understand why she ever stopped. 

And maybe to comfort or encourage—you’ve long forgotten the reason, you would spend your free time reading her her discoveries and experiences. Sometimes, you'd even do reenactments and make her smile sadly.

She neither spoke nor formed a tight bond with you and even as a child you always felt like she should’ve hated you.

But she didn’t. 

And you don’t know why.

And now she's gone.

And now you’re the one staring out that damned window andandandandandandand–

Inhale.

Exhale.

‘You’ve cried enough so don’t. Ground yourself.’

The dress you wear feels too tight and your head hangs heavy with the various accessories pinned on your hair. In an hour you are to be married. That was final.

You’ve cried, screamed, and begged your father to do anything but this but the old man remained steadfast in his decision. This is the best-case scenario, you know that and you, a single sacrificial lamb, traded for what the court deemed an alliance is a far better deal than war with those things.

Humans, they called themselves but you’ve seen them up close, you’ve seen their leader and you know they aren’t. Humans can’t grow as tall, can’t wear hulking masses of armor, can’t fight the way they do and they most definitely did not have wings.

On the rare occasions you’ve managed to interact with these Astartes, you’ve always found yourself unnerved. Their politeness did little to hide how unnerving their visage was like they were something else underneath their skin. That rang true, especially for their leader, the Angel.

He is the one you are to be married to. The thought fills you with dread.

Your hand brushes against the windowsill. From here you could see the ships and clamor of the people as they go about their lives. It looked like a normal day, not a princess’ wedding day. 

‘Can I do this?’ You ask yourself. Can you take the hand of this Angel? Can you find it in yourself to take oaths foreign to you?  Can you leave everything you know behind? 

‘No, I cannot.’

And wasn’t that the truth? 

Adjusting your skirts, you sit on the window sill, waiting and letting your mind wander. You could jump off now, and taste freedom briefly before escaping in death like a maiden in a fairytale. 

But you don’t. 

Resistance in the form of self-harm is useless with the Astartes guarding your door. They’d stop you in no time and you, yourself have grown tired of fighting. One last act of defiance would only make things worse.

Eventually, after an hour the door opens and Soledad—your maidservant, enters. She’s dressed in fine robes and accessories fit for joyous occasions such as a wedding but her eyes held no such mirth.

“It’s time.” She states like an executioner.

Wordlessly, you stand up, a heavy weight on the pit of your stomach. You feel like throwing up but you force yourself to move. Soledad makes her way to your side, standing three steps behind as she has done for years. She makes no move to adjust the bunched-up trail of your wedding dress—a final act of resistance, a show of discontent and solidarity to you.  The Astartes standing guard at your door follow, flanking you on either side.

It feels like you were marching to your death and in a way it was.

The palace gardens were beautiful, as always but you could not admire the greenery with the amount of people in it. 

Members of the court, military and of course the large hulking walls of armor that were the Astartes standing in rapt attention. Their intimidating helmets had been forgone, revealing surprisingly angelic—ancestors above you’re getting tired of that word, faces. At the far end, in front of an altar stood two people a woman in an unfamiliar military uniform and the Angel himself.

From your left, your father comes, takes your hand, and leads you down the aisle with a firm hold as if he feared you would run. You wished his fears could’ve come true.

“Be good.”  Your father whispers before leaving you to stand in front of the Angel. 

The officiant clears her throat, “We are gathered here today to witness the union between Lord Primarch Sanguinius and…” ‘So the Angel does have a name.’ “Heir apparent and Chancellor of Rights.” She turns to the crowd, “If any have reason to object speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The attendees stay silent. Good for them.

You bite the insides of your cheek, the unlikely possibility of someone objecting dying that very moment. It takes all of your willpower not to let out a cry or a scream and so you force yourself to look directly infront of your soon-to-be husband. Except, you don’t see his face let alone meet his eyes. You’d have to look up for that so you only see your reflection on the shined gold of his armor.

The sight of your face made you want to cry more.

“Bride,” the woman’s steely blue gaze bores into you, “Your vows.”

Vows? You were not made aware that marriages in the Imperium needed vows.

“I…do not have any.” Your statement sparks whispers among the crowd and for a moment you feared you’ve angered the delegation but neither the groom nor the officiant make a comment on it. The woman proceeds with the ceremony, “Then please join hands.”

Finally, you see the Angel’s face up close   and like the Astartes he leads he’s beautiful, ethereal. His wavy blonde hair frames a face that was equally chiseled and soft and highlights his unnatural ruby red eyes. A circlet of gold rests on his head and as it shined in the late afternoon sun it reminded you of a halo. It made him appear all the more inhuman.

“Under the light of the Emperor of Mankind, Sanguinius, do you take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Your stomach sinks.

“Do you swear to accompany her, so long as you both shall live?”

Gently, he squeezes your hands and meets your gaze, “I do.” The kindness his eyes hold make you sick.

“And you,” The officiant looks to you, “do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you swear to devote yourself to him so long as you both shall live?”

“I…” The slight change in wording doesn’t escape you. If anything it only assures that your  feeling of dread isn’t unreasonable. The hands holding yours are far larger and you’ve seen what they were capable of. If you tried to run it wouldn’t be a problem for him to yank you back and the kindness in his eyes gave no assurance he wouldn’t.

“I do.” You breathe out. It feels like admitting defeat.

“Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you as Husband and Wife, lawfully wedded!”

There are claps, cheers and clanks of armor but you can tell its superficial on your people’s side. The Astartes are much harder to read, their faces neutral through the whole ordeal. Sang-the Angel lets go of your hands and you turn to face the crowd as newlyweds.

The sounds of celebration becomes muffled to your ears as if someone stuffed cotton in them. A quick glance at your future husband lets you see a look catch a look of concern etched on his brows. You ignore it, putting on a smile and forcing yourself into the image of a blushing bride as a lone tear escapes your eye.

‘What now?’ You can’t help but wonder.

[hyyper]

Modern AU that started as a joke, but ended up taking longer than I wanted. I won't be finishing this comic, sigh. I still like the story and overall relationship dynamics, so I'm sharing.

I like giving Vasily the liberty of being an artist w/o restraints, and I think the three of them would have a funny friendship.

[city-of-ladies]

Söyembikä, regent of Kazan

"Söyembikä (c. 1516-after 1554), ruler of the khanate of Kazan, one of the successor states to the Turko-Mongol state of the Golden Horde, located in the middle Volga basin around the confluence of the Volga and Kama rivers.

From 1549 until 1551, Söyembikä ruled in the name of her minor son Utamesh-Garay, before Muscovite Russia took Kazan in 1552. In Tatar national history Söyembikä symbolizes her people’s helpless resistance to Russian invaders. She has been the subject of popular stories, tales, epics, and paintings.

Söyembikä was the daughter of Yusuf (d. 1554), the ruler of the Noghay horde, one of the kingdoms that arose from the breakup of the Golden Horde in modern-day southern Russia. Söyembikä lived in a period of great uncertainty: Noghay, Crimean, and Kazan princes competed to revive the Golden Horde, and Muscovite rulers sought to protect and expand their territory beyond the Volga to the southeast. The grand princes of Moscow paid tribute to the successors of their former suzerains, the Golden Horde, but they also involved themselves in their dynastic disputes. 

The Noghay princess Söyembikä became the wife of three successive khans in the middle Volga basin: Jan Ali (or Cangali, r. 1533-1535), Safa-Garay (r. 1536-1549), and Shah Ali (or Şahgali, r.1553). Her marriage to the pro-Muscovite Jan Ali was politically motivated and received the blessing of the Russian grand prince Vasili III (r. 1505-1533), who wished to secure his southern frontier from future Noghay incursions. The anti-Muscovite party in Kazan assassinated Jan Ali, and Söyembikä married the pro-Noghay Crimean Tatar Safa-Garay, a descendant of Genghis Khan. Her new husband ended up alienating non-Tatar indigenous peoples of the middle Volga. 

Following the death of Safa-Garay in 1549, Söyembikä became regent for their two-year-old son, Utamesh-Garay. Russian chroniclers described Soyembika as a “lioness” who was energetic, beautiful, and wise. As regent she sought military help from neighboring Muslim states to resist Russian encroachment. Despite all her efforts she was caught between pro-Muscovite and pro-Crimean parties inside her government and proved unable to stop Ivan the Terrible of Moscow (r. 1533-1584) from gaining the support of the non-Tatar peoples of the Volga basin and Tatars who resented the presence of Crimeans on their soil.

In August 1551 a new pro-Muscovite government arrested both mother and son and sent them to Moscow. A year later Ivan the Terrible took Kazan. Exiled in Kasimov, Söyembikä was forced to marry Shah Ali, the pro-Russian khan of Kasimov, and separate herself from her son, who was baptized under the name of Alexander. Her son died in 1566; Söyembikä’s date of death is still unknown, as is the site of her grave.

Numerous Tatar traditions kept her memory alive, praising her for her strong opposition to Moscow. Some stories affirm that she warned Safa-Garay of the imminent fall of the kingdom and brought poisoned food and a poisoned shirt to the pro-Muscovite Shah Ali. Others say that in 1550 she appeared in arms to defend the city of Kazan. Others claim that Ivan the Terrible had heard of Söyembikä’s beauty and wanted to marry her, but the proud queen refused and the tsar took Kazan, imprisoned her, and asked for her hand again. Söyembikä promised to marry him only if he built her a high tower in the kremlin in seven days. With the help of the finest artisans, Ivan fulfilled her demand, but when the tower was finished, Söyembikä climbed to the top and jumped to her death. The Tower of Söyembikä, a former watchtower or minaret, still stands in the Kazan kremlin, but it was probably built in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, long after the queen’s death. The monument may bear Söyembikä’s name because she prayed at her husband’s nearby tomb before she left the city. 

The Tatar historian Hadi Atlasi (1876-1938), who presented Söyembikä as a model of courage and piety for all girls, indicated that women liked to read the Qur an at this sacred place and make wishes. Finally, the well-known “Lament of Söyembikä,” written in the first person, has long symbolized the historical fate of the Tatars, who became the subjects of a non-Muslim state after the conquest of Kazan in 1552."

Kefeli Agnes, Smith Bonnie G. (eds.). The Oxford Encyclopedia of Women in World History

[arcadekitten]

Out of the main five witch one likes what kid? (That sounds so wrong.. basically what I'm trying to say is Wich of the would get along with Wich kid most? Like would Vasilis get along with Embry or sunny getting along with Mary something like that! :3)

Oh that's an interesting one! Hmm...

Mary - I have to say she'd like Ryo because they used to be connected back in old no-longer-canon canon! Ryo was practicing being a witch and Mary was one of his familiars. Mary was also originally supposed to cameo in Crowscare for this reason!

I think they'd get along well ever still. Ryo thinks Mary is a little creepy but also finds her cool in that way, and Mary is happy to be thought of as "cool". Mary also encourages Ryo to be safe and helps patch him up after any mishap.

Reginald - I'm not sure if she counts as a child, she's a teenager, but I would say Aubrey. Aubrey hasn't appeared in anything except Blackout Hospital and she doesn't even have a speaking role yet, but the two are fairly close and I'd love to explore their relationship more in future projects.

If Aubrey doesn't count, then I'd probably say Embry. Especially considering Reginald was originally supposed to be the person who helped Embry in their story (again, back in now non-canon). Embry is a fairly quiet and "well-behaved" child, and I'm sure Reginald appreciates the lower energy vibe that Embry has compared to other kids.

Vasilis - Again, probably Embry...but both of them also have a bit of sass to them as well, so I could see them butting heads every now and again. Still, like with Reginald, Vasilis appreciates the lower energy vibes and how Embry is good at keeping themself entertained.

Crowven - I would say Necrotary, Sunny, and maybe even Mallory. Those three girls love to play pretend and go on adventures and Crowven would excitedly encourage them and even play along. Of course, they too might butt heads if Crowven says it's time to leave the park or it's time to get ready for bed(like a babysitter, I'm imagining). Still, though, hyperactive kids + a hyperactive adult usually leads to a lot of playtime and probably too much ice cream

Twyla - I would not trust Twyla around a child at all. I wouldn't even say Embry despite their low energy because Twyla is the type of person who is not afraid to threaten/scare a child into submission. Do not trust her with that mess!

[veneritia]

When Comes The Dawn | The Agonia

When Kaelstansa the Great felt the gaze of the Lantern Bearer turn to him, he looked upon his children and wondered which of them would have the means to continue his legacy. That night, when he laid his weary head to rest, the Fortune Weaver appeared in his dreams in the guise of a golden bird. “Set before them three challenges, beloved-of-mine,” commanded the goddess. “One for strength, one for guile, and the last to test their character. The one who passes all three will have my blessing, and your kingdom shall reign forever in glory.” — The Aetieriana

The Agonia: a colloquial term in the Aetierian Empire, referencing the endless battle between imperial heirs for the right to ascend to the imperial throne. Though having evolved from the King’s Game, this term is neither used nor referenced in any codified works of law.

THE KING'S GAME

Unlike the majority of kingdoms in Raia, the Empire of Aetier had no official rules that dictated the succession of the crown. Its founding ruler, King Kaelstansa the Great, set the precedent of the monarch choosing their heir regardless of birth order, forgoing the standards of male primogeniture and decreeing that only the most capable of his children would succeed him on the throne. He determined this by devising a game: a set of three challenges designed to test his children’s mettle, known by historians today as The King’s Game. While the exact nature of these challenges have been lost to history, the concept of testing each vi Aetier scion carried throughout the generations until—

THE DECADE OF BLOOD

The reign of Vasilier Belisarius II saw a great upheaval in the imperial court, owing in part to the increasing political power of the Serarium—the members of the imperial harem. As the primary parental figures of imperial heirs, members of the Serarium had a vested interest in the line of succession, often using their own families to advance their child’s position in the Vasilier’s eyes. However, the latter half of Belisarius II’s reign saw this struggle for power turn deadly. For years the imperial court was plagued with a string of murders, stillbirths, and conspiracies as consorts and heirs sabotaged one another to increase their chances of winning The Agonia before an official challenge was even designed.

In an attempt to end the tensions at court and the bloodbath in the Harem, Belisarius II made plans to hold an official Game to finally pick his heir. But before he could issue the challenge, tragedy struck when Belisarius II perished during a hunting a trip. With the Vasilier dead and no official heir appointed, the fight for the throne became a free-for-all.

Belisarius II’s consort-prima managed to quickly seize the imperial throne and the military surrounding Reanopoli— the old capital of Aetier—eliminated rival heirs within the capital, and crowned her twelve-year-old son, Atreus, the new Vasilier. She, along with her family, the House of Thysestes, formed a regency council and attempted to wrest control of the empire from the House of Aetier.

However, the House of Thyestes’ rule would not remain unchallenged as one of Belisarius II’s surviving children, Imperessor Leo vi Aetier, quickly returned in the middle of his Venusian Campaign upon hearing of his father’s death. The ten year civil war—the first since Aetier’s founding—saw immeasurable casualties on both sides, and eventually culminated into Imperessor Leo’s victory. After he was coronated as Vasilier Leo III on the summer solstice, he ordered for all mentions of Atreus and the House of Thysestes to be eradicated from history. Atreus was stripped of all his titles and his family name, and was executed along with the remaining members of House Thysestes at the age of twenty-one, a few days shy of his birthday.

THE ERA OF THREE CROWNS

Since the Decade of Blood, Aetierian history has been plagued by numerous civil wars, but none have had greater impact on the wider geopolitical landscape and the rules of the Agonia than the Era of Three Crowns.

Among Vasilier Arsenios I’s vast brood of children, three stood above the rest: Reilma-Imperessor Justinian, Kaisarim of Paros; Reilma-Imperessa Athanasia, Kaisarim of Iorousia; and Reilma-Imperessor Valens, Kaisarim of Kelainai. Equally talented, equally powerful, and equally backed by strong supporters, the Empire held its breath as the question of which among the three scions would inherit the imperial throne. Despite knowing that each of his three children were poised for another civil war, Arsenios I was reluctant to formally declare an heir, insistent on keeping the delicate balance of powers at the Imperial Court for as long as possible.

Only after his death did Arsenios I declare his chosen successor in his will— Justinian. But Justinian’s appointment was quickly contested by his half-siblings, accusing him and his family of conspiracy and forging an imperial edict as Aresnios I’s will was “found” by Justinian’s supporters.

The empire was quickly plunged into another civil war as each imperial heir declared themselves the true Vasilier and accused the others of being usurpers. From there, they split the empire into three territories: Justinian ruling from the Aetierian capital of Kaelstanopoli, Athanasia ruling to the east from Iorousia, and Valens governing the western territories from Kelainai. Eventually, Valens will move his seat of power to the province of Isidore, where the old capital of Reanopoli resides.

The repeated deadlocks and stalemates between all three sides had Aetier cracking at the seams. It was only when a fourth party—the kingdom of Leohthal—attempted to invade Valens’ territories to the West did the balance of power shift. With Valens distracted by the threat to his borders, Athanasia took this opportunity to push straight into the heart of Justinian’s territory, surprising his forces, capturing him, and then shaking his supporters by publishing the Artensian Papers. These papers were a confession, allegedly handwritten by Justinian’s mother before her death where she states that Justinian was sired by a knight errant. For Justinian—who already did not possess the trademark vi Aetier silver eyes—the Artensian Papers marred his reputation in a way that it could never recover from.

After being through the streets of Kaelstanopoli as a bastard pretender and usurper, Justinian was sentenced to death by beheading. Athanasia hung his severed head outside the walls of the city as a warning to Valens of the fate that would await him.

THE GREAT SCHISM

However the aftermath of Athanasia’s victory against Justinian and Valens’ successful repelling of the Leohthalian invasion left both sides severely weakened and unable to continue their conflict with each other. After a series of intense negotiations, Valens reluctantly agreed to relinquish his claim over the Aetierian throne and acknowledge Athanasia as the rightful Vasilier. In exchange, Valens was allowed to secede with his current territories in the west, creating the kingdom of Hesperia and establishing the House of Deominos as the ruling line with himself at the head.

Though Valens did not succeed in gaining the Aetierian throne for himself, he did manage to claim Kaelstansa’s ancestral lands in Reanopoli, as well as Kaelstansa’s burial grounds, which was a great blow to Aetierian pride.

THE SCION'S CODE

Seeing the devastation their civil war caused, Vasilier Athanasia I wanted to find a way to prevent competing claimants for the throne once an heir had been chosen. Her grand solution was instituting the Scion’s Code, an imperial edict that makes it lawful for the ascending heir to execute their siblings under the pretext of maintaining stability for the empire and the benefit of its citizens. Though kinslaying had thus been an age-old tradition at this point of the House of Aetier, this Scion’s code now made it legal and acceptable without having to find a more justifiable cause.

“The Agonia” as a term saw a resurgence after the Scion’s Code was passed. Instead of referring to the original King’s Game, or even the many great civil wars of the past, the Agonia now referred to the deadly games of succession played between imperial heirs, the harem, and the imperial court. No longer are the games of succession done for the sake of ambition, now it was one of survival. An empire or an execution. A crown or an axe. Victory or Death.

The Agonia is bloody. The players are ruthless. And for most imperial children, the game begins at birth.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-)

@bloomingwrites @writinglyra @zmwrites @trapped-inadystopianovel @inky-duchess @aalinaaaaaa @seasteading @kaatiba @lazulis-stuff @serpentarii @sourrcandy @charlesjosephwrites @marrowwife @forever-and-almost-always @halcionic @caninemotiff @socialmediasocrates @zorya-km @smolandweirdwriter @floweryprosegarden

[corpsebasil]

heyy hope youre feeling ok! unis a bitch lmao, can you do one where y/n is betrothed/married to vasily and maybe shes a secret grisha? idk but shes sneaking around with nikolai but then vasily finds out or nikolai goes off to be sturmhond? something super angsty, you can decide how it ends! have funn

I have an idea but I’m not sure if it’s exactly what you want.

HESR ME OUT OKAY—

Warnings: cheating, smut, angst, etc 18+

^ that’s you getting caught with Vasily

Three years, seven months, eighteen days, three hours, and…six minutes since Vasily married you.

He isn’t abusive at all—not physically. He just likes to avoid you like the plague as if his Queen wasn’t the most important person in his life. If you’d wanted kids now you wouldn’t have them; Vasily had a son from his previous marriage, a union was was annulled after the girl was caught doing interesting things in a closet with her brother.

“I can excuse infidelity,” Vasily had said. “but not raw-dogging your family.”

Touche.

Now, somehow, it’s been a year since you’ve even laid eyes upon the King. He’s cozying up to foreign girls in the Southern cities, you assume. Vasily has never bothered to hide his own infidelities, of course, and you yourself have heard rumors of a bastard or two walking around the continent.

“You’re boring me.” A voice calls out and you glance up from your desk, your hand stilling over the paper’s you’ve been reading. Nikolai, slouched on the sofa in your private study, is barefoot and relaxed as he watches you work. “Entertain me.”

“I’m not a court jester.” You say, raising a brow as you look back to the paper. “Your brother’s son wants me to give him Sun Cast.”

“Sun Cast?” Nikolai snorts, tucking his toned arms behind his head. In a white button-up and rolled sleeves, dark pants perfectly cut against his strong legs, he looks absolutely sinful laid out the way he is. “Doesn’t Sun Cast have a Lord?”

“Yes, Lord Barlow. But your brother’s son—”

“He has a name.”

“—insists that he be given the castle upon his eighteenth name day.”

“A decent request for a future heir.”

“Sun Cast has more brothels and taverns than any city I’ve ever been to. More than any should have a right to have.”

“I know.” Nikolai smirks, wiggling his brows at you. “Excellent quality as well.”

Your annoyed look only makes him smile wider as you force yourself to scan the paper again, reading your brother’s son’s—Zorin’s—request. Finally you sign the document carefully, rolling it back up and pouring a wax seal onto the edge.

“I still don’t know why he couldn’t have just asked his father.” You continue, standing to tuck the paper into drawer. You’ll take it to the Council tomorrow. They can deal with Prince Zorin. “Vasily would’ve said yes without a second thought.”

“Yes but Vasily isn’t here,” Nikolai points out, standing as well to follow you out of the study. He stretches leisurely, a dramatic and slightly erotic sounding groan leaving him as he does so. At your unamused expression he winks. “and you are, my dear. Even if he had to wait a week he still got what he wanted.”

“He knows I can’t stand him.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” You roll your eyes as Nikolai approaches, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze. His fingers are warm on your jaw as his eyebrows furrow, expression suddenly more intent. “You’re doing a good job, you know. Being Queen. Everyone can see it.”

“All everyone sees are the endless meetings, and the bags under my eyes, and the other morning I snapped at a maid—”

“—and they still love you.” He interrupts smoothly, reaching up to use both his hands to cup your face. You pout, almost comically, and he grins. “Trust me. You are doing a good job. Vasily’s doing whatever he’s doing—”

“I know what he’s doing.”

“—and you’re here, keeping the kingdom together. We all commend you for it.”

You sigh and nod against his palms, peering up at him as he watches you for a moment. Your eyes narrow slightly and you give him a mischievous little smile.

“Why haven’t you ever requested Sun Cast, oh Lord of High-Quality Brothels?”

Nikolai’s answering smirk, followed by his words, make your blood run hot.

“I don’t need a brothel to make love to a beautiful woman, Your Majesty.” He says, cocking his head to the side. Your skin flushes pink as he tucks your hair behind your ears, his fingers lingering. “Or to admire one.”

You pull away, flustered and blushing, and it’s obvious Nikolai is holding back his laughter.

“Get out, you heathen.” You scoff, reaching over to grab the nearest rolled up piece of paper. You hold it like a weapon, armed and ready to defend your honor against visuals of Nikolai inside a brothel and what exactly he was doing in one. “Get out.”

“Hey, hey—hey!” Nikolai gasps dramatically when you whack him on the arm, then shrieks, diving out the door to your study as you give chase.

-

Three months later, Vasily brings his new mistress to court. High-born, of course, and very pretty, but it makes a mockery of not only your marriage, but also the crown.

“He can’t parade his whore around court for everyone to see.” Ser Dominik is ranting, halfway through the bottle of wine he and Nikolai have been sharing that evening. “I don’t care if he has bastards in the cities—we know about them. Bringing some woman from Saints knows where makes Y/N look like a cuck—”

“Easy.” Nikolai interrupts smoothly, raising a blond brow as his vivid eyes, such a startling blue, meet his best friend’s. “Don’t call her what you were about to call her.”

“Sorry.” Dominik mumbles, setting his goblet on the desk. He and Nikolai have been sequestered in the Prince’s rooms since dinner, talking about the red-headed beauty that had sat on the King’s lap all night. She’d fed him grapes and cheese from the platter in front of them, giggling shamelessly as you’d sat, stiff and annoyed, at the opposite end of the banquet table. “It’s just—Y/N…” Dominik trails off and Nikolai gives his friend a half-hearted smile.

“…is going to unleash Hell?” The prince offers. “I thought she was going a send her fork straight into the girl’s jugular when she had the audacity to refer to Y/N as Vasily’s ‘ball and chain’.”

Dominik laughs, then Nikolai does, and soon the two are shaking their heads in both disbelief and amusement.

“God, I hate your brother.” Dominik chuckles, taking a sip of wine. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“You should check on her.” The knight suggests, raising a brow at Nikolai. “I’m sure she’d like to see you.”

“Me?” Nikolai’s brow raises in return. “Why me?”

“You know why.”

The silence that falls is tense and Nikolai swirls the wine around his glass, staring down at the purple liquid.

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting.”

But he does.

In the past several months since you’d beaten him within an inch of his life with a piece of paper—his words, not yours—he’d grown closer to you. He spent as much time as he could—going to shows, spending evenings at the taverns you favored, even attending balls in distant cities as your guest.

He was your ‘date’, as some said. ‘Guest’, you’d both insisted.

But then there was the way he always found excuses to touch you. Holding your arm as you walked through the gardens together, teaching himself to braid your hair on cold nights when only books and the fireplace was your company, his hand on the small of your back as he directed you places, your smooth thumb wiping a trace of sugar from the corner of his mouth when you’d shared pastries together, his eyes always lingering on your soft, warm lips and—

“Don’t.” Nikolai blurts, his gaze darting up to Dominik’s open mouth. The poor knight hadn’t even begun to speak, yet.. “Don’t add fuel to the fire.”

The rumors, he means. Rumors of the way Prince Nikolai seems to gaze at you with lovesick adoration every time you look away.

“I’m not.” Dominik says, then blinks. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Nikolai stands abruptly and forces a stiff smile, lifting his brows to his friend. “I suppose I should check on our Queen, then.”

Dominik, watching his brother with a slightly amused smile, nods.

-

It’s a month later when Vasily decides to formally announce his mistress as his official lover. The entire court had been opposed, of course, to the diadem that had been placed upon the ginger’s head. You, seething and humiliated, had fled the throne room.

That night Nikolai arrives in your rooms to, as he refers to it, ‘talk shit’. You’re laughing and in a better mood than you could’ve hoped for soon, but then a knock hits your door.

“Lady Wife,” Vasily drawls, drunk and leaning heavily against the door of your chambers. Nikolai and you had been in the middle of a rather competitive card game. “Come with me.”

You had, to Nikolai’s dismay.

You’d endured it, knowing damn well that his mistress was sleeping in a room not far down the hallway.

You hate him.

Hate him.

-

“Don’t.” You start, almost two weeks later when Nikolai slips into your study, watching you organize your desk. “Don’t say it.”

“I miss you.”

You stiffen and clench the scroll in your hand, effectively crushing it.

“You let him have me.” You snap, then turn away. “I’m sorry. Don’t—”

“What would you have me do?” He breathes, coming up behind you to turn you around. You face him, eyes damp as he grasps your waist. “You have to talk to me, Y/N.”

“I wanted you to do something.”

“Do what?”

“It’s like—” you tuck your hair behind your ears, frustrated. “It’s like no one gives a shit that he’s disrespecting me every day. If anyone were to defend me I thought it would be you—”

“I cant.” He snaps, fingers digging into your skin. “I cant do a thing and I hate myself for it, trust me. Saints, if I could kill him I would—” he stops, noticing your wide-eyed gaze. “Forget that.”

“Nikolai.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for. “Please, just—” Please what? What?

“Y/N..” He groans, low in his throat, and leans into you, brushing your nose with his. “I want to protect you.”

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t be his. You shouldn’t be—you should be—“

“What?” You murmur, lips a fraction away from his. “Should be what?”

He grits his teeth and digs his fingers harder into you, making you gasp.

“Mine.” He finally says, reaching up to cup your neck in his hand. “You should be mine.”

The first kiss is bruising.

Youre both desperate, clinging to one another harshly as he tugs at the laces of your dress.

“Nikolai, you—“ you gasp, your eyebrows raising when he drops to his knees before you. His lips travel along your calf to your thigh, fingers tugging your underwear down in a quick movement: “Nik—” Your eyes roll back when he glides the tip of his tongue through your folds.

Fingers tangled in his hair you jolt, arching against him as he lashes his tongue against you, working you desperately towards your finish.

“Mmm..Nik—” You moan, nails scratching his scalp and he thrusts his tongue in and out of you, the warm muscle searching out the spot that makes you see stars. “Nik, I—”

He doesn’t let up.

You come against his mouth and gasp, his greedy tongue lapping up every inch he can reach. Then he’s lifting you onto your desk, scattering papers to the side.

“Please.” He mumbles against your mouth, hands tugging his pants down. “Please, I—”

Nikolai’s thrust is deep and quick, making you cry out into the skin of his shoulder. He grips you roughly, moving in sure, quick movements, slamming your cervix to Hell. Things on the desk rattle noisily, a several quills rolling off and hitting the floor. Your words are a jumble of moans and incoherent praise as he fucks you, hard and deep, making your head spin.

“Tell me you want me,” he begs, nipping the skin below your ear. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“Mine,” you gasp, walls pulsing around him as you reach a second peak. “fuck, Nikolai, yesyesyes—”

He groans as he finishes inside you, thighs hooked around his waist as his mouth crushes against yours, drawing your whimpers between his lips.

Moments later he sighs, burying his forehead into the crease of your shoulder.

“Still mine?” He questions, rubbing the ache out of your hips as your throat tightens.

“No.” You mumble, and he moves away.

Sorry

[ilovespec]

1500 words.

The western part of Russia . 2??? year. Saint-Petersburg

Ever since you were a child, you've understood that humans and beastmen are different. People are more or less similar to each other. And here are the beastmen.. Of the predator species, they are larger, hot-tempered, tall and muscular. Regardless of gender. Herbivores are shorter and quieter. But horned cows and goats, for example, are also more fit, with character. Omnivores are most like humans. Average height, average weight, average appearance. Of the differences from humans, they have only ears and a tail, unlike predators, they do not have sharp fangs and claws, or long horns like many herbivores. But it all depended on the species...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beastmen ruled not only the civil world, but also the political one. Each part of your vast country was governed by a council of three beastmen. One of the strongest, smartest and most charismatic candidates was selected from each type. Vasily Gnilov, from the species of dwarf bulls, was chosen from the herbivores. From omnivores - Alexander Ryazapov, the wolverine. And from the wild beastmen... Yuki Yagami. The black wolf. Half of the relatives are from Japan, and the other half from North America. The only woman from the council of three. And at the same time, the strongest and most chaotic of the three. There were rumors that she had brutally murdered her predecessor. But rumors are just that it's just a rumor, isn't it...?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You've been friends with a moose since childhood, her name is Sasha Karenina. She always protected you from the neighborhood predatory little kids when you were younger, and still is. Her tall stature and sturdy horns made it easy to scare off your detractors. But your bruises and scars haven't gone away. Despite her formidable nature, she went to church every Sunday, and sometimes you went with her. She. - your only friend who went through all your childhood, adolescence and finally growing up with you! You got the same job with her!! To be more precise, to an enterprise for the manufacture of food and hair care products for beastmen. To the customer service department. Was it your job to count clients, to listen to their dissatisfaction or to receive requests for orders, in order to then transfer it to persons in another position. But there were two disadvantages...Your CEO - Yuki Yagami. This is her company. The second disadvantage is your colleagues from the predator family. Some of them behaved... It's not very respectful of you, but they did it today. They act like complete pieces of shit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You walked calmly and chatted with Sasha, you chatted about different things. About your family, your faith, your job, and your CEO... But you didn't really want to talk about her. You're afraid of her. You've never seen her since you were hired by a less reputable official. But other people amd beastmen described her to you like this: she's 2 meters tall, and she has more animal genes than humans. Her hair is the color of a cloudless night sky, reaching to her shoulder blades. The skin is tanned and covered with scars. Her eyes are yellow, like the full moon. The ears are always pointed, and the wolf's short tail is shortened due to many fights and duels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You nervously turned back home, but abruptly, a familiar clawed paw grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and pulled you into an alley. You didn't decide to put up with it this time. You've only recently healed a deep wound on your stomach. A thick branching line stretches from the place where the left edge of the pelvis stands out on the skin, and ends at the right collarbone... The company paid you compensation for this.

After all, Nikolai is a brown bear, Vlad Mavlyutov is a German shepherd, and Ivan is a fox. A clawed paw closed around your throat, but you took a pepper spray can out of your bag.

"Bitch... Get in the face, you slut...."

With all anger, you sprayed this strong mixture into your attacker's face, Nikolai roared in pain and opened his paw, and you took advantage of the situation - ran into the gap that appeared in their environment. But Vlad grabbed you by the back of your shirt, tearing it along with the fastening of your bra. And then finally you screamed. You were yelling like you were being burned alive..

"THEY WANT TO KILL ME RIGHT HERE, BITCHES!!! EVERYONE DOESN'T GIVE A FUCK!?!?"

From your scream, even your three The attackers were seriously surprised. When you got up and tried to escape, the claws inflicted even more and more noticeable damage on you. Ivan's claws slashed across your left eye. Your vision blurred and you fell back to the asphalt, you began to lose consciousness when these three began to undress and grope you... And it left red furrows on your long-suffering body. But when you were already on the edge between consciousness and empty darkness. But finally you heard the sounds of police sirens, and a loud voice.

"IT'S THE POLICE, PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD AND GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR!"

And the last thing you saw this week was the gleam of two bright yellow eyes with narrow pupils.

You only woke up to the fact that a large clawed palm was squeezing your palm tightly, leaving bloody furrows on your cold palm. You opened your eyes... You were in the hospital. And your left eye, which was injured, now can't see... WHAT?! ARE YOU BLIND IN ONE EYE NOW?!!?! Your breathing quickened, and you started shaking. The person who was holding your hand immediately stood up and gently hugged you. It was some beastmen.. This beastman turned out to be a tall and statuesque black wolf woman. She looks about 45 years old. She is tall, almost 2 meters tall. Broad shoulders, clearly well-trained muscles. You can see it even through your clothes. Her hair was shaggy, the color of a raven's wing, with a few gray streaks. Her eyes are yellow, and her skin is tanned and covered with scars. She is wearing a mustard-colored shirt, a black jacket and dark classic trousers. Stop... Judging by her appearance..This is your CEO! Yuki Yagami! You jumped out of fright. And you almost fell. But her clawed hand confidently wrapped around your waist.

"Oh, Miss Y/N. Please, Be careful."

Then, she slowly pulled away. Her scarred face twisted into a magnanimous grin. She has such sharp fangs... And you're still shaking a lot.

"I think in a situation like yours, you would like something delicious, and since you're just after surgery, I've prepared something delicious for you~"

Then, she handed you a container with something warm.. It's chicken soup! You're careful accepted a folding spoon and fork from Yuki's palms and immediately began to eat the soup. And her golden eyes looked right into your soul with calculation.

(TIMESKIP!!)

You've already been discharged. But this time, Yuki didn't let you in alone at night. You're sitting awkwardly in an expensive black convertible. And Yuki sits peacefully next to you, her clawed hand calmly but imperiously wraps around your neck. But Yuki's personal driver took the wrong turn.. Not to your house.

"Uh... Miss Yagam-"

But Yuki snarled at you sharply.

"Just call me Yuki. Please, Miss Y/N."

"Uh.. yes, yes. Yuki... uh..But we're not going to my house.."

"It's true. Because we're going to my house to celebrate your discharge ;)"

Then she grinned cheerfully and kissed you on the top of the head. You blushed. After all, it's not far from being afraid to falling in love. You looked down, embarrassed. And she just laughed out loud.. Her laugh is more like a growl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a while you arrived at the park "quiet rest". On the stone island..God. It costs more than 1.7 million rubles per square meter!! This is logical.. After all, Yuki, something like an important politician. She is one of the three who govern the ENTIRE Western part of Russia..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And 10 minutes later, you were sitting in her mansion..You carefully took the wine glass from her big, clawed palm. Yuki raised her glass and cleared her throat softly.

"I want to say a toast to you. For putting up with this bullying.. I wish you good health, good luck, and most importantly a happy life!!~"

You clinked glasses, you drank first.. But it's gone dark in your eyes. You fell to the floor. And the last thing you heard today was,

"and also, have a long life with me . My little bunny.. ~ "

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, everything was a blur, and the only thing you felt was a heavy chain on your legs and Yuki Yagami's big arms wrapped around your weak, scarred body. It seems like your whole life will be like this... Until death.

Discription of a character.

Ughhh... I've spent so much time on this... I hope you liked it!! And now, by the way, I'm in this universe :) (Hi, I'm a goat.)

[lilyoffandoms]

@choicesmcappreciationweek 2025 Masterlist

@choicespride Valentine’s 2025 Masterlist

Day One:

Ashtyn Stark (RoD) & Drabble

Evie Ayana (HSS) for @cadybear420

Ria & Dakota for @lover-also-fighter-also

Ria Monero for @lover-also-fighter-also

Beckett x Emma for @storyofmychoices

Day Two:

Saeed Mendis (WtD) & Drabble

Malia Jones (WtD) for @missameliep

Zoe Rivera (WtD) for @jerzwriter

Day Three:

Xiomara (Platinum) & Drabble

Day Four:

Breccan Ward (Hero)

Raine Nightbloom (Blades) for @nifaraswife

Myra Nightbloom (Blades) for @daydreaming-dummy

Day Five:

Cian Daly (VoS)

Rhodes (VoS) for @trappedinfanfiction

Day Six:

Luke x Clara (Desire & Decorum)

Loucita (ACOR) for @rjschoicesstuff

Day Seven:

Blaine x Aubrey & Tatum x Aubrey (FA)

Fiona Lightwood (LoA) for @choicesmc

Gabe x Quinn (LoA) for @loreofyore

Gifts for Hosts:

Vasili x Nerea (CoP) @rosesnink

Channing x Kalani (Alpha) for @peonyblossom

[sentient-stove]

Trick or treaters to my inbox get a snippet from one of my aus that they specify :D