#exclusive banqueting spaces

[ovaryacted]

REPRIEVE

PAIRING: General Marcus Acacius x wife! reader || WC: 3.8k

SYNOPSIS: The General arrives home after his most recent crusade for the Roman Empire. In the hastiness of his arrival, you aid him in his relaxation.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Rough sex. Manhandling. Marking. Choking. Fingering (f receiving). Barebacking. Breeding Kink. Implied free use kink established (if you squint). Sort of dom/sub elements. Sir/Authority kink. Allusions to loss of virginity. Sex in the bath cause I said so. Mentions of Roman customs & clothing. Marcus pursued & courted reader beforehand. Reader is female and has hair. Ambiguous age gap [Reader is assumed to be younger but early 20s]. No use of y/n.

A/N: This was a pain in the ass to write since I haven't written a full smut piece in a minute and I had to do some research to figure out shit about Ancient Roman society, but I'm glad this is done. This fic wouldn't exist without Ali, @pedgito who practically held my hand during the process and helped with the proofread and aesthetics. Also big shoutout to my other baes for the reassurance and motivation. Anyways, I hope those who read it enjoy it, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Some would say the General was more reminiscent of a God than a man; his silent prowess oozed out of him everywhere he went. To the empire, he was respected and admired by many, an irreplaceable asset to the Roman Emperor and the one true leader of the greatest army to exist.

Outside the walls of the great city, he was a different beast entirely. Bloodthirsty and hungry for control, his name whispered through unconquered lands and peninsulas like a plague. Marcus Acacius, the moniker of death.

He commanded his soldiers to pillage and return what they could to the capital: gold, livestock, and new fodder to satiate Rome’s everlasting appetite for power. As he trampled through villages of the unknown, his steel blade cut through human flesh with finesse, his skin stained with the crimson of those who lay dismembered in a heap. Whoever was left of the inhabitants dropped to their knees, vowing servitude to the empire in exchange for their personhood, all while the General reveled in that power.

He was a force to be reckoned with in every sense of the word, dominating every space he invaded with his broad shoulders and fierce eyes. Being at the hands of the Emperor would prove to be a benefit if his sins didn’t fill him with regret. Despite his domineering attitude, he urged to want more, to be understood and accepted with all the faults of being a mortal man.

The Gods seemed to hear his silent prayers, taking pity on Acacius and granting him the opportunity to wed a wife, a pretty thing he had spotted once while patrolling the city with a few other soldiers. He was called upon for a council meeting when you crossed his path, the purple fabric of your palla catching his eye, holding your gaze for mere seconds before you continued to stroll past him.

He sought after you through the crowds in the market and at the Emperor’s banquets, seeking you out any chance he was not shipped out on a campaign, wooing you with his charisma and stories of his conquests. You’ve bewitched him wholeheartedly, pursuing you until he asked for your hand in marriage, and you accepted willingly.

After every battle and bloodbath, you awaited him in the Domus, high in the exclusive Palatine Hill. At first, he didn’t know what being wed would be like and didn’t expect to uphold the standard of a spouse, but all he knew was he wanted you, and he succeeded in his endeavors.

The sun had already set past the horizon when Acacius stepped through the entryway of his domus, the heavy footfalls of his steps echoing through the stone walls. He didn’t address the servants who attempted to welcome him into his home; instead, they bowed and greeted him in kind as he paid them no mind. He strolled past the atrium and the gardens, refusing to turn his head to admire how the moonlight shimmered over the luxurious pool, lotus flowers, and lily pads floating idly over the calm waters.

Taking another turn across the hall and striding through a wide door, he entered a dimly lit room surrounded by candles where the private bath was located, already prepared for his arrival. He didn’t hesitate to strip himself of his armor, the heavy metal of his chest plate clanging to the ground with the rest of its attachments. His undergarments were next, covered in the dirt of his recent crusade and smeared with the blood of his spoils of war, the dirty linen fabric of his red tunic piled up by his feet as he impatiently removed his caligae. He lifted his arms to force an audible crack in his spine, rolling his shoulders and neck to ease the strain he felt wound tight in his body.

Carefully, he sank into the warm water of the bath, groaning as he pressed his back against the sleek tiled edge. Acacius took his first exhale since returning to Rome, closing his eyes and stretching his arms across the bath’s rim. He’d usually sit in the water with a servant aiding him in his cleansing routine or at the careful hands of his wife, who worried more than he would’ve liked. To him, this was a much better alternative than the bustling bathhouses he frequented, no longer seeing the appeal in a stranger’s touch when he could get familiarity elsewhere.

Lost in thought, he was mentally replaying his decisions from the most recent Roman expansion when he heard the faint pitter-patter of footsteps behind him, acquainted with the light heel-to-toe pattern to know that his wife had entered the room to check up on him.

“Acacius. You have returned.” You expressed rather calmly, tone even and cautious as you eyed the back of your husband’s head.

Earlier in this union, before Acacius asked for your hand, you didn’t know how to approach him. A man of his prestige and experience was foreign to anything you’ve ever encountered. Though the gifts he bestowed you during your courting did much to convince you of the type of man he was, it was a learning curve you had to overcome. It took you a while to know how to tame a beast such as Marcus Acacius himself, but you reaped the benefits of your partnership over the months you were given the title of being the General’s wife.

“I have.” He muttered, flexing his toes under the water.

“Did you not call for the servants to aid you in the bath?” You asked him, having received word from your handmaiden of his hasty return.

“I am not interested in their help,” Acacius declared, huffing a breath through his aquiline nose. He finally turned his neck to face you for the first time tonight, his chocolate brown eyes burdened with the Emperor’s expectations to protect the city you both loved, to protect his reputation, and to protect you.

“Join me.” The words slipped out of him without hesitation, and you had half the mind to follow through on his suggestion.

“Are you sure? I can call f-”

“I do not wish for them, I wish for my wife. Now get in.” He wasn’t asking, and like one of his soldiers, you were ready to fulfill his demands without a second thought.

Carefully, you pulled at the soft material of your stola, unclasping it and letting the silk fabric fall to the floor around you. The tunic layered underneath was next, kicking it off alongside your spouse’s armor and unveiling your bare frame. You entered the bath from Acacius’ left side, not missing how he watched you as a predator would stalk their prey. Standing face to face with the man you called your husband, his big hands rashly grabbed at your hips, pulling you towards him and gesturing you to sit on his lap. Both of your legs were on either side of him, knees situated next to his hips and your pelvis hovering over his own. 

“You know this is improper.” You often reminded him of societal customs, and though he admired you for upholding Roman values, at the moment, he could care less about what was appropriate.

“You are my wife, are you not? That means I get to do as I please with you in my home.” He eyed you as you sighed and admitted defeat, not that you were complaining.

He was in one of those moods. So be it.

Quietly, you reached for the wooden bowl set off to the side of the bath, filling it with the oil-scented water and pouring it over his chest. Your fingers idly stroked Acacius’ collarbones and pectorals, making a note of the markings left behind from the heavy armor he often sported.

Sinking the bowl into the bath, you carefully streamed the water over his scalp, running your fingertips through the dried blood that settled at his graying temples and hairline. The grime was off-putting initially, but you quickly adjusted to it. Being the wife of a war leader forced you into a lifestyle you knew you had to accept, and making him happy was your burden to carry.

Acacius remained vigilant as you continued your meticulous washing, being extra attentive to his aching limbs. Grabbing the pumice stone with your palm and wetting it with a dip under the water, you began to scrub away at the leftover filth of combat from your husband’s body. You started at his neck, careful not to be too harsh and avoiding any apparent cuts. Moving downward towards his chest, you rubbed at him again as the reminder of his conquest trickled away in cascading ripples.

Many would not be able to stomach the reality of accommodating the General in all of his intensity, but to you, you didn’t mind. After all, you were a natural at servitude, having been shown the expectations of becoming a good wife by your mother since you were a young girl. Indeed, you did not expect to find yourself at the hands of Acacius; your father preferred to marry you off to a Senator and keep you within reach. But the moment your eyes locked on those warm brown irises on your walk, the man fascinated you, and your mind couldn’t let him go.

Being here like this with him caused you to reflect on the life you’ve been given. You were grateful to have a man endowed with such strength who would give you anything you wished for without having to ask. You reminisced about the night you were wed a few months ago, recalling how Acacius showed you what pleasure felt like for the first time. As passionate as he was merciless, his hands ran over your body and made you his in more ways than one, whispering promises of the future in your ear as you prayed for Venus to never cease the numbing feeling between your legs after each crashing wave that washed over you.

Strangely, you would consider yourself crafted for Acacius, to think it was fate to have met him that day to lead you both to where you are now. To Rome, he was a ruthless conqueror with years of expertise, and you honored him as the fighter he was molded to be and the cunning man you loved.

Diverting your attention to his shoulders and arms, you observed Acacius from the corner of your eye, noting his ravenous gaze when you entered the bath to join him. You could feel the texture of his worn palms over your skin under the water, clutching at your thighs and urging you closer on top of him. You permitted him to do what he wanted and touch you how he liked, not daring to tell him no.

He squeezed at your rear, the touch sending an electric pulse down your back and building towards the center of your body. Focusing on cleansing him and finishing your routine, the hardness you felt poking at your inner thigh grew increasingly evident the more he kneaded at your soft flesh. The moment his fingers teased at your entrance from behind, you exhaled shakily above him, meeting his mischievous eyes. 

“Acacius…” You started to speak, nearly dropping the pumice stone in the bath as he caressed you more intimately, his whole hand fully cupping your sex with intention.

“Hm?” His hum radiated through you, limbs vibrating with leftover adrenaline. “That is not what you call me dulcissima. Or must I remind you of your place?”

“Carissimus.” Your voice was more airy than you’d like it to be when you replied, but it was worth the toothy grin plastered over your husband’s face.

“There we go. I knew you would give me a proper welcome, just like your cunt always has.”

You were rewarded with two thick fingers plunging deep inside you, a noisy moan tumbling out of your mouth and falling over the General’s lips. His dark eyes devoured every sound you made and encouraged you to shift your hips against his hand. The pumice stone was long forgotten, sunken to the bottom of the bathing pool as you reached for his shoulders and dug your nails into his taut skin to keep yourself grounded.

If others knew of Acacius’s devotion to you, people would consider him a madman. He doesn’t take what the Gods have given him for granted, presenting him with a loyal partner such as yourself. You were always willing to please and welcome the baggage that comes with his title with open arms and open legs. You allowed him to put his energy into something other than killing rebels overseas and being the Emperor’s lap dog. All of his pent-up frustrations were channeled into the abrupt slaps of his hips against yours within the columned walls of your shared home.

You supported him, worshiped him, and preserved the same look of reverence every time he stepped through the front doors with another victory under his belt. His rank and what his duty entails didn’t intimidate you or push you away; rather, they enticed you, a curiosity he’s come to admire. The contrast between your eager softness and his inherent brashness unlocks the most primal parts of him, and more often than not, his urges win the inner battles.

If only you knew just how much you occupied his mind. Out on the battleground, as he plows through groups of people he doesn’t bother to count, the only thing that keeps Acacius going is the remembrance of your scent wafting his nose and your soothing touches over his scarred skin. He was nothing short of obsessed with you, and though he may not confess his fixation outright, you weren’t blind to your effect on him.  

The frequent pump of his digits was devastating, with no pause to let you adjust before the tips of his fingers curled into the textured spot that brought stars under your eyelids. The heel of his palm bumped into your throbbing clit with every thrust and drag of his hand, bringing you closer to that delectable edge. Rough kisses were littered across the column of your throat as Acacius’ coarse facial hair marked you, followed by the nipping of his teeth into the crease of your neck and shoulder.

“Please…” You begged him to let you seek release, cried for him to give you what you always craved. Your grip twisted into his thick, graying locks, scratching at the bruised skin of his nape.

“Give it to me.” Acacius instructed, knowing it would only take a few words to have you shaking and arching in his lap, followed by a soothing but stern order. “Come for your General.” 

Your vision whitened out, crying for Acacius loud enough for the servants to hear from the other side of the door, though this was far from new for them. Your hips moved on their own accord, pushing and pulling at his fingers as your walls pulsed around them. He didn’t stop his prodding and opted to press his calloused thumb to your sensitive nub, milking your release for all it was worth. Teeth clashed with your lips as he kissed you fervently, seeking to satisfy his craving of devouring you whole from the inside out.

Pressing your chest further into him, your pulsing core grazed his length that touched your leg under the warm water. A whimper departed from you, silently imploring for more, for anything he was willing to give you. He had trained you to take all of him properly without objections or qualms. Since then, you have become greedy for him, for the frequent reminders that you were very much his to claim.

Holding on to the bottom of your thighs, Acacius lifted you in his grasp and stood up straight in the bath. He walked off to the other side of the edge, laying you down with your back to the ground and looming above you. You glanced up at him with hazy eyes, ready for him to finally be inside you when you were manhandled to your front, your breasts pinned to the cold tile underneath, bringing goosebumps to your arms at the disparity in texture.

You turned your head to look over your shoulder, taking in the rapacious expression on your husband’s face. Acacius towered behind you with a twisted grin widening over his aged features as he stalked you down, the corners of his eyes creasing as his lips curled upwards. The lust radiating over him was palpable, pawing at your hips to keep you in place.

The tip of his cock teased your opening, shamelessly grinding into you and feeling every twitch of your wet slit. A breathless whine came from you, instinctively spreading your legs wider to make room for him, standing on your tippy toes and curving your backbone for Acacius’ view.

“I have trained you well. Always ready to take me whenever I like…” He tenderly touched your waist then, affectionately light, juxtaposed to your current positioning.

“Always, sir.” You mumbled, batting your lashes back at him as your body ached from the emptiness you felt.

“My pretty wife. Rendered a needy fucking thing.”

You didn’t have time to come up with a proper response before you felt him splitting you open, burrowing deep inside until he was nestled down to the hilt. A moan settled in the base of your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as the heavy weight of him kept you tethered to the Earth.

A sob passed your lips as Acacius drew his hips back, leaving the very tip of him inside you and thrusting forward, repeating the action again and again until he set a punishing rhythm. You sought for purchase on the tiles in front of you, letting your husband do as he wished with you, his aggressive tempo sending your body jolting forward on the cool ground.

With a broad hand, Acacius ran his touch up your back, reaching the base of your neck to wrap your hair in his fist, dragging you upwards. He held you to his chest, and all you could do was let Acacius take and take and take. Your thighs shook and your walls flexed as your hips remained at the edge of the bath pool, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

The water splashed around you both in time with his forceful bucks, the sounds of skin slapping resonating in the room’s walls. Acacius practically growled in your ear, huffing out praises and sweet nothings that made you clench around him with every brutal drag of his hips. He fucked you like he’d kill out in the field; fierce, quick, and without remorse, just the way you wanted.

The fingers previously holding your hair wrapped around the hollow of your neck, providing a doting squeeze and accepting your dazed nod. He kissed your cheek once and held your hip bone with his other hand, returning to moving against you like his life depended on it, like he’d never get the opportunity to feel your pussy wrapped around him like this again.

“Sweetest thing I have ever felt. You were made for me. Had no need to mold you to my cock, hm?” Acacius sinfully murmured in your ear, forcing another whimper from you as the tip of him hit that textured spot with striking precision.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You couldn’t say anything else, words growing heavy on your tongue the moment your husband’s grip tightened around your throat. Knowing that a man so capable of death had your life in his hands made you throb and crave the carnage that was embedded in his very being. The headiness of it all propelled you to bounce your hips against his, catching every lunge he gave you.

“Is that all you can say when you are full of me?” Acacius whispered in your ear, the degrading chuckle that rumbled from the depths of his chest made your walls quiver around him again.

Sneakily, the hand holding your hip moved between your legs, seeking out your clit to fondle it tight circles the way he learned you liked. Your keens grew in volume, head thrown back on his shoulders and your nails raked over the skin of Acacius’ forearm, losing yourself to the pleasure he was more than willing to provide.

“Please, please…”

“Maybe I should claim you properly. Let my seed take for everyone in Rome to know who you belong to.” You clenched hard at the notion of being bred, gasping under your breath as your body craved something much more than a proper release.

“Carissimus, my body is yours, I am yours.” Though you didn’t need to remind him of what he already knew, the prospect of being blessed with carrying his child was enough to launch you into a violent climax with a sonorous wail of his name. “Claim me. Claim me.”

Mine. Mine. Mine.

“I will, I swear I will.” It was a vow, Acacius’ word being his bond as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. A couple more diligent jabs of his hips and he spilled into you, filling you to the brim and holding you close to him. The blunt edge of his teeth dug into the side of your neck as he groaned, digging deep enough to tear at your skin. You squealed at the act, slumping towards the floor to catch your breath and attempt to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Soft kisses and caresses slowly brought you back down from your high, your left hand reaching for your husband’s face. He was drawn forward to your touch, bestowing a warm and slower-paced kiss on your plush lips, humming contently. 

“Must you treat a lady with such reckless abandon, General?” You jested with a breathless laugh, and Acacius couldn’t help but chuckle back. He was much calmer than before, the tension and adrenaline he carried back to Rome now dissipated and simmered to a minimum.  

“Only my lady appeals to such behavior.” You rolled your eyes at that, neck sore from the bite now imprinted on your skin, almost certain it will bruise by morning. If it weren’t your thighs or chest, he leaves his mark visible under your chin for everyone to see, as if the golden ring on your finger wasn’t enough to show that you were wed.

“Do you wish to call for the servants?” Acacius asked, catching the shake of your head.

“Nonsense, this is just fine. You still have to fulfill your promise to me.” The corner of your lips coiled up in a playful smile, and Acacius could feel his blood rushing south again.

You were just as insatiable as he was, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[nerdanel01]

All Things Grow, All Things Go - Pt. II

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook (*Emmrich POV) 3k+ | SFW EXCERPT: Mindful of the fact that Wilfred had needed to rouse him—that Agnes herself might still be asleep—he knocked on her door, softly at first.

“Agnes?”

Emmrich waited… and waited. Listening for the rustle of bedsheets or the pad of her footsteps. When only silence greeted him, he knocked again, a bit more loudly this time. 

“Agnes, it’s Emmrich. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t want to, I understand if you are still upset. But you missed breakfast—I did not want you to go hungry. Will you please open the door?”

9:50 Dragon

Flinching at the urgent touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder, Emmrich awoke. 

He blinked blearily, taking in his surroundings—cold hearth, cold tea on the tray beside him, Wilfred’s bony hand on his shoulder—and recognized at last he had fallen asleep in his study, slumped into his armchair. Well, that certainly explained the sore ache in his back, and the awful crick in his neck. After his disastrous conversation with Agnes the night before, Emmrich had lingered in the study, hoping she might return after she had a chance to calm down and think things over. In truth he had wanted instead to chase after her, to beg her to listen to him, to try to make her understand… but he loved her, and it was all too plain he had hurt her. The kinder thing, he thought—the less selfish thing—was to give her some space. 

Emmrich sat up, stretching his arms above his head and sighing in satisfaction as something in his back popped into its proper place, realigning. Glancing up at Wilfred at last, he asked, “What is it?”

Wilfred lifted a skeletal arm to point at the water clock in the corner, the only veritable indication of time passing in the windowless Necropolis. By the water level Emmrich saw he had slept through the night; the breakfast hour was just beginning in the dining hall. 

Energized by the thought of seeing Agnes there, Emmrich stood, stretching once more for good measure. It relieved the ache in his back, but did nothing to calm the gymnastics of his stomach. How angry would she be with him, now that the night had passed? More resentful? Less? Would she spare a word for him—or even a glance? That would hurt, if she could not look at or speak to him, but it did not matter. Likely he deserved it, after how upset he had made her. At least if he could see her, though—even just catch a glimpse at her from across the room—he would be reassured: that things would turn out for the best, in time. That he had made the right choice. 

“I’d better join the other Watchers for breakfast,” Emmrich told Wilfred, combing a hand through his hair, trying to tame his bedhead back into a pleasing shape. It was unlike him to wander around so disheveled and ungroomed—unshaven, even!—but today, that could wait until after he saw Agnes. Certainly she could not think less of him after last night, and any errant whiskers on his jaw would not lower her opinion of him any farther than it had already sunk. “If Agnes comes by, will you please send her down to the dining hall?”

Wilfred made a short, baying sort of sound—more articulate than the feeble moans Alfred had been exclusively capable of producing, but still less than language—and nodded his head in acknowledgement of the request. Satisfied with Wilfred’s answer, Emmrich left the study, fighting the urge to quicken the pace of his steps the whole way to the dining hall. 

But Agnes was not there when he arrived. The hall was already nearly full, the bulk of the Mourn Watch gathered around the two twin banquet tables, chatting animatedly over their coffee and eggs. Emmrich scanned the room for Agnes’ face a second time, just to be sure he had not missed her at first glance—but she was nowhere to be seen. 

There was an open spot at the table beside Myrna; Emmrich thought it prudent not to sit there, at least not today. Instead he consigned himself to the far end of the banquet table nearest to the door, where he could easily keep an eye on the latecomers as they trickled in for breakfast. He dropped a few slices of fruit onto his plate, pear and melon, but it was mostly for show, a prop to occupy his hands and to excuse his presence in the dining hall as he waited for Agnes to arrive. Emmrich was not accustomed to being this nervous; he found the anxious clenching of his stomach had quite spoiled his appetite. 

Every time he detected any hint of movement from the entryway, he looked up from the kaleidoscopic arrangement of fruit he was pushing around on his plate—but none of the latecomers turned out to be Agnes. By the time the breakfast hour was waning and the dining hall was beginning to empty, she still was nowhere to be seen. 

That was troubling. No matter how angry with him she may have been, it wasn’t like Agnes to sleep in late, or to miss a meal. It would be best, Emmrich knew, to give her space—the whole point of this, of ending their professional partnership, had been to give her more space from him—but he could not resist the impulse to check on her, as paternal and unwelcome as it may have been. Before all the food was cleared away, Emmrich filled a cup with hot tea, put two almond croissants on a plate—Agnes’ favorite—and carried both to her room. 

Mindful of the fact that Wilfred had needed to rouse him—that Agnes herself might still be asleep—he knocked on her door, softly at first.

“Agnes?”

Emmrich waited… and waited. Listening for the rustle of bedsheets or the pad of her footsteps. When only silence greeted him, he knocked again, a bit more loudly this time. 

“Agnes, it’s Emmrich. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t want to, I understand if you are still upset. But you missed breakfast—I did not want you to go hungry. Will you please open the door?”

Was she sleeping? Or was she sulking, punishing him with her silence, her refusal to answer—just as she had pulled away from him when he had tried last night to take her hand? Again, probably deserved and Emmrich wouldn’t blame her, but her failure to answer now was putting grand, paranoid imaginings in his head, and the anxious knot in his stomach was tightening, mounting into a dull panic. 

He knocked on the door a third time, with force. “Agnes—”

But before Emmrich could finish, the door popped open, revealing darkness within. Had she kept the door unlocked while she slept…?

Then the smell hit him. Lye and lavender oil, her cleaning agents of choice. Emmrich’s dull panic rose to full alarm, his breathing quick and shallow, adrenaline stiffening the muscles in his legs. His hands shook as he summoned a mage light to illuminate the darkness within, but his heart was already pounding violently, heavy in his chest; it knew what he was about to find without needing to see it: 

The hearth, cold and empty. The sterile gleam of the floor, shining in the mage light. The bed made—sheets and blankets tucked straight and tight around the mattress—empty. 

Teacup and plate smashed against the floor before Emmrich even realized he’d dropped them, scattering shattered porcelain and pastry crumbs across the room, the splash of tea spraying the hem of his trousers and puddling across the too-clean floor. 

‘No. No, no, please, Maker, no—’

He crossed into the room, stepping directly into the tea puddle as he sped to the desk, pulling each of the knobs, peering into each of the drawers, his breath growing a little more shallow as every drawer turned up empty. His heart was sinking through him, heavier than a ship’s anchor. He raced to the wardrobe, elated at first to see that it was not wholly bereft, only for his hopes to crash all over again when he saw that it was only Agnes’ set of ceremonial Watcher robes that hung within it, none of her blouses or dresses. His heart was breaking. The nightstand beside the bed—those drawers, too, were empty. 

But the bed, he realized—to his complete and utter horror—was not empty. Not as empty as he had thought at first glance. 

His hands trembled as he picked the program off the bed, shaking so violently that when he held it, the program fluttered, as though it was billowing in a breeze. The Elixir of Love. The first opera they had seen together summers ago, when he had waltzed with Agnes after in the gardens… when he had first felt the conscious desire to kiss her, when at last his true feelings for her had become woefully and unavoidably plain to him. 

He felt lightheaded; his knees felt weak. He turned his body around and lowered himself, slowly and unsteadily, to perch on the very edge of the bed, feeling utterly wretched as he stared at the program in his hands. It was creased and wrinkled, worn and much loved, as though she had often held it, caressed it, treasured it in the years that she’d kept it. And though she had penned no note, it was clear to him the program had been set out this way for him to find, no other.  

‘She loves me!’ Nemorino had sung at last in his final aria, full of pathos as much as exultation. ‘She loves me; I know it, I know it.’ But of course, what Nemorino did not know—what was plain, at that point, for the audience to see—was that this recent turn of events had nothing to do with the sham “elixir” at all; that Adina, the woman he desired, had loved him in return all along. 

Impulsively he balled his hand into a fist, crumpling the program into a ball within it, unable to bear the sight of it. But then his eyes caught on the lazurite ring on his hand, and his guilt and his shame doubled. 

What a fool he had been! What a hopeless idiot! How long had he denied his desire, his deep longing for her, telling himself he could not possibly have her? When all along she had been at his side, waiting to be noticed. Waiting to be loved back. Myrna had been right about them, or right enough, and instead of listening to her and wondering if Myrna might have seen something between them that even Emmrich himself was blind to, he had done everything in his power to push Agnes away. 

An aim in which he had succeeded spectacularly: she was gone. 

‘So go find her!’

A fool’s hope, maybe, but the only one he had. How much time had passed? How far could she have gone? It would have taken her time, Emmrich imagined, to pack, to clean. There was no way of telling from her room how long ago she had left. Maybe, maybe…!

He leapt to his feet, shoving the fisted program into his pocket, and tore into the hallway. The study was closest; he headed there first. Opened the door with such volume and force that Wilfred startled, all his bones jostling in shock at the sudden entrance. 

“Wilfred, has Agnes come by…?”

But the thrall only shook his head; no. 

Leaving the study door ajar in his haste, Emmrich headed further down the hall to the Mourn Watch library. Trying not to think of all the terrible things he had said to Agnes yesterday. ‘Do you ever think perhaps we are too close?’ Trying not to retrace every word she had said to him in return, each of them burying more sharply and more painfully into his heart, now that he understood. 

‘You are that eager to be rid of me?’

‘What did I do wrong to deserve this?’

‘It would have been better for me to never have come here!’

He raced into the library, footsteps pounding, chest heaving, fighting for breath. There was barely anyone there at this hour of the day, but one of the ancient thralls that helped keep the shelves organized was already at work, standing high up on one of the ladders, reshelving books. 

“Gunther, have you seen Agnes?”

“Not since last week,” Gunther replied, somewhat tartly. “When you see her, do remind her that she has several volumes in her possession that are overdue for return…”

But Emmrich was already back in the hall, taking it at a flat out run, having fully abandoned any sense of decorum. Back to the dining hall; perhaps he had just missed her. Hoping beyond hope to find her there. Drowning in all the memories that were washing over him, all that had transpired between them, all that he had so woefully misunderstood. 

‘I have cherished every hour I have worked with you,’ Agnes had said, when she had presented him with the ring. With a ring. Had he really not perceived the symbolism of that gift, the circle around his finger like a lover’s endless promise? Or had he simply refused to believe it, to accept what the ring had really meant? ‘Who else in my life would I give such a gift to, if not you?’

Commander Johanna was the only one left in the dining hall, pouring herself one last cup of coffee from the carafe on the tabletop. She looked up at Emmrich as he rushed in, her features creasing into a frown. 

Breathlessly, he asked, “Have you seen Agnes?”

“Why are you asking?” No small amount of suspicion in her voice.

“She’s gone,” Emmrich answered, too panicked and heartbroken to be mortified by the way his voice cracked over the last word. 

“Gone?” Johanna pressed him, an edge to her voice. “What do you mean, ‘she’s gone’? Gone where?”

“I don’t know,” Emmrich told her, close to tears. “Her room is empty, there’s no sign of her—I have to—!”

He raced past Johanna, down the stairs at the far end of the dining hall to the kitchens as Johanna called after him:

“Oh, well done, Emmrich! I told you to let me talk to her first! What did you say to that poor woman?!”

But Emmrich was not paying attention. Nothing Johanna said to him now could wound him more deeply than he was already doing himself, bruising and bleeding himself on all the terrible things he’d said and done, all of the ways he had been completely blind. But it could not be too late. He would not give in, not yet—would not let himself think he had lost the chance to make things right. 

And yet, the kitchens—empty. The sparring room, the apothecary—both empty, Agnes nowhere to be found. 

How far could she have gotten? Where, really, could she have gone? It could only have been a few hours since she had left the Necropolis—Emmrich could not fathom, refused to believe she had already left Nevarra City. 

He had not changed his clothes nor so much as washed his face, looking (he was sure) entirely unpresentable as he dashed down the Necropolis steps and into the city streets. At this hour few businesses were open, save for the cafes, already setting out freshly baked pastry and brewing fine Antivan coffee. These, Emmrich checked first, beginning at the ones he knew to be Agnes’ favorites. But she was nowhere to be found, and none of the proprietors had seen a woman fitting her description. Where was she? Sweat trickled down his brow, made his shirt stick to his back as he raced next to the druffalo cart station on the eastern edge of the city, where passenger carts, for a small fee, would transport people north and south along the Imperial Highway.. No Agnes. Finally he headed north, to the docks; had she, perhaps, booked passage on a boat? Where would she go, out in the world, all by herself? On the way he stopped at all the horse traders, but none of them had sold a steed yet that morning, or the night before. No luck at the docks, either, though he had pushed through the crowds of people eager to book passage on the Minanter, peering into each of the faces of the people gathered there… wondering, in the depths of his self-loathing, if it were possible that Agnes hated him so deeply after all those things he had said to her, that she might glamor herself, disguise her face from him just to avoid the onerous task of having to speak to him. 

He had run circles around the city. He could not remember the last time he had run anywhere without Agnes at his side, fleeing from some mystery of the Necropolis, Agnes throwing arcane darts over her shoulder at whatever was pursuing them. His heart was pounding; he had sweat through his shirt. It was in this state—disheveled, unkempt, exhausted—that he had at last made his way to the theater district, to the opera house. 

The square outside of the theater was silent, empty, an eerie contrast to the space as he had otherwise known it: thronging with people, well fed and well dressed and well drunk, merrily proceeding through the tall arches into the lobby beyond. Now, it was sleepy, the box office not yet open for ticket sales. The loudest sound was the patter of the fountain, splashing gaily in the center of the square, sparkling in the morning sun. A flock of pigeons cooed around its base, the whole flock taking off in a panic as Emmrich trudged through their ranks, dropping at last to sit at the fountain’s edge… staring up at the opera house, its travertine facade shining blindingly white, like a holy accusation. 

Emmrich balanced his elbows on his knees, and took his head into his hands. 

He had hoped against hope he would find Agnes here, but there was no sign of her. And yet though he did not see her, he could not get the image of her out of his head: Agnes, clutching their tickets with her hands covered in little lace gloves, flashing him breathlessly delighted smiles as they queued to get into the theater. Agnes, throwing a silver coin into the very fountain on which she sat, refusing to confide in him her wish. Agnes, barefoot and uninhibited, humming in the jasmine-scented moonlight. 

…Agnes, looking up into his face under that same silver moonlight, waiting for him to kiss her. To finally see her. 

‘She loves me, she loves me! I know it, I know it…’

His body curled in on itself, as though he was protecting himself from an oncoming blow; there was a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the distance he’d run. The despair, the sheer weight of the mistakes he had made threatened to crush him. 

That impossible, enduring affection—the kind of love strong enough to conquer even death, the kind of love he had perhaps wanted but never truly believed he’d have himself—he had almost had it. 

Or worse, he had it exactly, and he had not merely let it slip through his fingers, he had chased it away. 

For Agnes was gone—utterly lost to him, that much was clear. She had disappeared so neatly, without a trace. Oh, Johanna would send trackers after her, bounty hunters, surely, (it would have been professional neglect not to do so—the Mourn Watch kept too many secrets that they could not risk getting loose) but Emmrich did not believe for a moment they would be successful in finding her. 

“Please,” he spoke under his breath, to no one in particular. To Andraste and the Maker, perhaps, though he had never strongly believed in either. “Please, let her be safe.” 

But no, not just safe. As the sweat cooled on his body, as the fountain sprayed at his back and his heart rate slowed and he felt himself growing uncomfortably cold, Emmrich knew it was more than that. Safety, yes, at the very least. But after all the years she had devoted herself to him—all the years he had been determined to see her affection as daughterly and nothing more—she was owed far more than just safety. 

With as much conviction and faith as he could muster, he spoke his last wish for her to the quiet morning:

“Please, let her be happy. Let her be loved.”

[bi4bihankking]

The Locked Tomb Series Summary:

The “Lesbian Necromancers in Space” book series

Clear and Muddy Loss of Love Summary:

A natural moat called the Luo river split the great land into two. Jing of the north, and Wei of the south.

One was the Prince of the grass plains who had no worries nor sorrow. One was a lawful Princess who received exclusive favour of the Emperor.

A war turned the Prince of the grass plains into an orphan, she who had laid dormant for ten years had originally planned to become a sycophantic official, to manipulate the enemy kingdom into chaos, but was appointed as Fuma at the Chionglin banquet.

Wait and see, how this debt of grudge from a fallen kingdom and devastated home will be settled.

[samkat10423]

More Community Lots

So, here are a couple more community lots in town.

This one is across the street from the school. It's where the business lot is in the modern version of this town.

It's an old lot from Parsimonious Sims called the Ruby Rooms, and is zoned as an exclusive lounge. I did do some relandscaping on the outside, but nothing much. Mostly got rid of a lot of redundant hedges that came with the original and added the trees out front. I wanted to keep it pretty simple.

This is the ground floor. In the one room on the left, sims can get married. I think the original creator had a major Twilight thing going on in her life at the time, because she went nuts with the candles. I did change out the chandeliers in the lobby and added a pool table in the lounge area on the right.

The second floor is the banquet area. I upgraded all the tables - giving them actual tablecloths because you'd expect that in a classy place. I also gave them a dance floor instead of leaving that open area between the 2 buffet tables blank. Plus I got rid of all the ceiling lights she had. Mostly because this is a 2-story room and ceiling lights hanging from a non-existent ceiling makes no sense to me. I used those invisible lights from buydebug instead.

And on the top floor, I used those store gambling sets, along with @mspoodle1's poker tables, to create a small casino area for my sims to lose all their simoleons. The left side she had made into a huge bathroom - that I left. I got rid of some stuff, but basically left it alone.

Then across the street is the Baker Street Bakery. I got this lot from the Magic Kingdom world. The original lot ended with that light blue build, so I added that extra build on the end for the town spa - because I needed to stick it somewhere and I had the space here.

This is the ground floor. I think all I did here was change the floor tile.

And this is the 2nd floor. I changed all of this floor, adding those tea-set tables and adding that small lounge area for the dudes. Plus the bathrooms. I think in the original, they had made this into a kitchen, but there was lots of room on the first floor for the bakery kitchen stuff, so that's where I put it. As for the spa, it just has the rabbithole rug in it, because I got lazy.

[undiscovered-horizon]

would you ever do a chubby/plus-size!reader? i would love to see and 11th doctor x chubby!reader where they go to a formal and it’s the first time he sees reader glow like that, since she often hides herself in baggy clothes.

kinda hurt/comfort vibes. ahh i feel like 11 would be such a romantic dork, feeling all star struck. 🥺 not understanding why she thinks she’s anything but the most beautiful person in all the universes. because that’s how he sees her 😭💕

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀 || Doctor Who-inspired playlist

"Blessing me" - 11th Doctor x chubby!Reader

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

Looking for an alien on an intergalactic banquet sounded like a blockbuster space opera but there was the tiniest detail that turned it all into a nightmare - being part of it yourself. Banquets, as it befits them, mean elegant people in fitted clothes and with graceful manners. In a bitter way, it was hilarious to you as it seemed like banquets were everything you didn't have. Nevertheless, it wasn't something you could just opt out of - you signed up for the charming and deranged yourself.

Sometimes being clothed felt worse than being naked and you were painfully aware of that at the moment. Maybe most of your skin was underneath the material but still, it felt like it creased and tightened in all the wrong ways and places as if it sprouted a mind of its own that was determined to make you look the worst way possible; like it wanted to show the entire universe just how ungraceful or inelegant you were, how out of place. The dress itself was absolutely gorgeous: pion purple velvet, leg slit, cleavage... It truly looked taken straight from a magazine cover. Except you could hardly call yourself a cover girl.

The moment he heard the creak of the hinges, the Doctor moved away from the side of the TARDIS that he had been leaning against. His expression became worryingly blank when his eyes fell on you: he could either be a victim of a storm of chaotic, dismembered thoughts or a complete lack thereof. It was hard to tell which one. For some reason, it looked like he was frozen in time for a moment, with no movement or even blinking. He just... stared.

"Do I... look okay?" you asked hesitantly.

The Doctor suddenly shook awake. Immediately, his eyes wandered off and he refused to look at you again. Still, putting on a brave and certainly aloof face, he clasped his hands and turned in the direction you two should be heading:

"Yes, right, lovely. Let's go."

He just began walking away without a care in the world, more interested in the imminent danger than you. His remarkable lack of engrossment sprouted a sinking feeling in your stomach like a lead globe pulling you underground, the dread stealing your ragged breath.

"Oh God, he can't even look at me," you whispered to yourself. Your day was about to get worse as if it wasn't bad already.

Not having much experience in walking in heels, you were doing a silly, fearful trot trying to catch up with the Doctor and his long strides. But your attempt at running wasn't the only silly thing - you felt it was all of you. Finally daring to wear something else than loose jeans and a jumper only to remember why it was your exclusive clothing choice in the first place.

The ballroom was filled with aliens most of which you'd never seen before even after all this time and adventures with the Doctor - your world was still tiny. The place was packed. Every person you laid your eyes on looked fascinating even if not exactly beautiful by human standards. They left a lasting impression that made you all the more conscious about your own outstanding looks. Not the good outstanding, to be clear.

"So, looking for an alien, right?" You tried your best to seem unbothered and collected. Whether you were successful or not, Doctor's attitude remained the same: avoidant.

He was answering you while squeezing past various alien specimens in relatively elegant attire. It was difficult to hear what exactly he was saying as laughter and music echoed through the ballroom. "Yes. Well, no. An android built by an alien."

"Tomato, tomato. We're still looking for something not human on an intergalactic charity ball. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack."

The Doctor stopped abruptly. You were watchfully following his gaze and it felt like time slowed down as you saw him glance at you and hurriedly look away. He was nervously rubbing his hands. "Well then, let's find a magnet. Shall we?"

As if he wasn't a strange enough man already, the Doctor's behaviour only became more bizarre. Sometimes you'd notice, out of the corner of your eye, his curious but reluctant gaze as if he wanted to look at you but didn't want anyone else to know. Perhaps, he didn't want you to know.

The dread only continued to pull you towards the ground, the tips of your fingers turning cold and trembling. A panic raised in your chest, and obsessive thoughts kept rushing you to just go, just leave and disappear - like you were never meant to be in this place at this time.

The aforementioned lead sphere kept dragging you and dragging until you've known nothing else except desperation and panic. You needed to know the reason, to either burn in shame or laugh at your far-fetched conclusions. Whatever the answer was, you had to end that dreadful silence.

"Why won't you look at me?" you asked him.

"What? I am looking at you, what are you on about?" Despite his reassurance, he hardly gave a glance vaguely in your direction.

He kept on leading you through hotel-like corridors, guiding you to a destination he never thought to disclose. The Doctor's attention was focused on the painfully mundane furnishing: ferns, brackets, dusty oil paintings, nauseating carpets and doors that had been repainted a little too many times.

"See? Even now, we're talking and you're staring everywhere but at me. If I look hideous, just say it and let's get over it."

"Hideous?" he repeated as he suddenly stopped walking. He looked over his shoulder at your but only for a short moment. "Of course you don't look hideous, why would you say that?"

"Well, I'm not blind," you said as you vaguely pointed at your body. It was a nice euphemism, a lot less raw and honest than consciously thinking about the graceful, elegant aliens you were surrounded by. "Which is exactly why I noticed you've been refusing to look me in the eye ever since we got here. Why's that? Just... just be honest. For God's sake, just tell me why."

"Because I can't!" he suddenly raised his voice. Whatever nerve you struck, it was a quite prominent one.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both I suppose."

"But... why?" Perhaps if it was so difficult to get an honest answer from him, you shouldn't want to learn it, after all. Maybe there was a reason he kept circling around the truth.

"A Christmas tree!" he exclaimed with excitement. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "Everyone loves a Christmas tree. It's lovely, it's gorgeous. Very distracting. Best not to look at it if you've got work to do."

"I'm... distracting?" Although he made it sound fairly good, a distraction could hardly be considered an advantage of any sort. Especially in your current line of business.

"A lot more than I'm willing to admit. Now come on, we've got the universe to save."

The Doctor was about to turn around and probably run off straight into the jaws of danger hiding behind the corner but you grabbed his arm. "No, hold on a minute. You're not going to elaborate?"

"I think I made myself clear, didn't I?"

"Not exactly. 'Distracting' is a little ambiguous, don't you think? Do you mean good distracting or bad distracting? Butterflies of mosquitos?"

He pulled his hand out of your grasp. His eyes stared at your face in a manner so intense, so passionate, it nearly made you want to look way as if his gaze could burn through your skin. The Doctor was bursting at the seams, all the words he hadn't said seeping through.

"I mean distracting as in the whole universe could implode and I wouldn't care because you're here. 'I could die a happy man because I've seen you' kind of distracting."

Your mind was filled with static and even that was an understatement. Maybe you heard him wrong? Or he never said anything close to admiration and you were simply overinterpreting his intentions? Silently, you stared at him. For the first time that day, he also stared at you as if he finally gave in to an urge. At that moment, his eyes dared not look away.

"You keep on blessing me and it makes my mind go all stupid and it's distracting. Does that settle it?"

"Yeah," you answered although you didn't quite believe your own words. Truth be told, you weren't sure what to say or think. How does one accept such a confession? "Yeah, I think it does."

A distant crash and blood-chilling scream distracted both of you from the intimate words. Maybe, in some funny way, it was the android that found you, instead of the proper way around.

"Great! Now let's go on a little hunting trip."

Perhaps his eyes couldn't stay on you but his thoughts never left your side.

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Chapter 3: Bad idea

Summary: Jaskier gets caught up in missing Geralt hours and it causes him to make an impulsive decision.

Click here to read on ao3

After that fateful night where Radovid decided to stop playing nice, everything changed. Jaskier was moved from the king’s quarters to his own little room not too far away- which was a blessing and a curse simultaneously as it gave the bard some much needed privacy, but also signified to the staff that his importance had severely decreased, making them gradually neglect their duties in regard to him.

The upkeep of his recently acquired room was left to Jaskier more often than not, which he wasn’t very good at since he’d grown up as a noble and then spent the rest of his life as a travelling minstrel without a permanent residence- save for his small apartment at Oxenfurt Academy, which wasn’t really his, just a living space that was lent to him as part of the remuneration for his occasional position as a professor. The lavish meals that used to be delivered to him three times a day had also started to become scarce. Thank Melitele Jaskier had made friends with the kitchen staff, or he would be borderline starving.

Another sign that the bard had fallen from the king’s favor was the fact that Radovid called for him with far less frequency, maybe twice a week- which wasn’t little, but it was a clear deviation from their previous routine- and Jaskier was usually kicked out after their (rough, a lot rougher than before) coupling ended.

Thankfully, he was still allowed to play his role as court bard. The show must go on, Radovid had said after Jaskier inquired about it, but sadly the position didn’t belong exclusively to him anymore and other bards visited every so often to perform. The first one of them being *gag* Valdo Fucking Marx. Jaskier wasn’t sure if Radovid had invited him on purpose after hearing about their long-standing rivalry or not but he was pissed nonetheless.

“I don’t know how you managed to keep the king’s favor for so long Javier, but your luck has run out. Seems like he’s losing interest in you.” Valdo said to him with a taunting sneer when they inevitably crossed paths.

If only, Jaskier thought with a resigned shake of his head and didn’t even bother to correct the other bard about his name. 

Because of those sudden breaks, and with the added bonus of most of Jaskier’s nights post-performance being free, he had a lot more time to enjoy the banquets and indulge in the wine and ale that was offered to the guests in abundance. The amount he consumed increased steadily each day but he was past the point of caring.

His relationship with alcohol was a complex one. Like the majority of people, Jaskier often drank as a way to let loose and have fun, to just plainly sate his thirst or as a coping mechanism after going through hard times- when he was not yet ready to sort through his feelings and express them through poetry or song. Τhe most notable instance in recent history being after he was abandoned at the top of a mountain by the person he cared most about in the world. Geralt may have apologized (in a rather lackluster attempt) but the damage was already done.

Over 20 years he spent loyally following the witcher and yet he was discarded so easily, as if he meant nothing. Their friendship- even though the witcher still refused to call it that - had been going for over ten years when the djinn incident happened, and all this while the witcher snapped at him and tried to leave him behind at every turn, keeping clear boundaries and only allowing minimum physical contact.

Jaskier thought that was because Geralt just wasn’t used to kindness and companionship, but after seeing the way he was immediately taken with Yennefer, the bard had to face the bitter truth that he himself was the problem.

The bard was perfectly aware as to how he was often perceived by others, being either too much or too little, only tolerable in small doses and easily tossed aside. He’d just been stupid enough to assume Geralt was different…

He spent months post-mountain in an intoxicated haze before the war worsened and he decided to use his popularity to help smuggle elves away from certain death. He felt like he owed it to them, partly because of Toss a Coin - which didn’t paint them in the best light - but also as an apology for what his kind was doing to them. Through it all he continued to drink, albeit with less vigor, not wanting to chance anything going wrong with his plans and putting everyone who trusted and depended on him in danger.

After the Voleth Meir incident, where he spent most of the night being useless and hiding underneath a table while drunk as witchers around him lost their lives, he decided to put an end to his addiction. It took a lot of time and effort, but he pulled through because he couldn’t be of any use to Geralt otherwise.

Some might call his loyalty foolish, but if the witcher ever needed him, Jaskier would damn well do anything in his power to help him. Even if that meant staying behind and taking care of various matters while Geralt played happy family with his child surprise and the woman that he had decided to tie himself to after knowing for a day.

Soon after his arrival to Redania Jaskier broke his sobriety streak, finding no point in maintaining it anymore, and it got a lot worse after his and Radovid’s ‘falling out’. Life was just so much easier to deal with that way…

--------

Jaskier was making his way back to the palace’s living quarters from the banquet hall, having given a truly excellent performance if he’d say so himself, one that left everyone present in a jovial mood, handing him drink after drink after drink... In few words, Jaskier was well and truly wasted.

He could barely see from the dizziness, and the faint candle lights that were placed sparsely throughout the hallway for aesthetic purposes weren’t much help, so the bard’s subsequent stumbling and falling flat on his face was unavoidable, really. Jaskier’s reflexes, not so great to begin with, had been made even worse due to the large amounts of alcohol in his system and he barely had time to shield his head with his hands before he made contact with the (thankfully) carpeted floor.

He stayed in that position for a while, cursing his shitty luck. This had been one of his best days since he arrived here and now his mood was once again ruined. The pleasant buzz in his head was already slowly disappearing and soon he’d have to face reality once again.

After wallowing in misery for a good five minutes, Jaskier planted his palms to the ground and tried to lift himself up in what could be considered the world's worst push-up, before his trembling arms gave out and he ended up back where he started.

All the muscle I gained after the mountain is almost gone, he thought bitterly. With a loud groan, the bard used the rest of his strength to flip himself to his back. All that time and effort wasted.

That position was a lot more comfortable, and at least he didn’t have to deal with a mouthful of floor any longer, so it was a win in Jaskier’s book.

As he stared at the ceiling, he noticed how the flickering light from the candles reflected against the unlit chandelier, the crystals forming small rainbows that danced around them. It had been so long since Jaskier had seen an actual rainbow.

He could almost imagine Geralt standing above him and rolling his eyes fondly as he waited for Jaskier to take his outstretched hand and help himself up, like they’d done so many times in the past. Jaskier reached his hand up tentatively but there was nothing in the empty space for him to grab. He pursed his lips to stop them from trembling as he felt a tear slide down his cheek.

He closed his eyes. Geralt wasn’t here. Jaskier would never see him again, and out of everything he'd been through so far, no pain could compare against the one caused by this knowledge. Gone were the days where they travelled side by side, huddled together for warmth, relaxed around a campfire under the stars, bickered…

The witcher finally got his blessing.

This was the second time the bard had to mourn Geralt while he was, hopefully, still alive. The witcher was, predictably, doing a good job of hiding his traces because no rumors circulated about him or Ciri at court, and while Jaskier was desperate to know if they were ok, he hoped that no news meant good news.

Jaskier was about to lower his still extended arm and go back to ignoring the gaping hole in his chest in when it was suddenly enveloped in someone’s grip. The bard opened his eyes, startled, to see Blade looking down at him with a smirk.

“How much longer are you planning to stay here? It’s been almost 20 minutes and I would’ve preferred to be in bed by now.”

Jaskier glared up at them and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Bed? And here I thought you spent the nights crouched outside my door like a clingy pet that'd been kicked out.”

Blade rolled their eyes and swiftly pulled Jaskier to his feet. The bard swayed and his knees were about to give out again when Blade wrapped an arm around his torso.

“Oof, you’re heavier than you look bardling.” They grunted.

Jaskier bit his lip harshly to distract his mind from the resurfacing memories of Yennefer who used to call him that and squawked in offense. “Are you calling me fat?! Ohohoho no, this will not stand, uh- Mister? Miss? Argh whatever, you don’t deserve to be called by a respectful term anyways, but you get the point!

Blade chuckled and leveled him with a look. “By this I assume you mean you, because you're the only thing having trouble standing currently.”

Before Jaskier could find a retort, they half-dragged him along in the direction of his room. The movement made the bard’s stomach roll, but the dizziness had mostly cleared due to the fall. They reached his bedroom soon after and Blade deposited the bard to lean against the door. The guard nodded toward it. “Go on then. And be sure to dream about ways to get back at me.”

Jaskier punched their chest weakly and yawned. “Eh, this should be enough.” He said and made to turn around but paused in his tracks. He turned back towards Blade. It was one of the rare cases where their hood was missing. Jaskier had never seen their bare face from this close before so he took his time studying it.

Their auburn hair had taken an even more reddish hue as a result of the candlelight, creating a stark contrast between it and their tan skin, that was made darker due to the shadows. Their facial features were delicate yet sharp and long eyelashes framed their round hazel eyes. Barely visible was a thin scar making its way vertically at the left side of their mouth that inevitably drew Jaskier’s gaze to their lips.

It had been so long since he’d done anything with anyone that wasn’t forced Radovid, and he was desperate to gain any semblance of control by reclaiming that part of himself. And Blade was right there, in all their beauty, looking back at him through half-lidded eyes that were doing a bad job hiding thinly-veiled desire…

So Jaskier did the only logical thing in this situation and grabbed the guard’s collar to pull them in for a rough kiss, teeth clanging. Blade responded immediately, grabbing the bards waist to press their bodies together and Jaskier took that chance to grind his hips against the other’s. Blade groaned against his lips and moved to mouth at the bard’s throat. Everything was moving so fast, the overwhelming sensations finally managing to quiet Jaskier’s raging mind and, at least superficially, fill the emptiness in his heart.

The bard blindly searched for the door handle with his free hand, eager to reach his bed so they could continue further, when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Both him and Blade froze for a second before pulling apart abruptly.

Standing a few meters away, with his arms crossed and wearing a deceptively calm expression, was none other than the king of Redania.

[dyrewrites]

Holly Lisle -- Some words

I've just learned that my favorite modern author died last month. I, along with everyone else who subscribed to her newsletter, was aware of her health issues--and how she refused to slow down in spite of them.

So this is not a surprise so much as a gut-punch for the timing. Because I didn't know it was this bad.

I'm going to try not to go on too long...but I might fail (I did).

First I'd like to say that her books helped my husband and I bond on a level I'd never quite bonded with anyone else. She was his favorite too. He introduced me to her, in fact and she was my first fantasy read outside of classics. I've never been good at talking about books to other people but he and I still discuss some of hers.

Her writing workshops helped give me the confidence to start writing again after years of believing myself incapable. She also knocked me out of believing there was no point, as I was raised on the idea that there was only worth doing something if you could make money at it. While her workshops, and newsletters, consistently informed people there was no 'real' money in writing...but she managed to keep herself and her family afloat as the sole provider with it. It took her decades to get there, but she did it, so it was possible. That meant a lot at the time.

I'd also like to say that she wrote some of the best romance and intimacy I've ever read. When none of her books were really about that. It was in there because it was part of life, part of those characters and it felt so natural and beautiful and I have never before (or since) cried reading a sex scene. But she got me with one.

And lastly, if you've been longing for an author who covers more than a binary spectrum of gender roles, or genders or sexuality...she's your gal. She created maybe six or seven different genders for one of her worlds and there are so many words and languages in her books to cover more. It's staggering, honestly.

As for recommendations;

You like female heroes (I think exclusively even)? You've a banquet to pick from.

You like political intrigue? The Secret Texts quadrilogy has you covered.

You like weird magic that breaks worlds and gives a cat thumbs? The Arhel trilogy will delight you.

You want to cry about the power of a sister's love repeatedly while worrying about magic mirrors and dragons? World Gates trilogy.

Desire a space-faring kind of bounty hunter who kicks ass and almost dies a lot? Her name is Cadence Drake.

How about a middle grade book about kids meeting faeries and trying to save their parents? Moon and Sun duology.

All of them tread into dark places, all of them put you at risk of feelings things you didn't know you could, and she is not afraid to kill major characters...so, you know, if you see her listed as "Fantasy Romance" be aware that genres are simplified and there's layers.

Holly Lisle's written so much and she had so much more she wanted to write...and now she won't.

But you can read what's out there, learn who this lovely mind was through her work and maybe add an author too few people have heard of to your shelf.

I've not read all she's written but I've loved all I have and plan to find everything I haven't.

[nurturercelia]

Celia Rowe Robinson (Lashana Lynch) is a thirty-two year-old Therapist in Albany, NY. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only fourteen. They are known as The Nurturer because they are warm-hearted but also restrained. Let’s see what choice they make regarding the fate of Woodrow House.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Celia Rowe Robinson

Nickname(s): Cee, anyone can use. She is not picky.

Date of Birth: July 1st, 1973

Age: 32

Occupation: Licensed Clinical Therapist, LCSW

Current Residence: A townhouse in Albany that she shares with her husband

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: black shoulder-length, usually pulled back behind her ears (think of her Miss Honey hair in Matilda)

Eyes: dark brown

Height: 5' 9"

Notable Features: soft eyes, easy to feel safe around (she hopes), big smile. Used to feel insecure about it but has since learned to love it

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: good listener, sympathetic, selfless, genuine, loyal

Weaknesses: sensitive, deflects, anxious as all Hell

Quirks: Celia will clean when she is nervous. She does not mind it, in fact, she finds the act of taking a space that was messy and making it new very satisfying. Growing up I imagine she would get quite stressed if she had to spend time in a ward's bedroom if it was messy, maybe even start picking things up without realizing what she was doing. Always cold.

Vices: Drinks: sometimes. Smokes/Drugs: no. Loves a little sweet treat. A Shirley Temple, a coke, a cupcake.

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Plants/gardening, musicals (watching, not performing), tea, talking to strangers (she is the type to make a friend in line somewhere), audiobooks in the car

Hobbies: Celia loves a little keepsake!! She is a scrap booker and probably has everyone's baby teeth in a little bag (this is cute not creepy) that she hot glued to a page with ribbons and stickers. She WILL be buying an NYC snow globe or a Myrtle Beach keychain for the memories!!! She writes to all the wards pretty regularly and you always know the letter is from her because it's written in a beautiful script where the i's are hearts <3 and it's on thick patterned paper

BECOMING A WARD

tw: child neglect, suicide/suicide attempt

Gloria Robinson was quite keen to keep up with appearances. Despite being a single mother with a full-time job, she ran in intellectual circles that valued fellow scholars exchanging the brilliance of their own minds. Richard was included in this exclusive list of mostly Arts and Humanities professors at Kingsbury College. And young Celia would relish in the attention she was provided by them. She was the after dinner entertainment in the form of a little violinist, a wide smile practiced and rehearsed as she geared up for her solo. She loved the accolades that fell on her: “Great job, my dear” and “what a little Chopin you have!” and “someone ought to tell the New York Philharmonic about her!” Always the best ones coming from Richard. She wanted to impress her mother, to show her she could be useful in her mother’s pursuits. If she saw her with her head in a book, maybe she would be proud of her.

But everything changed just days before Celia’s 10th birthday. Moments before the start of a large party being held at their house, Gloria received a call that her brother passed. He ended his life when the recession tanked and took all of his stocks with it, something Celia’s uncle who worked in the city, urged Gloria to contribute to as well. The house grew silent. Frozen. Dark. The frequency of parties dwindled to fewer and fewer until they were a distant memory. Celia’s mother lost her job and the instruments turned into nothing more than firewood during the frigid winters when the heat got turned off; the lavish banquets turned to frozen peas meticulously distributed for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. There was no time to build resentment when her stomach rang louder than the screaming in her head. Falling into this role wasn’t a choice, but a duty. Who else would feed them while her mother sat stoic in front of the television all day?

And with only the two of them to fill that big house, it was only a matter of time before Celia found her mother had attempted the same fate as her late uncle. But now, Celia could do nothing to help. She was thirteen now, thinking of herself as a fully-fledged adult, or close enough to it. But no amount of force-fed dinners could let her escape what she saw. 

It would be a month later that Celia would see her mother again when she emerged from the woods of their home, pajamas muddy from the overnight rain. Celia placed a bowl of soup in front of her spot by the TV--watery noodles and some seasoning--and cried.

Maybe it was the way Celia answered the phone when Richard called, voice far too hoarse and drained for one so young that drew Richard back after what had to be years of silence from the Robinsons. It was there he found little Celia, hair matted, trash piled up to the ceiling, the young girl finishing her daily routine of spoon feeding her mother lunch. It was Richard who suggested checking Gloria into a psychiatric ward, ("a quick hour away”) but Celia who ultimately agreed to it. After a failed attempt to find any information about Celia’s father, it was Richard who ultimately took custody of her. The news spread fast among their circles--those same voices now whispering things like “poor dear” and “how tragic” and “thank goodness for Richard, bless him.” It is here Celia learned not all attention was welcomed.

LIFE AS A WARD

After what she had witnessed, she was grateful for a warm bed and some other folks to talk to. In many ways, she felt a bit like a burden, a case Richard took on to clear his guilty conscience from his lack of contact earlier; something he owed her mother rather than out of the goodness of his heart. She did not think of him as a parent necessarily, for she had one of those, even if Celia could only see her for an hour every second Tuesday of the month during planned visitations.

Even so, she was thankful and showed it by always being respectful to all the staff in the house. She grew close with the mental health professional who came to the house every week, valuing the time she spent with the woman who could help her cope with her past. She knew what others said, remarks made in open and closed doors about her mother and she refused to let the rumor mill run even more because of her behavior.

AESTHETIC

TJ Maxx/Marshalls/Ross girl. She is sooo going to be obsessed with the Live Laugh Love sign movement. The inspirational quotes are everywhere in her office. She loves a mule or sling back. Comfortable but professional. Florals and lil pops of color. Her house is full of quilts and blankets, vintage dishware. Too many pillows on the couch, tons of cards stuck on the fridge. Absolutely NO overhead lighting ever. Always smells like vanilla.

EDUCATION

Celia chose to continue her education at Woodrow House, not yet ready to leave the other wards who so clearly needed her help. She would continue her studies there and use it as an opportunity to look after them for as long as she could. Celia's respect for Richard for all he has provided her runs deep, and she majored in Psychology at Kingsbury College for undergrad, Richard’s alma mater, as an ode to both him and her mother’s former place of work. She went on the complete her Masters in Social Work at Skidmore College, not far from Woodrow House, where she met her now husband. No matter how hard she might want to get away, there seems to be some sort of rope puling her back.

EXTRACURRICULARS 

Celia tried to pick up a violin again--there was plenty of music around to study, but something about doing so felt off. It was hard to separate the instrument from the dark memories she had with it as a child. Still, she missed the feeling of creating something beautiful with the strings and the bow. She was introduced to the cello and found it to be different enough that she could play in peace. Richard and her mother's love of literature has also made its way into her. She found joy in reading to the younger wards as well.

THEIR LIFE NOW

Celia's wedding took place about three years ago--it was by a lake not far from Woodrow House, a convenient excuse to get the gang back together, whether or not everyone chose to attend or not. Celia and Michael started dating soon after they met in grad school and have been together since. The love they both used to feel for each other is clearly dwindling, and Celia finds herself clinging to the need to fix it herself more than she should. She likes having a husband, regardless of who that husband is, feeling like the first time in her life she should have something totally put together. Recently, she hasa been spending more and more time alone in her house, Michael's overnight shifts at the hospital seemingly going longer and longer. She has noticed a distance from him, but can't bring herself to face the truth.

Up until Richard's death, Celia remained close to Woodrow Houses in the townhouse she owns with her husband Michael in Albany for frequent visits to both her mother and those at Woodrow House. While Celia does most of the initiating, she makes sure to always keep up with the other wards, whether it is a letter or a call or a visit. If she doesn't hear from them directly, she will ask those who do keep up with her about what they know about the others. Selfishly, she needs to know that they are doing okay and will often call or write more than necessary just to double check. She keeps a spare room open in her house at all times and goes out of her way to make sure they all know her location in case they need a place to stay.

Her career can be quite draining, and she often finds it difficult to separate herself from the work. That is definitely being put to the test during her week at Woodrow with all the wards again.

HOW ARE THEY HANDLING NEWS OF RICHARD’S PASSING?

Deep down, Celia is quite broken over it. She thought she could handle death--she has pre-grieved the loss of her mother for more than half her life, after all. But dealing with it head on is another thing entirely. Much like when she was a child, she finds herself welcoming distractions, choosing to lose herself in helping others come to terms with their grief instead of dealing with her own. After all, she makes a living listening to other people’s problems, not sharing her own. Being a licensed therapist, she feels she is uniquely suited to handle everyone else’s feelings--the difference is those clients choose to see her once a week and then say goodbye. They pay for her to help them in one-hour weekly sessions and then stop when time is up. With the other wards, it isn’t that simple. They did not ask her for help and many have made it clear they do not want it, despite how desperately she needs to feel wanted.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME THEY WERE AT WOODROW HOUSE?

Celia visited for one of her scheduled dinners a month before Richard’s passing. She noted how he showed no signs of feeling ill, although she admitted she did not see him for much of the dinner and spent most of it catching up with Mrs. Tristan and Edward.

[headcanonandburn]

The French Ministry of Magic

The French Ministry of Magic, known as "Le Ministère de la Magie" in French, is a majestic building located in the heart of Paris, right in the magical district of Montmartre; a place not so far from where they appeared a few hours ago. The structure stands imposing and enigmatic, surrounded by an elegant wrought iron fence that welcomes visitors with intricate magical patterns and French emblems. The façade of the building is adorned with beautiful magical stained glass windows that illuminate the interior with a warm and bright light, creating a cozy atmosphere. Gothic arches and pointed towers rise into the sky, forming a distinctive silhouette that reflects France's rich magical history. To enter the French Ministry of Magic, visitors must walk through an elegant main door carved from oak wood, which is protected by a series of spells and enchantments to ensure the safety and control of those entering and leaving.

Special guests, such as magical ambassadors from other countries or important figures from the wizarding world, are welcomed through a secret access known as "Le Passage Enchanté." This hidden passage is located in a cobblestone alley behind the main building and is only visible to those who have been officially invited. Upon uttering a special password, an arched doorway materializes in the stone, revealing a path illuminated by magical lights that leads directly to the Main Atrium.

Within the Ministry, hallways intertwine like a complex network of labyrinths, each leading to different departments and specialized rooms. Magical murals and animated paintings adorn the walls, depicting historical moments of French magic and its legendary heroes. The Main Atrium is an impressive and bright space, with a high ceiling that seems to disappear into the sky. In the center of the Atrium, a majestic magical fountain with sculptures of mythological creatures and arcane symbols creates an aura of power and mystery. Within the Ministry, there are also internal structures such as:

1.La Bibliothèque des Sortilèges: The Ministry's extensive library houses a vast compendium of magical books, scrolls and historical documents, some of them unique and extremely rare.

2.Le Salon de Magie: An elegant reception room where important magical events are held, such as banquets and receptions for dignitaries and magical personalities.

3.Le Salle de Conférences: A large, well-equipped conference room, where official meetings, magical policy discussions, and academic conferences are held.

4.Le Quartier des Énigmes: A sector dedicated to the research and study of magical enigmas and ancient artifacts. It is the place where magical artifact experts work to solve and understand mysterious objects.

In short, the French Ministry of Magic is a place of magic, history and splendor, reflecting France's rich magical heritage. Its structures and internal spaces harbor an atmosphere of mystery and wisdom, and its secret access for special guests adds a touch of intrigue and exclusivity to the place. It is an epicenter of the magical community in France and a symbol of the greatness and excellence of French magic.

[deathlessathanasia]

"That Minoan and Mycenaean states pursued different strategies of political rule is reflected in different architectural plans found at Minoan and Mycenaean palaces.

Minoan palaces are designed around a large central court flanked by residential quarters, storage facilities, and ritual suites. The central court is the main space around which palace traffic circulated, and various wings of the building were most easily (or only) accessible via the central court (Driessen 2002 , 2004). Many Aegean prehistorians have accordingly advocated replacing the term “palace” with “court compound.” while the palace at Knossos has a “throne room,” its function appears to have been related more to ritual practices rather than political ones, and the throne itself is probably a later feature added during the Mycenaean period (Driessen 2002). Other Minoan palaces do not have throne rooms, and an iconography of the ruler is missing from Minoan representational art until the very end of the Neopalatial period (Davis 1995), which is very typical of corporate states (Blanton et al. 1996).

Moreover, there is an absence of very wealthy burials in Protopalatial and Neopalatial Crete that we might call “royal,” although there are major depositions of wealth within the palaces themselves. Recent work on Minoan palaces has, in fact, suggested that they were “communal, ceremonial centers that were used both by non-elite (outside) and by elite groups (inside) as meeting places for ritual, integrative actions” (Driessen 2002,). That the courts of the Minoan palaces were used for major communal rituals is indicated by two miniature frescoes found at Knossos, the Grandstand Fresco and the Sacred Grove Fresco.

The ritual role of Minoan palaces should not, however, diminish their administrative and economic roles, which were crucially important. Storage of agricultural staples was extensive in both Protopalatial and Neopalatial palaces (Christakis 2004, 2008), and the administrative texts of the Minoan palaces, while undeciphered, clearly monitor large amounts of foodstuffs alongside other valuable commodities and human labor (Palmer 1995). Even if these foodstuffs were ultimately destined for communal banqueting ceremonies, the economic impact of the Minoan palace cannot be ignored. It appears that Minoan economy and ritual were tightly integrated, not mutually exclusive, components of the larger, corporate state system (Day and Relaki 2002, 219–20).

Mycenaean palaces on the Greek mainland, on the other hand, are organized around a central “megaron” complex, which consists of a porch, an anteroom, and a large rectangular room with a central hearth bracketed by four columns and a throne regularly located to the right of the entrance. Flanking this megaron complex are small courts, storerooms, administrative quarters, and residential suites. Mycenaean architecture thereby emphasizes the importance of the enthroned king, whose title, as we know from the clay administrative tablets written in Linear B, was wanax (wa-na-ka).

Wealthy burials are an endemic feature of Mycenaean palatial societies and the communities that preceded them. At the palatial sites of Mycenae and Pylos, large corbeled “tholos” tombs are closely associated with the palace itself. These tombs have architectural precursors on the mainland in the form of Middle Bronze Age tumuli and on Crete in the form of large, circular tomb chambers (Rutter 1993, 789; Parkinson and Galaty 2007, 122). Mycenaean art, like Minoan art, lacks a clear iconography of the king himself; rather, the wall paintings of the palace act as a frame or focalizing device for the wanax, providing a ‘first-person’ (rather than ‘third-person’) iconography of power (Bennet 2007). As with the tholos tombs, the iconographic vocabulary of these artistic frames at Mycenaean palaces (e.g., heraldic lions/griffins, in-curved altars) is largely borrowed from the Minoan world.

In terms of political economy, Mycenaean palaces were interested in controlling the acquisition of exotic raw materials such as ivory, as well as their distribution as finished products (Burns 1999). Many of these goods are found deposited in rock-cut chamber tombs and corbeled tholos tombs, some of which are truly monumental (Cavanagh and Mee 1998). Palace-sponsored feasting is a feature common to all Mycenaean centers and arguably was one way for the palace to promote the centrality of the state, along with the individuals and corporate groups who contributed staples and material, in ritual practice. These features can be associated with network (as opposed to corporate) strategies that center on the individual and the control of prestige goods."

-State and Society, in The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean

[oppvenuz]

 The Best Event Venues in Mumbai: Elevate Your Celebration to New Heights

Mumbai, the city that never sleeps, is a hub of culture, business, and entertainment. Whether you're planning a wedding, corporate event, or a social gathering, the city offers a plethora of venues that cater to every style and need. From luxurious hotels to unique spaces, Mumbai's event venues provide the perfect setting for memorable celebrations. Here’s a guide to some of the best event venues in Mumbai, each promising to make your occasion truly special.

Click Here For More Deatils:https://www.oppvenuz.com/vendors/venue/?city=mumbai

 1. Luxurious Hotels with Grand Ballrooms

   - The Taj Mahal Palace, Colaba: A symbol of luxury and heritage, The Taj Mahal Palace is one of Mumbai’s most iconic venues. Located in the heart of the city, this hotel offers several grand ballrooms and elegant spaces that are perfect for high-profile events. Whether it's a wedding, corporate function, or gala dinner, the Taj Mahal Palace ensures an experience of grandeur and impeccable service.

   - The St. Regis Mumbai, Lower Parel: Known for its opulence and sophistication, The St. Regis Mumbai offers versatile event spaces, including grand ballrooms, terraces, and private dining rooms. The hotel’s event planning team specializes in creating bespoke experiences, making it an ideal choice for weddings, social gatherings, and corporate events. With stunning views of the city and top-notch amenities, this venue is a favorite among Mumbai’s elite.

 2. Boutique Venues with Unique Character

   - The Royal Opera House, Girgaon: For those seeking a venue with historical charm and architectural beauty, The Royal Opera House is a magnificent choice. This restored heritage building, with its stunning interiors and grand stage, is perfect for cultural events, weddings, and exclusive gatherings. The venue's regal ambiance adds a touch of old-world charm to any celebration.

   - The Great Eastern Home, Byculla: Housed in a former industrial warehouse, The Great Eastern Home is a unique venue that combines vintage elegance with modern amenities. The space features a mix of antique furnishings, art, and contemporary décor, making it an ideal setting for creative and artistic events. Whether it’s a wedding, product launch, or fashion show, this venue offers a distinctive and memorable backdrop.

 3. Open-Air and Scenic Venues

   - Dome at NSCI, Worli: Overlooking the Arabian Sea, Dome at NSCI is one of Mumbai’s most sought-after open-air venues. With its retractable roof and panoramic views, this venue is perfect for large-scale events such as concerts, weddings, and corporate parties. The versatile space can be customized to suit different themes and requirements, ensuring a spectacular event experience.

   - Marine Drive Promenade: For a truly iconic Mumbai experience, the Marine Drive Promenade offers a breathtaking setting for outdoor events. With the sea on one side and the city skyline on the other, this venue is ideal for intimate gatherings, photo shoots, and cultural events. The natural beauty and vibrant atmosphere of Marine Drive make it a popular choice for those looking to create unforgettable memories.

 4. Versatile Banquet Halls and Convention Centers

   - Nehru Centre, Worli: A versatile venue that can accommodate a wide range of events, Nehru Centre is known for its state-of-the-art facilities and convenient location. The venue offers several halls and auditoriums, making it suitable for conferences, exhibitions, weddings, and social events. With ample parking and professional event management services, Nehru Centre is a reliable choice for large gatherings.

   - Bombay Exhibition Centre, Goregaon: As one of India’s largest exhibition centers, the Bombay Exhibition Centre offers vast spaces that can be tailored for various events, from trade shows and exhibitions to large corporate events and concerts. The venue’s expansive halls and modern infrastructure make it a go-to destination for hosting large-scale events in Mumbai.

 5. Cultural and Artistic Spaces

   - Prithvi Theatre, Juhu: Known for its intimate setting and artistic vibe, Prithvi Theatre is a beloved venue for cultural and artistic events. While primarily a theatre space, Prithvi also hosts weddings, private parties, and corporate events that seek a creative and unconventional atmosphere. The venue’s café and garden add to its charm, making it a unique choice for those looking to infuse their event with a touch of culture.

   - Mehboob Studios, Bandra: A historic film studio with a legacy of Bollywood magic, Mehboob Studios offers a creative and versatile space for events. The studio’s large sound stages and outdoor areas can be transformed into stunning venues for weddings, product launches, fashion shows, and more. With its rich cinematic history and spacious environment, Mehboob Studios is a favorite for those looking to create a cinematic experience.

 Conclusion

Mumbai’s diverse event venues offer something for every occasion, whether you’re planning a grand celebration or an intimate gathering. From luxurious hotels and open-air spaces to cultural landmarks and creative studios, the city has it all. By choosing one of these top venues, you can ensure that your event in Mumbai is not only successful but also unforgettable.

[inechoingsilence]

＄for one muse to catch the other staring lovingly

(from Aemond to the muse of your choice)

A man was attempting to talk to Mael about potential work, but his attention was diverted. Not even aware of his wine glass (which he still held mid air after his last sip), all of his focus was on Aemond. His dark eyes drank in the blond's every movement, every toss of silken hair, every sneer that rested on his lips. The man was gorgeous, and Mael was completely smitten.

To the singer, Aemond was a dear friend - and in recent days possibly something more. They had gone to the same university, and moved in similar social circles. It was being in society that had brought them closer together over time - finding each other fleeing the crowds at parties and banquets for quieter spaces, quiet, discreet coffee dates, and texting or emailing rather often.

He didn't want to be that guy, and insist on labels. All Mael knew is that since he started spending serious time with Aemond, there was no one else, and he wanted them to be exclusive badly. To the point Mael willingly traveled regularly from the Dornish Marshes to Kings Landing to attend rather boring banquets and fundraisers simply because Aemond asked him to. He even donated a prize for this particular fundraiser, which was to sing at a lavish dinner for whoever had the winning bid.

Seeing that Mael wasn't interested, the man moved on, finally leaving the dark haired singer alone to observe and fall more and more in love with Aemond.

[orionrealtor]

Unveiling the Pinnacle of Elegance: Luxury Residential Projects in Gurgaon

Gurgaon, the thriving city in the National Capital Region (NCR), has evolved into a coveted destination for luxury living. Home to a plethora of opulent residential projects, Gurgaon offers a lifestyle that exudes sophistication and comfort. In this article, we will explore the realm of luxury residential projects in Gurgaon, catering to the discerning tastes of homebuyers seeking 2/3/4 BHK apartments. From world-class amenities to architectural brilliance, these projects redefine modern living and present a haven of tranquility amidst the urban landscape.

The Rise of Luxury Residential Projects in Gurgaon :

As Gurgaon witnessed exponential growth in the corporate and industrial sectors, it naturally attracted an affluent population seeking exquisite living spaces. This demand gave rise to a surge in luxury residential projects that aimed to offer a lifestyle of unmatched opulence. These projects not only boast exclusive apartments but also a suite of amenities and services that cater to the aspirations of the privileged few.

Features that Define Luxury Apartments in Gurgaon :

Luxury Residential Projects in Gurgaon are characterized by a range of exceptional features that set them apart from conventional housing. From the moment one steps into the elegantly designed lobby to the meticulously crafted interiors, these apartments leave no stone unturned in providing an unmatched living experience.

Spacious floor plans, high ceilings, and large windows allow natural light to permeate through the rooms, creating an aura of openness. High-quality materials, premium finishes, and state-of-the-art fittings contribute to an ambiance of luxury and grandeur. Residents have access to private balconies and terraces that offer breathtaking views of the cityscape or lush landscapes, allowing them to connect with nature in the midst of urban living.

World-Class Amenities and Facilities:

Luxury residential projects in Gurgaon pride themselves on offering a comprehensive array of world-class amenities that cater to residents' diverse needs. From resort-style swimming pools to fully equipped fitness centers, these projects aim to provide a holistic living experience. Spa and wellness centers, yoga studios, and meditation zones offer residents avenues for relaxation and rejuvenation.

The presence of exclusive clubhouses with lounge areas, multipurpose halls, and banquet facilities facilitate social gatherings and celebrations. For sports enthusiasts, these projects include sports courts, jogging tracks, and outdoor play areas to encourage an active and healthy lifestyle. Moreover, many luxury projects offer concierge services, 24x7 security, and intelligent home automation systems, ensuring residents' safety and convenience.

Prime Locations and Connectivity:

Luxury residential projects in Gurgaon are strategically located in prime neighborhoods, offering a blend of tranquility and accessibility. These projects are usually situated in close proximity to major business districts, commercial centers, and educational institutions, providing convenience for daily commuting and professional engagements. Additionally, easy access to highways and expressways ensures smooth connectivity to Delhi and other parts of NCR.

Investment Potential of Luxury Apartments:

Investing in luxury residential projects in Gurgaon not only promises an unmatched living experience but also offers excellent investment potential. Gurgaon's real estate market has demonstrated consistent growth over the years, and luxury properties have been known to command higher appreciation rates compared to other segments. The area's economic growth, infrastructure development, and the influx of multinational corporations further bolster the demand for premium housing.

Conclusion:

Luxury residential projects in Gurgaon epitomize elegance, sophistication, and modern living. With their opulent apartments, world-class amenities, and prime locations, these projects offer an unparalleled lifestyle experience for residents. As Gurgaon continues to evolve, the demand for luxury housing is expected to rise, making these projects not only a haven of tranquility but also a wise investment choice. Embrace the pinnacle of elegance and elevate your living experience with the luxury residential projects in Gurgaon, where every moment is an enchanting celebration of refined living

Visit: https://www.orionrealtors.com/residential.html Or Call: +91 7620470000 For Best Deal.

[sets-in-the-city]

Wedding Rental Studio: Creating a Dream Venue for Your Big Day

Planning a wedding involves numerous decisions, from choosing the venue to selecting decorations and arranging catering services. One crucial aspect that couples often overlook is the option of renting a wedding studio. A wedding rental studio provides a dedicated space for hosting wedding ceremonies, receptions, and other related events. In this article, we will explore the benefits of renting a wedding studio, discuss how to choose the right one, and provide useful tips for making the most of this unique wedding venue option.

1. Introduction

Planning a wedding can be a daunting task, and finding the perfect venue is often at the top of the to-do list. While traditional wedding venues such as hotels, banquet halls, or outdoor locations have their own charm, an increasingly popular alternative is the wedding rental studio. A wedding studio offers a private, customizable space for couples to celebrate their special day. Let's delve into the advantages of opting for a wedding rental studio.

2. What is a Wedding Rental Studio?

A wedding rental studio is a dedicated space specifically designed to host weddings and related events. It provides a blank canvas for couples to transform the venue into their dream wedding setting. Wedding studios come in various sizes and layouts, accommodating intimate gatherings as well as larger ceremonies. These venues typically offer flexibility in terms of event duration, allowing couples to rent the studio for a few hours or for the entire day.

3. Benefits of Renting a Wedding Studio

Convenience and Flexibility

One of the primary benefits of renting a wedding studio is the convenience it offers. Unlike traditional venues that may have restricted availability due to other events, a wedding studio allows couples to choose the date and time that suits them best. This flexibility makes it easier to plan other aspects of the wedding, such as vendor arrangements and guest invitations.

Cost-Effectiveness

Renting a wedding studio can also be a cost-effective choice. Traditional venues often come with hefty price tags, including additional fees for catering, decorations, and audiovisual equipment. In contrast, wedding studios typically offer all-inclusive packages or the option to bring in your preferred vendors. This flexibility allows couples to control their budget and allocate funds to other important aspects of their wedding.

Professional Setting and Equipment

Wedding rental studios are designed with weddings in mind, providing a professional setting that enhances the overall experience. These venues often come equipped with state-of-the-art audiovisual systems, lighting options, and soundproofing to create the perfect ambiance. Couples can take advantage of these amenities to ensure their wedding looks and sounds spectacular.

Privacy and Exclusivity

Another advantage of renting a wedding studio is the privacy and exclusivity it offers. Unlike public venues where multiple events may be taking place simultaneously, a rental studio allows couples to have complete control over their wedding space. This ensures an intimate atmosphere and reduces the chances of unexpected interruptions or distractions during the ceremony or reception.

4. Choosing the Right Wedding Rental Studio

Selecting the right wedding rental studio is crucial to ensure a seamless and unforgettable wedding experience. Here are some factors to consider when making this decision:

Location and Accessibility

When choosing a wedding rental studio, consider the location and accessibility for both you and your guests. Opt for a venue that is conveniently located and easily reachable, preferably with ample parking or good public transportation connections.

Size and Layout

Evaluate the size and layout of the studio to ensure it can comfortably accommodate your desired number of guests. Consider the seating arrangement, dance floor space, and any additional areas you may require, such as a separate room for the bridal party or a lounge area for guests.

Amenities and Services

Check the amenities and services provided by the wedding rental studio. This may include tables, chairs, linens, catering options, and audiovisual equipment. Determine if these offerings align with your wedding vision and if any additional services can be arranged.

Additional Features

Consider any additional features or unique characteristics offered by the rental studio. This could be a beautiful outdoor space for a ceremony, a built-in bar area, or a bridal suite for the couple to prepare and relax before the event. These extras can add a special touch to your wedding.

5. How to Make the Most of a Wedding Rental Studio

Renting a wedding studio opens up endless possibilities for customization and personalization. Here are some tips to help you make the most of this unique venue:

Decorations and Themes

Take advantage of the blank canvas provided by the studio and let your creativity shine. Select a theme that reflects your personality as a couple and choose decorations that enhance the ambiance. From floral arrangements to table settings and backdrops, every detail can contribute to creating a memorable atmosphere.

Lighting and Ambiance

Lighting plays a crucial role in setting the mood for your wedding. Experiment with different lighting options offered by the studio, such as string lights, chandeliers, or uplighting. Consider the desired ambiance for each part of the event, whether it's a soft and romantic setting for the ceremony or vibrant and energetic lighting for the reception.

Props and Backdrops

Incorporating props and backdrops can add a unique touch to your wedding photos and create visually stunning moments. From antique furniture pieces to vintage photo frames or personalised signage, consider incorporating props that align with your wedding theme and style.

Photography and Videography

Discuss your photography and videography requirements with the rental studio. Familiarise them with your vision and ensure they are comfortable working in the studio's setting. A professional photographer and videographer will capture the special moments of your wedding day in a way that reflects your unique love story.

6. Tips for Booking a Wedding Rental Studio

Booking a wedding rental studio requires careful planning and consideration. Here are some tips to help you through the process:

Plan Ahead and Research

Start your search for a wedding rental studio well in advance to secure your desired date and time. Research different options, read reviews, and gather recommendations from friends or wedding professionals to find reputable studios that match your preferences.

Visit the Studio in Person

Schedule a visit to the studio to see the space firsthand. This will allow you to assess the size, layout, and overall ambiance. Take measurements, envision your wedding setup, and ask any questions you may have. This visit will help you make an informed decision.

Read Reviews and Recommendations

Read reviews and testimonials from couples who have previously rented the studio. Their experiences can provide valuable insights and help you gauge the quality of service, responsiveness, and overall satisfaction of previous clients.

Understand the Rental Agreement

Carefully review the rental agreement before signing. Take note of any restrictions, cancellation policies, or additional charges that may apply. Ensure you have a clear understanding of what is included in the rental package and any extra services you may need to arrange separately.

7. Case Studies: Successful Wedding Stories from Rental Studios

To inspire your own wedding plans, let's take a look at some real-life examples of beautiful weddings held in rental studios:

Sarah and John's Rustic Chic Wedding: Sarah and John chose a wedding rental studio with exposed brick walls and high ceilings. They transformed the space with burlap accents, mason jar centrepieces, and twinkling string lights. The result was a charming and intimate celebration that perfectly captured their rustic chic style.

Emily and David's Modern Glam Wedding: Emily and David opted for a sleek and modern wedding rental studio with floor-to-ceiling windows and a panoramic city view. They decorated the space with crystal chandeliers, mirrored accents, and a monochromatic colour scheme. The studio's contemporary aesthetic perfectly complemented their vision of a glamorous wedding.

These case studies demonstrate the versatility and potential of wedding rental studios to bring your unique wedding vision to life.

8. Conclusion

Renting a wedding studio can provide couples with a convenient, cost-effective, and customizable venue option for their special day. The flexibility, privacy, and professional setting offered by rental studios make them an attractive choice for couples seeking a memorable wedding experience. By following the tips outlined in this article and exploring real-life wedding stories, you can make informed decisions and create a truly unforgettable celebration.

[tiaraabanquets]

Website: https://tiaraabanquets.com

Luxurious Pillarless Banquet Hall In Navi Mumbai | Wedding Hall | Tiaraa Banquets

We have a huge 12500 sq. ft. pillarless banquet hall in Navi Mumbai dedicated to organizing unique, fun and personalized weddings & events with huge space & workable planning. Our wedding hall in Navi Mumbai is exclusively luxurious with the best amenities in the town.

GMB: https://goo.gl/maps/T8MrRXm6CMzNzX6e8

Facebook: https://m.facebook.com/tiaraabanquets/

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Address: Plot L1, Sector KWC, near Express Way, next to Devanshi Inn Hotel, Kalamboli, Panvel, Maharashtra, 410218.

Email: info@tiaraabanquets.com

Phone: +91 9022710001 +91 9022910001

[anatumresort]

Plan Your Exclusive Corporate Events at Nature's Paradise: Jim Corbett National Park

Jim Corbett National Park is no longer only a place for wildlife enthusiasts or wildlife photographers. Over the past few years, it has also become a favorite destination for corporates from all over India. Burrowed amidst the foothills of the Himalayas, this place offers a tranquil and picturesque environment to host a myriad of corporate events and meetings. It is also considered one of the favorite destinations for corporate outings. Be it a leadership conference, a team-building retreat, or a family outing reward for employees, Jim Corbett is all set to host you. Planning all this here looked difficult before. But now it’s all possible with the presence of Anantum Gateway Resorts & Spa.

Being the best resort in Jim Corbett, we are now no longer limited to hosting birthday parties, wedding events, kitty parties, and personal events. But we are also helping corporates plan their outings, board meetings, annual functions, workshops, and other such events away from the hustle-bustle of city life. Let’s discover through this blog what makes us the best resort when it comes to planning corporate events in Jim Corbett.

Only resort with a conference hall amidst the lush green forest

Corporate events and meetings are incomplete without conferences. However, finding one at a location like Jim Corbett does not look like a reality to one. People only know this place for fun, adventure, hiking, jungle safari, wedding celebrations, and for family & friend get-togethers. But who would have thought of a resort with a conference hall facility in the middle of a jungle? We at Anantum Gateway Resorts & Spa are known for making the impossible come true, and that is why we have made a conference hall available here for all our corporate events.

Spread in around 6000 sq. ft. of land. Our conference hall is equipped with the best facilities required in the corporate world. Round tables, projectors, audio-visuals, a hi-tea facility during conferences, and an active internet connection are all available in our conference hall.

Ample space for business events and product launch

Other than the conference hall, we also have a spacious banquet hall available for hosting events like product launches, book launches, annual day events, brand promotions, and lots more. Spread over more than 10,000 sq. ft. of land, our banquet hall comes with most of the facilities that a corporation looks for. For those corporates who wish to go for outdoor events, we have enough space available for that as well. For companies planning to host annual day parties till late night, can avail the facility of sundowner discotheque for all late night fun with DJ. What else are you seeking when you can get all these facilities at the top resort in Jim Corbett?

A myriad of adventure and fun activities to go for

After hosting multiple corporates from different corners of India, we have gained great experience to help them have fun. From hosting ice-breaker activities like dumb charades, tug of war, and musical chair to hosting sports events like cricket tournaments, badminton, and lawn tennis, we are here to help you make the most of your corporate outing. Other than these activities, one can also enjoy ATV Rides, bicycle rides, hiking, jungle safari, and jeep safari with teammates. The facility of a large swimming pool also lets people dive and enjoy the weather and surroundings in Jim Corbett.

How can we forget about the comfort that we offer our guests through our premium and luxurious cottages? Yes, you heard it right: at Anantum Gateway Resorts & Spa, we have premium cottages available for all corporate members. You need not worry, even if you have a team of more than 100 people visiting our resort. We can easily accommodate them all at our resort without any difficulty. These cottages are equipped with world-class amenities and luxurious facilities to deliver complete comfort. Our cordial staff members are available 24 by 7 to assist you with anything inside the room. From free water bottles every day to in-room tea or coffee facilities, parking areas for vehicles, and resting areas for drivers, we have all these facilities available at the best resort in Ramnagar. Our appetizing cuisines from around the world and revitalizing drinks are add-ons for corporate events and business parties. So now you need not think twice when planning a corporate event in Jim Corbett. Connect with us now and plan your business event right away at none other than the Anantum Gateway Resorts & Spa.