#i go by ilya as well <3

[puppysdog]

PUPPYSDOG | MID 20S | BISEXUAL

+18 ONLY - I BLOCK MINORS

TAKEN X2

NO DNLI I BLOCK IF THERES CONFLICT

I LIKE HORROR AND DOGS AND JELLYFISH

I LOVE TALKING IN THE TAGS AND I LOVE ASKS

I AM A DOG. WOOF!

HORROR BLOG | ASK FOR NSFW

[yuukimiyas]

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა good mornie & happy weds!! we’re at the weekly 1/2 way mark!! we got this!! & always remember your faves & i are forever so proud of you!! <333

[luvrxbunny]

churn

pairing: knight!Miguel O’Hara x princess!reader

summary: Your royal knight helps you in a way your fiancé never could.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader has hair that can be pushed over her shoulder, reader has visible collarbones, infidelity, miguel seems to have a little thing for readers collarbones.. Idk,  f! masturbation, IMPORTANT LINK (ill be refering to this throughout the fic)

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i don't even think this is good guys cry i just needed to post something but i tried ilya 🫶🏾 (not proofread one bit)

He hated this part of the day. 

Miguel isn’t allowed to feel many things, he is even more limited in who he can feel them for, but he hates this part of the day. When you finally finish your chores and duties. You always tell him that you’re not going to get excited this time, that you know he’s busy but he always sees the excitement build in your face as you search tirelessly for your fiancé. 

Ser Isaac was one of the more well-known lords of the land. He’s known for his outstanding looks and entertaining charm. Everyone has heard of his endless generosity, empathy, and care for others. But in Miguel’s experience. He’s a selfish dick. 

He doesn’t hate Ser Isaac, of course not, that’d be treason. He is allowed to hate his actions, however; the way he neglects you. He hates how Ser Isaac is using you for your position, stature, and admiration throughout the kingdom. He spends all his time sucking up to your father, thanking him for his daughter's hand in marriage rather than worshipping the daughter for tolerating his artificiality. 

You round the corner to find your father and fiancé at the bar, once again. This is where they’ve been for the past few weeks. You’d asked them to try to spend less time together, to make some room for you, but they both laughed you off and continued their boisterous chatter. 

Miguel watches your smile melt off your face as you take in their inebriated state. You turn to him for a moment with a small smile, knowing he’ll give you the same pitying look you get every time this happens. It’s a small comfort; knowing that at least one person in your life cares about you, even if that person is your assigned guard.

You approach the pair of drunks with a brave smile. “Have you saved any for me, my love?” The two men pause to look at you before slowly turning back to one another and breaking out into a fit of laughter. Miguel can see your expression flush into one of embarrassment and anger. You open your mouth to speak again but their laughter raises in volume, drowning out anything you would’ve said. 

Miguel sees a heartbreaking sadness flash over your face before you compose yourself. 

In his mind though, it’s the same as you begging him for help, so he steps in. He moves from his corner by the doorway to stand at your side. His presence gives you a small boost of confidence and commands the men to give you more than 3% of their attention. 

Your fiancé is the first one to quit his laughter and sober up a bit. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes at Miguel’s presence. “Is he necessary?” He doesn’t even look at Miguel, his eyes don’t flicker in his direction once. Miguel does the same, keeping his eyes forward and surveying his surroundings. He can’t help the slight smirk that worms its way onto his face, however. 

You stand up straighter at the acknowledgment of your muscle. “Miguel is mine, therefore he stays by my side.” Miguel’s eyelids flutter and flicker to you for a moment. He tries his best to ignore the swirling in his stomach but his breathing stutters. “I’d like to confer with you about your schedule, dear.”

Your fiancé smirks maliciously at you before changing it into a faux kind smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll make so much time for you.” He stands up, looming over you but not taller than Miguel. “When I’m finished organizing all of our affairs, paying all your maids.” His voice gains more and more venom as he stalks closer to you. 

Your confident gaze is gone, now looking at the wall rather than your soon-to-be husband. “Yes, dear. I’ll spend time with you when I’m done with cleaning your messes.” His voice raises to a shout, screaming right in your face as your eyes stay on the ground. Miguel’s hand goes to rest on the hilt of his sword, just as a reminder of what could happen if Ser Isaac decides to do more than yell. But that negatively catches his attention. 

He scoffs loudly and turns to Miguel, who still isn't meeting his threatening eyes. “You think to strike me? You?” Miguel hears you take a breath, like you’re preparing to speak up for him but he can’t allow that. “I only mean to protect the Princess, Ser.” Miguel keeps his smirk from crawling onto his face this time, he keeps his expression stoic and straight ahead. 

“Oh? OH? I’ll I have you know that I shall do whatever-” He raises his hand. “I’d like-” 

It comes down toward you “with MY wife.” Miguel grabs his wrist, stopping all movement. You watch his grip tighten before your eyes, so tightly you swear you can hear Isaac’s bones cracking. 

“You will not. Not in my presence, or ever, if I can help it.” You’ll never forget the look on his face. The pure shock on his face, the look of disgust and disdain. You don’t even want to think of Miguel’s face. The anger, and unwavering confidence. He exudes this certain dominance over Isaac that you can’t help but admire.

Isaac’s face shows a look of embarrassment once he sees how easily Miguel can hold him back, so he scoffs and goes back to his seat, grumbling about your ‘big oaf of a guard.’ He complains about the both of you to your father as if you aren’t even in the room. You’re not too sad about it, you’ve grown a bit used to his rejection, and it doesn't sting as bad. 

A clock in the corner of the room catches your eye and excitement runs through you with a soft gasp. Miguel looks over to you and follows your gaze to see the time, 3:00 PM. The swirling in his stomach returns as you clear your throat and begin to leave the room. Although you know Mguel will follow, you keep pace with him once you both exit the room, choosing to walk by his side. 

You’re always different for the next two hours. You linger by him more, find more excuses to touch him and talk with him. He knows why, he knows how princesses like to play their games, how they love all their suitors. But sometimes he slips up, sometimes he believes your advances are genuine, that you honestly wish for him to whisk you away from your castle life, your perfect, royal life. Then he comes back to reality. 

You enter your chambers and stand by the foot of your bed, Miguel by the door. His heart is racing because he knows what comes next. It’s- unfortunately, his favorite time of the day. You stand by your wardrobe, just looking into the mirror before catching his gaze in the reflection. “Mig?” Your soft tone sends a suppressed shiver through his body. “Do you think you could help me?”

He’s walking towards you without hesitation. “I- I’d ask one of the maids but they’re all busy and-” He doesn’t need a justification, you don’t need an excuse. “Of course, Princess. I understand.” You do this every time. Your maids are always ‘too busy’. You both know it's a ruse, but neither of you wants it to stop. 

He lets his hands rest on your side for a moment, relishing the way he can feel you expand with the deep breath you take. He slides them back to where you’re laced into your dress and takes his time untying the strings. You wish you could see his hands, the way they’d thread through the strings, how careful and gentle they’d be. Or how small the strings would look between his thick fingers. 

Once he finishes loosening your corset he opens it for you, reliving the extreme pressure it puts on you and you thank him with a soft sigh. He’s in a trance though, he slowly removes the fabric from your body. Your spine seems to compress itself, making you seem even shorter than usual now that you don’t have this brace forcing you upright. You’re just watching him in the mirror as his hands come up to your shoulders and slowly turn you around. He’s not looking you in the eyes yet, he’s just looking at you. He looks at your collarbones and slowly pushes your hair over your shoulder to reveal more of you to him. But something snaps him out of his trance and he puts distance between the two of you before you even take a breath. “S- I’m so sorry, Princess.I—” You cut him off before he can say more. 

“There's no need for an apology! I didn’t say anything, did I?” There’s a shy flirtiness in your tone that causes Miguel’s face to sink into a dark red color, bringing a giggle to your lips that only worsens his condition. He turns and walks back to the door while you finish undressing. 

He keeps his eyes dutifully out the window. Pretending he can't hear the fabric sliding against your naked skin. How he yearns to look, it's like you have your own gravitational pull. It’s a constant struggle to hear you undressing and redressing yourself into something he knows is going to screw with him. You’ll probably change into your favorite nightgown. It’s an adorable sleeved gown with feathers at the top. You always mention you don’t like how long it is, and that it’s “unflattering” but in truth, everything you wear is flattering. You make it so. 

Miguel suddenly becomes aware of the silence in the room. No rustling, no sliding fabrics. He risks looking over at you and his heart almost beats out of his chest. It’s new. You must’ve gotten it tailored because he’s never seen anything fit you so well. It’s a night dress, flowy but short, very short. It barely reaches the halfway point of your thigh. It has no sleeves, your neck, collarbones, and shoulders on full display, and the top hugs your breasts in a way he’s never witnessed. 

You watch him admire you for a moment before speaking up with a soft “Hmm?” and his eyes fly to yours. “I think it’s quite cute!” You smile at him brightly, waiting for his opinion. He doesn’t give you one though, he just stares at you for a little longer. You grow conscious under his stare and anxiety begins to eat away at you. “W- What do you th—” 

His face twitches before he blurts out. “Yes. Yes, you look-- It’s very- You look very cute. It’s beautiful. You- You look amazing, Princess.” His sentence ends with a sharp inhale that's followed by a calm exhale as Migusl straightens out. He’s been slowly leaning down, subconsciously trying to get closer to you. “You look incredible, Princess.” He tries to place his eyes forward again, trying to turn the environment back to professional, he can’t help but look at you one last time as you thank him. 

Your eyes are on the ground and your hand sliding up your arm, uncomfortable with all the skin you’re showing. “You do.” Your eyes snap up to his upon his third confirmation. You seem to be searching his eyes for something, looking deep into him in a way he’ll never get used to. 

Your brows furrow and you chew on your lip for a few seconds before declaring that he follow you and starting a rapid pace. He follows behind you urgently before realizing where the two of you are headed.

The castle has a lot of tunnels and hidden passageways, these passageways sometimes lead to other rooms in the castle or secret rooms in the castle. One of your handmaidens was kind enough to show you a passageway right by your washroom that leads to a secret chamber. You’d instantly fallen in love with what you found. 

Miguel was there the first time you saw it, you laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. You thought it was a novelty. He was there when he saw it pique your interest for the first time. It had been late at night, and Miguel hadn’t retired to his quarters yet so he was guardian of your door. Inside your room, he could hear you giggling with a drunk Ser Isaac. Your giggle soon turned to breathy whines but they were interrupted with a dull ‘thump’ before a very disappointed sigh from you. It was a matter of seconds before you opened your chamber doors and told him to follow you with about the same amount of urgency that you just did. 

You told him to guard the door and quickly shut it before you could see any opinion on his face. He was almost hyperventilating at his post. First of all, he was uncomfortable being out here, staring at your drunk, passed-out, fiancé, while you’re in that room doing god knows what. The other thing that bothered him was how he could not stop thinking about how he’d be so much better for you than that machine. 

You opened the door again far too quickly with an even more frustrated expression on your face. “I cannot figure it out. It- It doesn’t work.” Your words come out as an exasperated whine that tugs at his heartstrings. “Show me.” 

You chew on your lip for a second before opening the door to let him in and shutting it behind the two of you. There’s a single, yellow light overhead, shining down on where you would be sitting, where the heavy, metal rod protrudes from the seat. “This thing? It will not move, no matter how hard I try!” He examines the churning lever, immediately spots the problem, and starts removing his gloves. 

“It’s rusted over, Princess. I can fix it.” You watch as his thick fingers curl around the lever and his biceps tense as he pushes, trying to break it free of the rust. There’s an awful screeching sound and Miguel grunts roughly as the lever begins to move. You try to hide your smile of excitement as Miguel rotates the handle a few more times before letting go. “There.” 

You rush over to test for yourself and make sure you can operate it on your own. You smile and turn to Miguel after moving it around with ease. He smirks back at you while he brushes his hands together to remove the rust, and something about the whole scene does something to you. His hands are dirty, his knuckles hairy, his hands huge and thick as he stares at you with something you haven't seen before. You still have one more problem. 

“It also…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “It doesn’t seem to fit.”

Miguel has to shut his eyes for a moment as arousal floods his veins. He takes a deep breath before looking up at you with the softest expression he could muster, hoping it would hide his lust. “You need to start with your fingers, Princess.”

Your eyes widen at his answer and you quickly nod despite him being able to see the confusion written all over your face. He smiles fondly before explaining further. “That.” He gestures to the machine. “Is too big for most girls.” He looks you directly in your eyes as he speaks, slowly bending to your height. “So you have to start with your fingers.” Your eyes dart to his dirty hands for a moment. “You put them inside you, however many you can take.” 

You start blinking rapidly like your innocent little brain is having trouble processing what he’s telling you. All you respond with is, “Oh.” Miguel chuckles quietly before standing upright and putting his gloves back on. “Yes. I hope that helps.” You walk up to the door with him, to open it for him or accompany him out but you both pause when you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the door. 

You watch him as he identifies the noise, and breathe out a soft sigh of relief when you see his tense expression relax. “They’re cleaning up Ser Isaac.” He states with a certain disdain that makes you smile softly. You stare at him.

“Okay, then you stay here.” You walk over to the seat and churn the lever a few times to ensure you could do it yourself before sitting on the edge, not quite on the metal penis but close. Miguel is watching from the corner with wide eyes, unable to rationalize what’s going on. You simply tell him “Don’t look.” And he whips his head back around. 

He stares at the dark wall, unknowing what he’s waiting for until he hears it. A soft sigh leaves your lips. He waits. He receives more. You grow in volume as you become wetter, he can hear it, the little squelching sounds getting louder, and faster as you get more desperate. Miguel is using all his willpower to not turn around and take in what he has no doubt is a beautiful sight. 

He hears your whines muffle as you bite your lip and he wishes you could tell you not to, that he wants to hear them all and more. He heard you let out a ragged breath as you added another finger and he couldn’t help his desire to do it for you, but he happily settled with only hearing your beautiful sounds and movements. 

He thanks the Gods every day for letting him stay in that room, for giving him the saccharine memories of you pleasuring yourself for the first time. 

This time feels different though. You’re all dressed up and giving him that look. The one that swirls fantasies into his head and makes his hands clam up. 

He follows you to the room and assumes his position in the corner, but never hears the metallic clink of you situating yourself in the seat. He waits and waits but hears nothing, no movement from you. So he turns around. He has to see what you’re doing, even if it's only for a second, just to make sure you’re safe. 

He finds you standing directly behind him, staring right at him so you guys make eye contact the moment he looks over his shoulder. He instantly turns back around, embarrassed that you found him looking, and worried you might get the wrong idea.

Miguel tries to explain himself, stumbling and stuttering over the start of his sentence before you cut him off. “How come you never look?”

The question silences him. 

“Do you have no desire to?” He turns around again. You seem genuine in your questioning, he feels like he detects a bit of hurt in your voice as well, but that’s most likely in his head. 

“You know I cannot desire.” He states softly. He, as a knight, cannot desire any woman, and most definitely not a princess. Yet he sees anger flash through your eyes at his statement. 

“Just because someone tells you you’re not allowed, does not mean you can’t.” Miguel stays silent, not knowing what you want him to say in response. He can see you scanning his face, examining his features to try and find any crack in his exterior. You must find whatever you’re looking for because you suddenly nod and take a step back. 

“Who are you more loyal to, your oath, or me?” The question baffles him. “If I, your princess, were to tell you to disobey your oath… Would you?” 

His eyes widen and you can see the gears turning in his head, trying to understand where his loyalties should lie. His mouth opens and closes with unsaid words and you decide to give him a break. 

“Come here.” You demand, pointing next to the machine, by the churning lever. You take a deep breath, seat yourself by the metal phallus, and slip a finger under your gown before you can give it a second thought. 

You slide your fingers over your panties for a moment, teasing yourself. Through a lot of trial and error, you’ve found that this is your favorite part; exploring your body, what makes you feel good, and feeling yourself soak your panties throughout the process. 

You hear Miguel take a sharp breath of air, reminding you of his presence and sending a jolt to your core. You’ve never been like this in front of someone, aside from what Miguel could hear and the few times your fiancé was sober enough to attempt to get you off. But even then, it didn't feel like it does now. 

You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Miguel was the one touching you. If it were his thick fingers sliding under the satin fabric of your underwear to finally slide into you. There’s a burning stretch due to you using two fingers instead of one but it only furthers your fantasies of Miguel’s large hands. You peek your eyes open for a moment, your gaze still on the ground but you can see his feet, a small (or rather large) reminder that he’s right there. 

You can’t help the whimper that slips out, louder than usual. You’re more desperate. You can’t think of any other reason aside from him. You’re soaking your fingers in a way you haven’t since your first time and it’s driving you wild. “Miguel” His name comes out with a small whine, pitching your voice up and scrambling his brain. 

He has to take a deep breath before answering you out of fear that his voice will shake. “Princess?” His voice is rough and gravelly. He hears you take a sharp breath at the sound of it before clearing your throat in hopes of composing yourself. 

“You will churn the lever for me today.” His heart stops. “Understood, Ser?” His eyelids flutter as his eyes burn holes in the wall he’s facing. He goes over your sentence in his head, assuming he must’ve misheard you. His brows furrow and twitch along with his face before accepting that he heard you correctly. “Un-” He takes a shaking breath. “Understood, Princess.”

His hand comes up to wrap around the lever without him even looking in your direction. 

You stare up at him as you pull your panties aside and slide down the cold metal, your teeth digging into your lip to try and keep any noises inside. You only let out a satisfied sigh once you’ve sunk to the bottom before pushing yourself to the tip again. 

You can’t help but focus on him. He’s right there. You can see the curve of his nose and the plush of his lips, the way they purse before his tongue comes out to wet them and pull one into his mouth to bite. He doesn’t have his helmet on so you can see his rich brown curls, the way they frame his face and dance over his neck. You can see his thick, bushy brows, and behind his beautiful lashes are his warm, chocolate-brown eyes looking down at you. 

You gasp once your eyes meet and Miguel goes red. He just wanted to see you for a moment. You’re right there, practically whining in his ear as you impale yourself on what should be his cock. 

He can’t take it anymore, he can’t hold his feelings back as he feels a ripple flow through him and blood rush to his dick. His head decides to conjure every arousing, heart-warming, lovable memory he has of you. He hears you whine again at the loss of eye contact, even if it was only for a moment. Another ripple flows through him, settling in his lower stomach, and creating a painful pressure as your whimpers grow. He tries to redirect his thoughts and focus ahead as he keeps churning for you, cranking the lever again, and again. Your moans pick up as he regains his steady pace.

He tries not to imagine that it’s him. He tries not to think about the fact that your moaning aligns with the throbbing of his cock. He definitely doesn't think about the way his dick is pressing into the metal plate covering his cock. He doesn’t note the way his free hand twitches behind his back, wishing to provide any sense of relief to himself. He doesn’t get distracted by the thought of him touching himself with you sitting right there. 

You feel your orgasm building before Miguel starts to slow down again, his timing uneven again and you look up at him in confusion. He’s staring at the wall, his chest heaving and that same expression on his face. You don’t care to decipher what it means in your impatience. Miguel just feels your delicate hand on his, pushing his hand, forcing him to churn the lever.

You moan as your seat becomes functional. Your chin collides with your chest as you release all the moans and whimpers you’ve been trying to quiet. It almost feels like he’s been toying with you, with all his starting and stopping. You’ve been pushed to the edge of your sanity. 

You can’t comprehend how embarrassing this might be for you, a princess burying this rod inside you again and again, wishing it was someone other than who you’re set to marry. 

You shake the thought of Isaac from your head and replace it with Miguel. Just thinking about the life you could have with him has you tensing over the metal. Your fingers lace with his before you can even think about what you’re doing.

Miguel’s gaze is now on the ceiling, his eyes already slipping shut as your nails dig into his hand. His dick is leaking behind his crotch plate now, begging for your attention, a feeling he isn’t used to regulating. He feels himself pulse painfully and his free hand twitches again. 

Just for a moment. He thinks. Just one second. 

His hand comes from behind his back to crush itself against his crotch, trying to relieve any pressure before he loses his mind, but you hear the clink of the metal hitting and open your eyes instantly. You spot his hand over his dick before slowly looking up to meet his eyes. Miguel lets a moan slip out as he massages himself more thoroughly, squeezing more precum from his tip before pulling away and forcing himself to break your stare. 

“Please.” Is all he hears from you. It’s weak, pathetic, and punches him in the gut, taking all the breath from his lungs. His eyes wander back to you before he can think better of it and he’s instantly stuck, locked into your eyes. 

He watches your body catch alight. You tremble over the steel cock, holding eye contact with Miguel and pushing his hand, forcing him to churn, fuck you over and over as you cum. He can’t do anything but watch. He doesn’t even think about touching himself, not wanting anything to take his attention away from this moment. 

He watches you come down, your body melting into a puddle before him. You drape yourself over the front of the machine as you huff. Even out of breath and covered in sweat, your hair a mess and your dress surely mussed, he thinks you look like an angel, and it breaks his heart that he’ll never be able to keep you. 

He takes a deep breath before releasing the lever, relishing in the whine that leaves your throat as the rod slides out of you one final time. Despite better thinking, Miguel pats your head fondly, almost petting you before speaking as softly as he can. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you to bed.”

You only hum and bury yourself in his neck as he lifts you from your seat. He takes his time getting back to your room, letting you rest in his arms for as long as he can allow. 

He lays you on your bed gently, propping your head up on the pillow and even going to cover you before you stop him. “Mmm Mig..” You begin sitting up again and stretch before opening your eyes to look at him.

Your eyebrows twitch, furrowing for a moment before he sees recognition in your eyes, quickly accompanied by mischief. “Sit down.” Your voice slurs adorably with your fatigue. He doesn’t get to hear this often. Normally, he’d do anything to stay with you, talk with you just a little more. 

But Miguel is still harder than steel in his suit, so pairing that with the hard metal of his armor, and sitting down? It sounds like the most painful thing he could do right now. “Princess… You should get some res-”

“ Sit down, Miguel.” He stares at you, debating his options again in the face of your stubbornness. You, however, take this as more defiance. “Please?” You beg him. 

You should know you never have to beg him for anything. 

He’s seated before your mouth even shuts. Your mouth is shaped into a smirk before he can take a breath, and you’re in his lap before he can blink. 

“Wha-?” Is all he can breathe out before your mouth is on his. His hands find your hips on instinct, grabbing all that he can and pulling it against him. You pull away. “Thank you.” And dive for him again. 

He places one hand behind your head to ensure you don’t do it again. 

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist or send me some motivation here!!

[morepeachyogurt]

i love you, i do, but i cannot fucking stomach you

1. richard siken | 2. david foster wallace | 3. slavoj žižek | 4. x? | 5. succession, jesse armstrong. gif by @lesbiankendall | 6. orla gartland | 7. trista mateer | 8. ilya repin | 9. iain thomas | 10. thoroughbreds, cory finley | 11. yrsa daley-ward |

text id below

1. sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them

2. [in red highlight] everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

3. [white text on a background of a field] A FRIEND HAS TO BE OUTSIDE MY REACH, BEYOND MY GRASP. AND THERE CAN BE NO FRIENDSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHOM I AM NOT READY TO BETRAY: A FRIEND IS SOMEONE I CAN BETRAY WITH LOVE.

4. Long before Caesar and Brutus were lessons, they were friends. // They played with stick swords in their kingdom of trees // and dressed up in crowns of flowers // and painted mud on each other's faces. // The pair was often found walking down dirt roads, // Caesar stomping proud and tall, // and Brutus- step by step- placing his feet into the footprints left behind. // Caesar grew into a strong Roman man. // Brutus grew into Caesar's shoes. // They walked to a wishing well and they threw in their weapons // and Caesar whispered a prophecy: // "We live and die together." // The day before the slaughter, Brutus took pause. // He turned to Caesar and thought // "I'll love you twice as hard today to make up // for tomorrow," // and they stayed up and played cards on the kitchen floor. // It wasn't until the next morning that Brutus realized how cold the tile was. // Life and death are not mutually exclusive. // When Caesar died, so did Brutus, in the sense that he never really lived again. // In the present, when someone mentions one of them, // they seldom exclude mention of the other.

5. a scene from succession. the characters kendall and stewy are in a dimly lit alley, one walks away from the other while saying “you’re my third oldest friend. you fucked me like a tied goat. we’re great.”

6. I'm not happy if you're not happy // And swear that you're always sad // You're pathetic, I resent it // When you're down, it hurts so bad

7. I've gotten so good about not flinching at the sound of your name that people don't know I'd still throw myself mouth-open into the ocean for the chance to drown somewhere you might see it.

8. the painting ‘Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivana’. it depicts a man holding another man who is bleeding profusely from his head.

9. there are a million ways to bleed, but you are by far my favorite.

10. scene from the movie thoroughbreds. a character lays crying wrapped around her friend, she is covered in blood, her friend is unconscious.

11. [in pink highlight] and be wary of friends, yeah? they are the ones who kill you, in the end.

[ilyasorokinn]

andrei “all star” svechnikov , andrei svechnikov

note, finally my all-star fic is here! this year, it was between sid, svech, ilya and petey. i did write a petey blurb, so go check it out. if you want. anyways, i hope you enjoy. another note, this fic is part of the "mr. and mrs. svechnikov" series. check out this masterlist for more. in this fic, theo is around 4 while ana is 3. pair, andrei svechnikov x reader summary, the svechnikovs go to their first all-star game together. warnings, children/kids word count, 2717 words

gif credit to bestie @ryanpulock

(gif not mine)

Andrei, the entire way home, was tying to figure out a clever way to tell you he had been invited to the All-Star games. It came to him as he turned down the street of your house.

He quickly pulled into the dirveway and hooked his phone up to the speakers. He made it to the doorway when he finally pressed play on the song.

"Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid"

He heard you let out a scream when the song first started and laughed, pushing the door open to find you gaping at him from the living room, "What the hell?!"

"I'm an All-Star, baby!" He exclaimed.

"There are so many better ways you could have done that." You tried to slow your beating heart. Even your watch was asking if you were okay due to your elevated heartrate.

"Oh, come on, it was funny." He pointed out.

"We'll get back to that when I'm not about to have a heart attack."

-

After the initial shock, you were excited. You were going on a paid vacation, most expenses were paid for (most) and the climate was set for hot and even hotter so you were excited, to say the least.

Because the Canes were playing till the very last second, you didn't get into Florida until Thursday morning, but you were set to stay until the next Thursday.

The moment you stepped off the plane, there were cameras everywhere, all part of the Canes media or the NHL media. Andrei held Anastaisa's hand and helped her down the stairs, flashing them a professional smile. You stood behind Theo, watching him carefully climb down the stairs behind his sister.

After you got settled into your hotel room, you went with Andrei to media. You weren't normally allowed to be with him, but exceptions were made.

The three of you stood off to the side, watching him and looking around at everyone else who was doing media. Theo ran up and hugged Andrei's leg, looking up at all the reporters nervously. Andrei, not wanting to lose his train of thought, only placed a comforting hand on Theo's head, acknowledging him.

When all the questioning was over, the Canes media wanted to get some shots of him "Is it okay if we ask Theo and Anastasia a question?" One of the media people asked, "We're asking all the kids questions and putting together a little compilation."

Once they were given the okay, the cameras were on Theo and Anastasia. Andrei was crouching next to them as Theo held an iconic tiny microphone for both of them.

"So, Theo, tell us, who are you most excited to see this weekend?" Theo looked around at all the other tables to see who else was at the event.

"Crosby." He answered, "And Ovi, oh, and Marner!" Theo exclaimed happily.

"And what about you, Anastasia?"

Anastasia pondered the question for a second before answering, "Moose and Juice," She stated.

Andrei smiled in response before translating, "Mikko Rantanen and Juuse Saros."

Theo tugged on Andrei's pant leg, grabbing his attention and everyone else's as well, "Can we go swimming now, daddy?" Theo asked.

Everyone laughed, "Yeah, we can go swimming, buddy."

-

Theo had stated that he wanted to walk the carpet with Andrei where all the fans would be and all the paparazzi would be before the Skills competition.

You got him dressed in his best outfit, one which he chose specifically for this situation, "Will people ask for my autograph?" He asked excitedly.

"I don't know, buddy." You tied his shoe as he answered all his questions best you could, "But I do know you're gonna get your picture taken by all those people with cameras."

"Really?" His face lit up.

"Yeah, really." You nodded, a smile finding its way onto your face.

"Like daddy?"

"Just like daddy." You nodded, smoothing down his hair.

When both Andrei and Theo were ready, both you and Anastasia sent them off, with a promise of seeing each other in a couple hours. You got yourself and Anastasia ready before you headed over to the arena.

She was sporting one of the jerseys you had customized with "Little Svech" on the back with the number 37. You waited for Andrei and Theo in the hallway near the locker room.

As more and more players started filing out of the room, her eyes would go wide as they walked past, giving each of them a high-five, even if she didn't know who they were.

"Mommy, you see?" She jumped up and down as she gave Kirill Kaprizov a high-five.

"I did." You nodded, before spotting Andrei and Theo coming out of the locker room, "Look, there's papa and Theo." She whipped around and ran over to greet them.

Andrei was wearing a reverse retro Canes jersey and a hat while Theo wore his matching "Little Svech" jersey.

"Mommy, mommy!" Theo ran over to you the best he could in skates.

"What, what?" You asked.

"I met Breadman and Hughesy," Theo told you excitedly.

"Did you really? Wow."

"We missed Sid and Ovi." He frowned.

"That's okay, I'm sure you'll meet them soon." You reassured. You turned your attention back to Andrei who was smiling so big, and opened your mouth to say something but switched your attention to Theo and Anastasia who were excitedly talking to each other about all the people they met.

"Hey, I have an idea," You grabbed their attention, "Do you guys wanna be with papa out on the ice or do you want to sit with me in the stands?" You knew the answer before you asked the question.

They each latched onto one of Andrei's legs in response, to which both you and Andrei both laughed, "All right, I'll see you both later. Be good." They both nodded, "Listen to the adults in charge." They wrapped their arms around you, "Love you." You kissed their heads.

"Bye, mommy." They each kissed your cheek.

You stood up to meet Andrei. You wrapped your arms around him, "Skate really fast." You told him.

He laughed, "I'll try." He responded, "And don't worry about them, I've got them. Have fun, or as much as you can."

"I'll have two beers in your honor." You pulled your head away, with a smile on your face, so you could look him in the eyes.

"Sounds good." He leaned down and kissed you softly before you both pulled away.

You found your spot rather quickly and took a sip of your beer. From the ice, Anastasia spotted you and waved enthusiastically. You laughed, waving back to her.

"She's cute." The woman sitting next to you commented.

"Thank you." You beamed.

Down on the ice, Theo and Anastasia were having the time of their lives, hanging out with all the other kids and meeting all the other hockey players.

Theo and Anastasia were sitting on the bench, Ilya Sorokin sitting in between them, babysitter. At the same time, Andrei participated in his skill, snacking on ice cream bars as they watched the fastest skaters.

"Ooh." Anastasia winced when Cale Makar tripped and went flying into the boards. She looked up at Ilya, who laughed at her reaction. She giggled in response.

Kevin Fiala skated around the rink, and both Anastasia and Theo enjoyed it, but when they saw their dad step up to the starting line, they jumped up off the bench and started cheering.

"Papa!" They both jumped up and down, garnering the attention of people around them, who simply smiled at the two of them.

They didn't stop once as he skated around the rink. They only stopped when he skated over to where they were. They all looked up at the jumbotron and saw that he was now in first place.

"Wow." Theo gasped, and Andrei smiled proudly.

After Stephenson and Larkin went, Fiala and Andire were announced as the two finalists, "Go fast, papa." Anastasia told her father

"I will." Andrei laughed, kissing each of their heads once again. He skated out to the center of the ice with Fiala.

Andrei wanted to win it, but in the back of his mind, he knew that his 3 biggest supporters would be proud of him regardless of what happened.

Kevin Fiala went first and got 14.114. Andrei lined up behind the line and took a deep breath before he skated as fast as his legs could carry him.

He blocked out the sounds of people cheering and all the eyes on him and just skated. He skated until he made it back to the starting/finish line.

Once the timer stopped, he slowed down and looked up at the big jumbotron to see his time. He couldn't help but smile when he saw the 13.699 in big numbers.

He could practically hear Anastasia and Theo cheering from their seats and jumping up and down. He skated back over to the bench to do the interview but waved over across the bench to Theo and Anastasia whose smiles were almost as big as his.

"Andrei you realize, with Brady looking at you, you just outworked every single guy here with that lap. How do you feel right now?" Kevin, the reporter asked.

"I think I just got lucky, to be honest." He could hear his own voice come through the loudspeakers around the arena, "But I would never expect to win this, and I'm kind of excited."

"You know everybody around the league now is going to look at you as a Speedster. Are you ready for that title?" Kevin asked.

"Ah no, I'm not sure if they're gonna look at that" Andrei chuckled.

"Wow, great job congratulations, your first All-Star Game. You're the fastest skater." Kevin shook his hand.

"Thank you so much. Appreciate it." Andrei nodded.

-

After the tournament and the rest of the challenges, you waited in the tunnel near the locker room with a few of the other partners. You were talking with Johnny Gaudreau's wife while you waited for the rest of your family to come out of the locker room.

When Andrei finally exited the locker room, he was dressed and carrying both sleeping children in his arms. Your heart swooned when Andrei smiled.

He handed Anastasia off to you, "I have to get my bag, but I'll be back." He turned to head back into the locker room, but you grabbed his hand gently to stop him.

He looked confused as he turned around, "I'm proud of you, All-Star." You whispered, leaning up and kissing his cheek.

-

The next day, Anastasia and Theo were up bright and early. Jumping out of their bed and into yours, "Wake up!" They both shouted, jumping up and down.

You groaned, shoving your head under the pillow, "You promised us chocolate chip pancakes last night." Even though your eyes were closed and you couldn't Theo's face,

"Why did we do that again?" You reached over and softly punched Andrei in the shoulder who was in a similar position as you.

"To get them to sleep." He replied, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Come on, come on!" Theo jumped off the bed and grabbed Andrei's arm, trying to pull him out of bed.

You both eventually pulled yourselves out of bed and got yourselves ready then took Theo and Anastasia down to get breakfast. After breakfast and spending some time at the pool, it was time to get ready for the game.

Andrei got ready a little quicker because he had to be at the arena a little earlier than you had to be, but he helped Theo get ready before he left.

"Goodbye, I love you both." He kissed each of their heads, "Be good for your mom. I'll see you on the ice." He booped Anastasia on the nose, making her giggle.

"And I love you, too." He turned his attention to you, "I'll see you later."

"See you on the ice." You kissed him, hugging him and savoring the feeling of him being there with you, "Love you, too."

-

Theo was sitting next to you chowing down on some popcorn while Anastasia stood on your legs, dancing to the music blasting through the speakers.

"Stormy!" Theo pointed a few rows over to the familiar mascot. That caught the mascot's attention, and he looked up. Theo waved erratically. Stormy finished the interaction he was having and then made his way up to your row.

You were luckily sitting at the end of the row, so Stormy sat down on the steps next to your seats after giving Theo and Anastasia big hugs. Theo and Stormy talked (which was more just Theo talking and Stormy nodding along) while you waited for the first game to start.

Al the set pieces were set up on the ice already so you waited excitedly as Anastasia babbled and danced away. The lights eventually dimmed, and Theo screeched, clamoring into his seat, holding tight to Stormy's hand.

The Central Division was announced first, then Atlantic, then finally Metropolitan, "From the Carolina Hurricanes, Andrei Svechnikov!" Andrei skated out from the big monitors.

Theo stood up in his seat and cheered loudly. Stormy jumped up and down with him, "Look, papa." You laughed, pointing down to the ice. Anastasia followed your finger down to Andrei. She giggled, looking up at you.

-

After all the games and Takchuk was named MVP, Andrei was in media, Theo sitting happily in his lap, "How was your first Al-Star game, Svech?"

"it was great, I had a lot of fun, and getting to bring the kids along is a plus."

"What're you gonna do now that you have a week-long break?"

"We're going to Disney World." He laughed, eliciting a laugh from the reporters in the room.

"I'm sure Theo and Ana are excited."

"So excited." Andrei nodded.

Theo tugged on Andrei's shirt sleeve and Andrei bent down, his ear to Theo's mouth, "Ovi and Sid." He whispered, but his whispering wasn't very quiet.

The reporters chuckled, "We'll go find them later." Andrei whispered back before turning back to the reporters.

"We won't keep you for long, Andrei. Seems like Theo is excited." Andrei nodded appreciatively.

"Thank you." He picked Theo up and exited the room.

The TikTok of the kids answering who they would want to see the most went viral, and in particular, Theo and Anastasia went viral. Most of the comments were saying that now Theo and Anastasia had to meet their favorite players, so the media set it up.

You and Andrei led Theo and Anastasia to the ice where Sid, Ovi, Mikko, and Juuse were waiting to meet their Number one fans, media all around you.

Theo let out a gasp when the rink came into view and he saw Ovi and Sid standing on the ice. Anastasia heard and turned her head to the ice.

"Juice and Moose!" She announced your presence, causing the four players to turn to you. All of you laughed as they skated over to meet you halfway.

Theo, suddenly shy, hid behind Andrei's legs as Sid bent down in front of him, "Hi, Theo."

"Hi." Theo waved shyly.

"I heard you were a big fan." Theo nodded. Ovi produced a puck and handed it to Theo. Theo reached out and took it.

"What do you say?" Andrei whispered down to him.

"Thank you," Theo responded.

"You're very welcome." They both smiled.

Anastasia was just as starstruck as Theo, hiding her face in your neck as Mikko and Juuse stood in front of her. They both smiled as Juuse produced a puck and handed it to her.

"Thank you." She responded.

"You're welcome, Ana." They both smiled, "It was nice to meet you."

She only smiled, clutching the puck to her chest. You smiled down at her, "Wow, Ana. You met Juice and Moose." She beamed. Theo bounced up and down as he flashed you his puck, "Wow, look at that! They both signed it!"

"We have to add it to my collection." He told you.

"We'll do it at home." You brushed a hand through his hair, "Now, come on, Disney World is waiting for us."

-

my taglist: @mitch-slap @kolsmikaelson @ashleymarine @typical-simplelove @rosesvioletshardy @laurenairay @kidlnthedark @bowen-power @lam-ila @catahshart @stars-canucks @drei-mrssvechii @iwantahockeyhimbo @2manytabsopen @nicohischierz @calermakar08 @hamilton160 @Pierrelucduboiis @thescooby-gang @sammysworldddd @mista-svech @paintlavillered @Hyppeln-agnes @samanthasgone @hockeyboysarehot @nicoleloveshockey @thedukes-56-5 @tkachukswife @hockeyunits @sidcrosbyspuck @dumbxblond3 @kaydenissleepy @Yagetintoit @seventieswhore @michellekirby30 @jamieeboulos @Coffeeandteaandflowers @bibella8swan @cuttergauth @boqvistsbabe @sophia-bordeleau @jayda12 @yangofyang @lifeofpriya @beccaiscold

add yourself to my taglist!

[yanverse]

conrad my beloved 🥹 he’s not gonna win against the sheer force that is harley chicken man in the polls but he’s still number one in my heart <3

i think he’s been too uwu lonely russian boy from a small village in his tag lately from ur og blog so i wanna know what he’s like when he snaps hehe

like how would he hunt down and punish a darling who’s been affectionately biding her time to escape when he’s out hunting? cause idk if he’d be as scary as ilya but i would welcome it 👀

want scary conrad? i can give you scary conrad.....<3

hunted -- conrad dmitriev

(cws: DDDNE, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, violence against reader, blood, injuries, guns/knives, cutting/scarring, implied somno/noncon, manipulation, death mentions)

word count: 2k

Not even the pitch of the settling dark could mask the eyes that follow you between the trees. 

These woods aren't for the faint of heart. Those who live here were born here, survived here, and will inevitably die here. Considering there's only been one–at least in recent memory–who has escaped that curse, it's clear to anyone with sight that this harrowing corner of the world is meant for only two things; locals and wildlife. 

And trees, of course. Enough to cluster in scattered array, leaving only tiny clearings in between in which to get your bearings, though you can never really stop moving in this cold. The snow isn't so much a hindrance as it is a hurdle; glaringly obstructive in the way caution tape would be around a bloody car crash. It should be circumvented with great caution by those who don't wish despair upon their own selves, yet here you are in the thick of it. Cold, wet, and completely, utterly lost. 

Conrad warned you of these dangers, but you ignored him. Why would you possibly take the advice of someone who betrayed you? His whole story was made up of lies–why he was conveniently in the area the night you came across each other, what exactly he had to do with your car that seemingly sprouted an issue from nowhere, and who he even was altogether. Course, you could've been a touch more scrutinizing…you can't exactly imagine, at least not easily, that a man who lives almost entirely alone in an isolated forest of the country could live comfortably with his sanity still intact. He isn't just an ice fisher that sells his produce to the near-zero visitors of this confusing wasteland. Conrad is a killer. A killer for hire, no less. 

And right now, unbeknownst to you, you're his next target….well, unknowingly until your footsteps halt in the knee-deep snow for a breather, and the softest click sounds right at the base of your skull. You don't need to turn your head to see. Nobody else would make it this far without leaving footprints in this awful snow. 

“Malyshka.” That word bleeds into you with every syllable, puffed hotly over the skin of your ear from behind. It stirs up memories, good ones for once, of that loving nickname uttered in laughter and scorn and a teasing lilt as Conrad takes you by the hand and waltzes you through his living room. The tinny scratchiness of his cheap, portable radio gave the cabin a hum that still resonates in your veins, but you can't go back to that world even if you wanted to. That place will forever be tainted with the memories of Conrad's twisted fascination with you, permanently marred by deceit and thinly-veiled manipulation. 

It doesn't seem like that matters at all to your former lover, however. Because when Conrad grips your arm in that deathly squeeze, you get the sense immediately that he's betting on taking you back. He's going to walk you through the snow right back where you came from, and he's going to be so angry he won't sleep for days. That's what you think.

The butt of his rifle cracking you in the skull isn't what you expected, however. The crunch of bone under the varnished chunk of wood sickens you to the core of your soul, a warmth exploding out from your hair and splattering the ground as you immediately collapse forward. Your dead weight sinks you deep into the snow, but even then, and even in your dazed state, you feel it's much shallower here than before. Maybe that's why Conrad waited to corner you here–maybe it will be easier to pile the snow on top of your body when he kills you in his rage. 

Time slows to a tick all of a sudden. Conrad's boots crunching in the snow around you ripples a series of shivers through you, your warm body growing colder by the minute as he circles you like a hungry predator. Shiiing, click, thummp. The sound of his gun being slung over his shoulder catches your focus, and then the distinct slice through the sheath as Conrad pulls out his knife. You know the one. That thing is big. And sharp. You cut your hand on it once accidentally and he just about lost his mind with worry. Doesn't seem like he's all too concerned about that now, though.

Although his voice carries between the whispers and howls of the wind, you couldn't understand him if you tried. You've lost the privilege of Conrad speaking your language, evidently, because while he is addressing you not a word of it is in English. It's just another way to control you…another way to show you his love, if he were to spin it that way. 

A beat of silence passes without note. He's stopped moving. You can feel him, his body heat, hovering over you from above. The knife is probably just dangling in his hand, wondering if he should drop it or bring your life to an end with force, grant you some kind of small mercy as he takes you apart before finally slitting your throat like a hunted animal. Conrad stands waiting, watching you lie motionless and dizzy in the snow, and even once you feel him sink to his knees on top of you there's no strength in you to move. Blood pools at the base of your neck from the gash he's probably left in your head. I'm going to die. Your own voice ringing from within triggers you into a push, your fingernails digging into hard, packed snow as you try to lift yourself up–but even though he doesn't hit you a second time, Conrad isn't gentle as he grips your neck and shoves you back down. 

“Still.” He quietly mumbles amid the harsh breeze whistling past your ears. “Stay, malyshka.” 

Clearly, he wanted an answer. Your silence is more than enough of one however, and with a swing and an arc of the blade your lover is rrrrrrripping your clothes apart, knife cutting cleanly up the back of the too-thin flannel that you stole in lieu of a proper coat. Through the layers underneath he slices with practiced ease, catching patches of skin with the tip but not allowing the beads of blood to distract him from his task. Your eyes dart sideways to see his gloved fingers carving out a lump of snow from near your head, a few trickles of blood from your wound staining the purity of those white, soft haloes. He raises it quick and your arms tense at the feeling of that sting hitting your bare back–but it isn't the blade first, it's that clump of snow dragging down your flesh…the knife comes straight after that, piercing your aching skin as insult to injury, and his deep, sudden strokes that split you apart have you writhing and kicking out on the ground in agony. 

Pure, violent hatred spills out of you in those moments, your screams echoing off the trees with just the same tremor as the howling, squealing winds blowing through the mountains. Conrad only cares for your pain when it impedes his progress, his knee coming down harshly on your lower back to keep you from squirming away as he makes his cuts. He must be trying to dig your organs out, he's killing you, he's surely tracing out your most valuable spots with such aggressive stabs of unconscionable, burning, violent torment. Will he wait for you to die? Will he make sure before he leaves? Will he drag your corpse back home with him, frozen and stiff, or will he leave you for the wolves and bears and god knows what else out in these woods? 

As your blood drains into the snow, those thoughts become less and less urgent. As your willpower fades into numbness, the cold pressing into your back grows from a sting into a shaking, fragile numbness that spreads outward. You must be dying now, you can only imagine that your body will give out at any moment if Conrad doesn't stop. It hasn't even occurred to you yet that he has stopped, not until you catch a peripheral glimpse of his black-cloaked hand cleaning the blade in the snow. It's your blood that trickles down the handle…and there's so much of it you're on the verge of losing all hope. There's only the tiniest, faintest glimmer left, and it's fading just as fast as your consciousness. 

“...Look how pretty you are now, malyshka.” 

Those words will haunt you into death, you're most certain. They're the last ones to linger in your ears as the whiteness grows dark, and your eyes flutter closed while the sound of a drip, drip, drip echoes your dreamless sleep…

Drip, drip, drip. 

You'd know the sound anywhere. It's easier to listen to without that wind howling in your ears, but it's going to be harder to locate. This time, when your eyes open within the warmth of a closed-in room, gratitude isn't the first thing you feel for surviving another night in this dense nightmare. 

It's pain. Hot, unbearable, searing pain, violating you in senses inconceivable as it crawls in waves down your back; violent, stiffening, and like a hot iron being pressed up and down and up and down on constant repeat. The warm air of the cabin isn't helping at all as it hits your marked flesh, it's only drawing further attention towards the dripping of something warm down your legs, but at the very least you can tell by the pillow you've drooled on that you're not laying on the open wounds. No, you've been left exposed, with the ache in your hips something you hadn't noticed before, and the weight that's shifted the bed alerts you that someone is tending them for you…and he's singing. Gently. Some lullaby in his native tongue, no doubt, as his hands move quietly and carefully up and down the flesh he ruined. 

“Pretty thing.” You can just barely catch a glimpse of him looming from behind, the din of the cabin shadowing the expression on his pale face. Conrad's muttering puts you off at once, but there's nothing you can do about it now. He meant to kill you, but he changed his mind. He took you back to the cabin to rest, and…make up for lost time, if the stickiness of your thighs is any indication. Maybe that mind will be changed again…and you can only hope it does, because whatever he carved into your back, it can't be out of love. No matter how much he's going to try to convince you it is. “You are hurt, love. You want whiskey?” 

What hurts more is that you can feel the smirk in his tone. He's having a laugh at you. You tried to run but I caught you. I'll always catch you. You can never hide from me. That's what he's probably thinking. 

“No…” Somehow, from some deep well of power within you, your voice forms in a trembling resistance to his strength. Conrad's hands covered in balm and fibres of gauze he's tying round you pause, if just for a moment, and in the relative silence with those drip, drip, drips in the background you find the rest of your voice. 

“...I want you dead.”

How laughable. Conrad doesn't laugh, he merely tuts at you–a disapproving parent scolding a young scoundrel. If you weren't so appallingly special to him, he might punish that rejection of his help with a slap or an elbow right into those throbbing wounds that spell out his name. Instead, he dips his head low, and lets his deep, rough whisper creep into your ear and make a home in the deepest pits of fear that reside in your pretty little head.

“Then you just try to kill me, malyshka.” 

[hiveswap]

Time for another "artists whose works i want to chew on" list because i lost the last one (this time expanded)

1. Alphonse Mucha

The detail. The colours. The lineweight. It is so easy on the eyes despite all the clutter. And you're telling me he did ads? I would uninstall adblock if these were the ads

2. Lucian Freud

There's this. Unaltered raw humanity to his paintings that's been in the back of my mind since i founs his work. Imperfect brushstrokes. Flawed skin. Bodyhair. Natural poses. You fall in love with humanity looking at his nude paintings specifically

3. Francis Bacon

I learned about him from documentary on his life. He was a gay man making these horrifying visceral paintings. These in particular are seemingly tame compared to his other work but they are about his ex's suicide and that makes them haunting.

4. Ilya Repin

I'm going to let the horror on Ivan the Terrible's face speak for itself. The other one ("they did not expect him") i found while looking him up for this post. Again, i love the way he depicts emotions... It is about an exiled man returning home. Both of these have been called the pinnacle of his carreer.

5. J.C. Leyendecker

These are oil paintings!! I never knew they were oil. His work was also used in advertising. Might be overrated, but he's well known for a reason. I specifically love his small fragmented studies like this for some reason.

[tonberry-yoda]

Could I request Asra getting jealous because Lucio keeps flirting with his so at the masqarde.

Oh my goodness, of course you can! I literally love this idea so so much and this is my first time writing for the Arcana her on tumblr, so thank you so much for asking this! <3

Jealousy - Asra Alnazar

Pairing - Asra Alnazar x reader

Warnings - asra being too gosh dang hot, but other than that, nothing

Word Count - 1,169

Notes - thank you super duper much for the request! this was so much fun to write! have a super awesome day, anon! also, italics in dialogue mean whispering

And don’t forget, REQUESTS ARE OPEN! So if you want to request any writing, please don’t hesitate to ask, but please read my pinned post before requesting! Please enjoy!! Don’t forget to stay hydrated! <3

(not my image)

“Are you ready, my love?” Asra placed his hand on your back, pressing a small kiss to your cheek. His lips were always so warm. “Of course I am. Are you ready?” “Ready to see Lucio talk about himself for thirty minutes about how happy he is that we all came to his birthday celebration? Oh, I'm all geared up.” You giggled as you lightly smacked Asra’s arm. “What?! You can't be mad at me! That selfish prick just adores talking about himself.” “Think of the food Asra. The free food.” “Oh, dear, you have just got me all pumped up for this ball.” You laughed as you watched Asra speed up, his dress flying behind him. “Well, are you coming or not?” “Of course I am!” You ran forward, grabbing Asra’s hand, walking into the giant castle. Something about the town of Vesuvia was so magical. It always felt like something out of a fairy tail. And to be there with Asra had you through the roof. You loved that man more than anyone. His bright white hair that seemed to glitter in the sun. His lips that looked like they were always covered in dewdrops. He was an angel. You would always think why he chose you, but you thanked the stars he did. The way he looked at you gave you butterflies. You wouldn't give him up for the world.

“Damn,” Asra giggled, holding you by the waist as you stood in front of him. “Lucio’s still talking. I was hoping we could make it after his dumb speech.” “We’re never that lucky, darling.” “I know. Never. Good entertainment, I suppose.” “You suppose.” You snorted and Asra got down to your level, his warm breath brushing against your ear. “I'm going to grab us some drinks from the other room. Behave, okay?” You cupped his face and turned around, your nose pressed against his. “Don't tell me to behave, Asra. You behave.” You pressed a small kiss against his lips, making him melt. You pulled away, your lips slightly sticking to his. “Darling, don't do that or we are never going to get our drinks.” He licked his lips and walked away, making you swoon. God, how did he do it?

---

“Okay, but consider-” “Ilya, I'm busy. Maybe another time?” Asra tried pushing past a crowd, having difficulty getting away from his conversation with Julian that struck at the punch bar. Why did he have to be so nice? “Asra, please! I just want to see you conjure a rabbit or something!” “For the last time, Ilya,” Asra turned around, his whole outfit flying around him. “My magic doesn't work like that! Now can I please, for the love of everything holy and good, please get by?!” The whole room went quiet and cleared out of the way for Asra. He walked by, his face turning a dark shade of crimson that was thankfully covered by his mask. “Well let me know when it can, Asra!” “Shut up, Ilya!”

When Asra finally got around everyone, which felt like an eternity, he nearly dropped both of the drinks in his hands at the gruesome sight he had to put his beautiful blue eyes upon. Lucio and you were standing in a corner together, drinks already in hand, talking. Asra’s blood was boiling.

---

You were laughing at some stupid joke that Lucio made when you turned over to see Asra looking at you, tears clearly in his eyes. His hands were clenched, making the drinks he was holding bend a little. You didn't even notice that Lucio was still talking to you. Everything felt muffled. Did Asra think something else was going on? You went to step away, but Lucio grabbed your wrist. “Where do you think you’re going? We still have a lot to talk about! Like that stunning regalia you have on!” You looked back to where Asra was standing, but he left. “Lucio, I just have to run to the restroom. I'll be back.” “Alright! Don't take too long!”

You ran all over that castle. Where could he have gone? You weren't about to give up though. You couldn't leave Asra in that state.

As you went to turn a corner, you felt yourself bump into someone. Someone tall. “Julian! Oh thank god you’re here! Have you seen Asra anywhere?” “Asra? Uh… I was talking to him earlier… And then a couple of minutes ago, I saw him holding his mask heading in that direction.” Julian stuck out his thin finger down a long empty hallway. You couldn't believe you did this to Asra. “Asra!” You found him sitting in the courtyard that took you much too long to find even though it was just at the end of the long hall. “Hello, love.” “That earlier, it wasn't what it looked like.” “Hm?” Asra looked up after digging in his bag for a few moments, the moon shimmering off of his most beautiful features, making you fall in love all over again. “Oh that? Oh, I know. It was nothing, right? I know it wasn't! You would never do anything like that to me.” You tilted your head. “Asra… are you okay?” “Just peachy, my love. Just peachy.” He dug in his bag again and finally pulled out something with a smile. “Faust, you don't have venom, do you?” “Nope!” “Ah, damn.” “Asra,” you sat next to him, scooting his bangs out of his eyes. “I'm sorry.” “What are you sorry for? Lucio needs to be the one to apologize for trying to flirt with you. The dumbass looked idiodic. Though I do accept your apology. Even if I think it's ridiculous that you decided to take a drink from him.” “So you’re not mad?” “Oh, no, I'm pissed. Very much so. Not at you though, love. Not at you.” Asra pressed a kiss on your forehead and turned to Faust. “What do you think we should do to Lucio, Faust?” Faust slithered away, coming back with a stick. “Poke!” “Love, you don't have anything sharp on you, by any chance?” “Asra!” “I'm kidding. I can just poison his drink.” “Asra!” Asra giggled and pulled you close, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “All just jokes, my dear.” You played with the back of his dress with a smile and he rubbed circles into the small of your back, humming softly. “I feel bad though, Asra.” “Oh, don't you dare. Though,” Asra pulled away, his smile turning to a sly smirk. “I think you should reconsider before you talk to Lucio,” he pulled you close, putting his lips against your ear. “Or you’re going to be in big trouble next time.” He pressed a kiss on your earlobe and pulled away, walking back towards the castle. All while you stood there with a red face. The sly bastard knew you weren't going to leave him, so he teased you for it. You couldn't help but love him though. Especially because of that.

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

Stats Part 3

Now that Round 3 is over, we're down to 32 (well, 33) remaining artworks which feels about time to check in on how our statistics are doing!

And if you're not interested in statistics, I (Mod Salix) wanted to talk about the polls. You may have noticed that I've been trying to keep to 4 polls a day, which would mean that Round 4 is only going to be 4 days, and Round 5 would post everything in two days. Starting in Round 6, we'll probably re-institute week long polls. Hopefully none of us will lose track of what day to post the next round!

We have 20 artworks by male artists, 10 by female artists, and 4 by groups or unknowable entities! And of those, one person is Black, two are Aboriginal (one of whom is Mestizo and Kichwa, the other of whom is Aboriginal Australian), one is Asian-American (and two are Chinese living in China as opposed to living somewhere they're a minority), and one is Indian-British. And also three are left from gay men about the AIDS crisis, in addition to the AIDS memorial quilt, and one lesbian comic.

There are six American artists (including the Asian-American mentioned above), and three Chinese artists (including the Asian-American mentioned above), as well as three Russians (including Ilya Repin, who was born in the future Ukraine and lived near St. Petersburg), technically two different pieces by the same Dutch artist (hi van Gogh), and one each from Argentina, Serbia, Ecuador, Colombia, Canada, Italy, Northern Ireland, Poland, Australia, Finland, Germany, France, and Britain. And one artist I have listed as Denmark/Germany/France, because August Friedrich Schenck was born in a place that was Denmark at the time, Germany now, and worked mostly in France.

Of the pieces with known locations, eight are in the United States (four specifically in New York), two each in Australia and Russia, and one each in Argentina, Finland, Italy, Ireland, the Netherlands, Poland and one in a private collection.

There are two archaic pieces of art, Judith is our last standing piece from anything between archaic and 1843, 8 pieces of art from the 1800s, although five are from 1878 to 1896, one from 1903, two from the 70s or 80s, 5 from the 90s, four from the 00s, four from the span of 2014 to 2016, and three from the last two years. And two unknown dates and the AIDS memorial quilt which is still being added to.

There are 15 paintings, 7 installation arts, one comic, one photograph, one cave art, one sketch, one tattoo, and one fiber art slash installation. And the most common subject of the art are five queer related art pieces, although I have four each I summed up as either horror or grief/anguish.

And, lastly, someone sent in an ask in like Round 1 asking about statistics regarding whether being in first or second place in the poll biased anything. I'm not actually a statistician, so I can't answer that question, but I did compile the numbers of how many first-positioned vs second-positioned arts won! Surprisingly, Round 1 had 64 firsts to 63 seconds (and one tie), Round 2 had 29 to 35, and Round 3 had 15 to 17. Technically speaking that's not a large enough sample size to determine bias but it's... interesting?.

I was going to make a scatterplot featuring the number of votes in each poll to track engagement, but I haven't actually figured out how to do one in Google Sheets yet so maybe at the end of the bracket.

[heckmate]

Machine 47

I was able to find more information on Machine 47 thanks to a Russian Knock-knock VK group. One user stated that only IPL was bound by the non-disclosure agreement and that users can post freely about it, and thankfully one of the backers (who I will credit below) documented a lot about it!

Disclaimer: I do not speak Russian at all and everything I was able to learn was through Google translate. Sorry if anything was misinterpreted.

The gist: Machine 47 was a reward for the $47 tier on Kickstarter. It’s a 3D room consisting of a chair, a clock, and a book. The user is to write down a wish in the book and stamp it - the instructions were to write a wish centered on the self instead of others. Then, the user is to leave through the door.

Occasionally, the clock would speed up, but once the user wrote their wish down, the clock would stop. I think the clock also corresponded with the user’s PC time; I'm not sure how exactly this worked with the user's PC time and how it was able to keep corresponding with it...

I’m not sure what else it was supposed to do, sadly. I couldn’t find anymore info. However, thanks to VK user Ilya Batischev (Ilia Batishchev on YouTube) there is a video and also a file with instructions on how to use the Machine (I will put both under the read more) as well as a screenshot of the notebook in which the user was to put their wish:

Here is a screenshot of the notebook, translated from Russian by google translate (credit once more to Ilya Batischev):

(according to them, the 47 was a recreation of the stamp in MS paint ;D)

Lastly, here are the translated instructions. They come from a file called 47_RUS.rtf:

There are many things in the world that go beyond the natural order. Some miracles are created by human hands, and some happen by themselves. Sometimes it is difficult to understand exactly how: through intense effort, through a happy accident, or in some way beyond our understanding. Undoubtedly, the course of events can be influenced by human will. With our close attention we reveal hitherto invisible fragments of reality. Sometimes we are given the chance to consciously and responsibly choose what kind of world we would like to live in. If you want something sincerely and clearly state your will, reality will definitely respond. Before you is something like a wishing machine. She is made of equations, quanta, November leaves, chance and good will, and yes, she can make your wish come true. To do this, you need to carry out a simple ritual (guess the correct sequence of actions - in this case, this is the very necessary work). 1. Mathematics is responsible for accuracy, probability theory is responsible for randomness, but only human will can direct these forces in the right direction. Watch your thoughts and don't think that this is just some kind of joke. 2. Take your time. Composure is required for the machine to operate properly. We believe that desire must ripen there, inside. Be patient and the solution will definitely come. 3. Even the most powerful computer cannot do the internal work for you. Once you are in the machine, focus and formulate a desire. Write it and leave the room. Everything else will happen in reality. 4. Inside the machine you need to do three things. Which ones you will have to guess on your own, but here are the tips: Time, Word, Sensitivity. The machine may not know what you're doing, but someone is watching you and maybe seeing everything. There are several rules to follow when you formulate a wish. We don’t impose artificial restrictions, we’ve just experimented with it a little. We confidently declare that this is not a "monkey's paw": it will not burden your desire with evil and will not try to deceive you. But you still need to handle words carefully, so you should follow safety precautions: 1. Try not to be too vague. The machine will understand you if only you understand yourself. 2. Don't wish for anything that would affect other people's lives. It's better to focus on your own life. Only the strongest desires can change the destinies of others. 3. Do not wish for what you yourself, deep down in your soul, consider impossible. Establishing Eternal Peace or changing Planck's constant is a worthy goal, but it is unlikely that you will want it with all your heart. Otherwise, nothing will come of it. And please always be aware of the possible consequences. One way or another, try to be sincere and accurate. Then the Machine will serve you well. She has already helped us. And remember - the world consists of what you want to see in it.

(Note: Google Translate translated the word "machine" to "car" a few times, so I changed it back to machine)

All of this info can be found, in Russian, in the linked VK group--just search "47"!

[wjhik]

We Have Some News (Jude Bellingham) Y/N's POV:

Jude and I have been trying for a baby for so long now.  We got married 4 years ago, when my son was 11. It was weird for him. It's always just been me and him. His father's family left the country after finding out he got me pregnant as a teenager. They were too concerned about their reputation. Ilyas and I were very close. I made it a point to do the best I can for him. He won't suffer for my mistake. We've had some hard times like most do. It wasn't easy being in my sophomore year in high-school with a newborn, or a freshman in college with a 3 year old, but I made it work. When I met Jude, he turned it around for us. He made sure to spoil Ilyas with all the toys and gadgets I couldn't afford. Even when I insisted he shouldn't, he went behind my back to give Ilyas everything he could. Jude and I met when Ilyas was 7. He wasn't fond of him at first, but Jude slowly gained his trust through playing video games with him and taking him to see his favorite players in the stadiums.

Back to the present day, Jude and I were very excited. We've wanted a baby for so long, but it wasn't happening. I've been feeling sick lately. Jude and I never stopped trying, however we became less strict. We don't track my ovulation, or take tests every week to make sure. I haven't taken a test in over 2 months, but I decided to try it. Maybe I should talk to Jude about it first. I'll wait for him to get home. I'm interrupted from my train of thought by the door opening and a hurricane of a boy running in.

"What happened to you??" I question my son in pure shock. "I was- Oh my god. Give me a second." He says, holding his  chest, panting. "Okay, so...I was walking this girl home. First, I had to deal with her dad who interrogated me, then I got chased for 5 kilometers by Mr. Evans' racist dog." He says, rummaging through the cupboards, scavenging for food. "The dogs' not racist, Ilyas. He's just scared of you." I say to him, laughing at his accusations. I tell him to sit down so I can give him his lunch. "Mom, did you see the way he was barking at me and Jude?! That's a racist dog if I've seen one." He says, barbarically digging into his food. "Alright, baby." I say.

Ilyas and I both finished our lunch and are sitting on the couch together. I feel my stomach turning inside out. "I'll be back, baby." I say to him as I quickly get up and head to the bathroom. (I'll spare you guys details about Y/N's delicious vomit) "Mama? You okay?" I hear Ilyas asking, sounding very worried. I'm sure he heard me. Fuck, I didn't mean to scare him. "Yeah, I'm okay." I say, attempting to calm his worries. I hear a quite "okay" as he walks away. Just as I get up to go back to the living room, my stomach flips inside out again. (will spare you guys again)

Jude's POV:

It's been a long day. I can't wait to go home to Y/N. I can't wait to see what she's cooked. I love her food. (hungry boy) "Y/N/N, I'm home! Hey, Ilyas." I say, walking into the living room and sitting on the couch next to Ilyas to take off the shoes. I place them at the front door and head over to the kitchen. I open the pot on the stove to peek at what's for dinner. "Hey, Jude?" Ilyas asks me. "Yeah, what's up?" I ask him, turning my attention towards him. He looks concerned. Is everything okay? "Mom's not feeling well. She's in the bathroom. I think she's throwing up." He says to me. "Why? Did something happen?" I say, walking towards the downstairs bathroom. "She was fine, but then she got up and went to the bathroom." I knock on the bathroom door. "Y/N? You okay?" I say through the door.

Y/N's POV:

Ugh, why is Jude home? I already scared Ilyas, now Jude too? "Yeah, I'm okay, baby." I am so not okay. "Can I come in?" He asks me. I open the door and let him in. I see Ilyas at the door looking horrified at the sight of me on the floor. "Hey, baby. I'm okay, don't worry. Go play your game." I say to Ilyas as Jude steps in the bathroom. Jude shuts the door behind him and sits on the floor with me. He puts his hand on my cheek. "Are you okay, baby?" He asks me looking into my eyes that are watering. I hate vomiting more than anything. "I've been feeling sick all day. I wanted to take a test but I wanted to wait for you." I say to him. He asks me if I wanted to take a test now. I got up from my surprisingly comfortable place on my floor and step out of the bathroom. Ilyas comes up to me and asks me if I'm alright. "I'm okay, baby. I'm just not feeling well. I'm going to take a nap." I say to him, placing a hand up high on his shoulder. He's about as tall as Jude, which is scary because of how young he is. He takes after his father. He really is a gentle giant, though.

I walk into Jude and I's shared room with Jude trailing behind me. Instead of heading to my room like I told Ilyas, I headed to the bathroom. Jude made it there before me and handed me a pregnancy test from my side of our counter. "Ready?" He asks me, sticking the test at me. I sigh and take it from him. I do my business as he looks away. "Set a timer." I tell him, placing the stick on the counter and leaving the bathroom to sit on our couch at the foot of the big bed we have. "It'll be okay, baby. Don't worry." Jude says, sitting down next to me. "I know it will." I say, giving him a reassuring smile. A few minutes of small talk is quickly stopped after hearing Jude's blaring alarm coming from his phone. He stands up and puts his hand out to help me up.

"You look." I tell him. "I don't wanna look!" He whines. "It's your kid!" I argue back. "It's your kid, too!" He says. We're both avoiding the news. Either we can be disappointed again, or our entire lives can change forever. No pressure though. "Okay, same time?" He nods at my suggestion. "3, 2, 1." And we look down. Two lines.

Jude's POV:

Is this real? After so many years? "Oh my god. Oh my god!" Is all I can say. I immediately hug Y/N. "You're PREGNANT!!!" I say dropping to my knees, kissing her belly. My baby is really in there. "Shhh!!!" Y/N yells, her pointer finger in from of her mouth. "Whaaatt??" I say, extending my words. How could she not be jumping off the walls right now? "Ilyas will hear you!" She whisper yells. "How are we going to break this to him?" She asks. "I don't know, love. That's up to you. If you want to keep it secret for a little, or tell him now. Whatever you want to do, I'll be here." I say to her. She cares so much about him. She's an amazing mom. "How is he going to react? Oh my god. This was a bad idea." She starts spiraling into a panic. "Hey. Hey. He'll be fine. He loves you so much and just wants to see you happy." I say, rubbing her back. "I know. I know. I just don't want to change things for him, you know? Things have always been crazy for us, and were just starting to settle a little, and now I'm pregnant. This will change everything." She says with pure fear in her eyes. "I know things won't be the same, but that's not a bad thing. He loves babies. Just think of how happy he'll be. Everything will be different, but it'll all be okay, my love." I say, pulling her in and kissing her head. She takes a deep breath, and relaxes into me.

(Time Skip)

Y/N's POV:

"Ilyas! Get in here, please!" I yell from the living room with Jude sitting next to me, rubbing my leg soothingly. We just had dinner, and it's us now what we consider 'alone time', so it's unsual for me to call him out of his gaming trance. He comes in the living room, questioning me. I tell him to sit down. (doing the next part in message format to make it more understandable )

Y/N: So, you know I haven't been feeling amazing lately.

Ilyas: Yeah...

Y/N: Well, I had a hunch about what it may be, and I tested it a few weeks back. Jude and I have been together a while, and him and I are pretty settled in. And I think you like him as well, right?

Ilyas: He's fine, I guess."

Y/N: We've been thinking for a while about this, and we decided now is the right time.

Ilyas: Are you sending me away?! Mama, I'm sorry! I'll be good, I promise!

Y/N and Jude: What?

Ilyas has been scared of being sent away to a boarding school since he was 4. It was never even an idea in my head. He's been scared since I fell asleep while the TV was on and the grown up shows started playing. He saw a little too much of "The Awakening."

Y/N: Baby, we're not sending you away. Actually, quite the opposite. Instead of loosing a kid, we're..."

I hesitate as I look to Jude for a little reassurance. He gives me a smile and rubs my knee.

Y/N: I'm pregnant.

I can feel my eyes sting up. Is he upset? He's my baby forever. I don't want him to forget that. Oh god. This was a bad idea. I can get rid of it. It's okay. It's still early. The thoughts are interrupted by Ilyas.

Ilyas: Ew...Why?

Jude: What do you mean "why"?

Ilyas: I'm talking to my mom here. Not you.

Y/N: Ilyas, don't talk like that.

Ilyas: Why would you have a baby with him?

Oh no.

Jude: What is that supposed to mean?

They're both standing up now. (dw judes not gonna fight a 15 year old) I'm in shock at this point. I don't know how to react. Ilyas storms into his room and slams the door after cursing Jude out in our language, so he doesn't understand. I leave the room and head to the bedroom to cry it out.

Jude's POV:

I follow after Y/N. When I get to the bedroom, she's in bed, silently crying to herself. I sit down on my side on the bed. Her back is turned to me. I have my hand on her back, rubbing it how she likes. "Hey, baby. Don't cry. It's okay. He's just scared of what could be. Give him some time. He'll come around. He loves you more than anything. No one loves their mama more than him." She silently turns around to face me. She nestles herself into my chest. My hand goes into her hair to rub her head. Next thing I know, she's fast asleep. I need to talk to Ilyas. I can imagine how much he's going through. (antiasshole stepdad jude)

Ilyas' POV:

Knock. Knock. Knock. I take out my air pods that are blasting your classic angsty teenage music. I really don't want to be lectured by my mom about how Jude is only looking out for me, or how he loves me or some shit. I put my headphones back in, hoping my mom will take it as a 'I don't wanna talk right now.' Knock. Knock. Knock. Oh my daaays, man. I simply up the volume on my song. KNOCK. KNOCK. Bro. I get up from my very comfortable position, laying on my stomach on my bed. I swing the door open, expecting to see my mom. "Yes, mama?" I say, slight annoyance in my voice. Then, I realize who's at the door. "Oh. What do you want?" I ask. "Can I come in?" What does this guy want? I step out of the way for him.

"I get it. You want the best for your mom, and you don't think that's me. I get that, but I just want you to know I'll treat her the best humanly possible. I know she's not new to this parenting thing, but I am. Even though I haven't done this before, I can promise you I'll be the best dad to this baby. Your mom's not gonna forget about you. She loves you more than anything on this world, and she makes that clear to me everyday." Why is he saying all this? I thought he was going to lecture me. Why should he? He's not my dad. "Look, I'm not here to lecture you, or tell you your behavior was unacceptable or anything like that. I'm not your dad." Wow. How ironic. "I'm scared." Why am I talking? "What if she forgets me?" Stop talking, Ilyas. Why are you confessing to this guy? "She will never forget you. Every night, she tells me how much she loves you. How you're the most important thing in the world to her, much more important than me, might I add. She says she's lucky to be your mother. I can't help but agree with her. You're an amazing kid, Ilyas. Neither me nor her will ever forget that." Why is my face wet? Fuck, I cannot be crying at this shit. I quickly wipe my face and give Jude a smile. He places his hand on my shoulder and wishes me a goodnight after leaving and closing the door.

Y/N's POV:

Yesterday was horrible. I have to make it up to Ilyas. I can't believe I upset him that much. I turn over and see a sleeping Jude. He looks so peaceful. My peace is quickly ruined by my nausea. I quickly head to the bathroom to throw up. I feel a hand wrap around my hair, holding it back. Once I'm done, I look up, my face red. "Good morning, beautiful." Jude leans in for a kiss, but I quickly pull back. "Vomit breath." I say. He ignores me and goes in for another kiss. "I don't care." He says in between kisses. "Alright, enough. I have to go talk to Ilyas." I say, getting up from my designated spot on the floor. I wrap myself in a robe to keep myself warm and walk into the kitchen.

"Good morning, mama." I look up from my phone to see my baby, covered in flour. He rushes over to me to give me a kiss on my forehead. "Good morning, baby. What are you doing?" I say, giggling at his face covered in all sorts of breakfast items. "Making you breakfast! I feel bad about yesterday. Maybe Jude isn't so bad..." He says, avoiding eye contact. "What's that smell?" I say, sniffing the air. "Fuck!" Ilyas yells, looking back at his burning bacon. "Ilyas!" I yell at him. He knows better than to talk like that. Ilyas is about as stubborn as I am, so what changed his mind?

"Good morning, Jude. Pancakes?" I look behind me to see Jude walking towards the kitchen. "Yum. Yes, please." What is going on? My boys getting along? More like, Ilyas tolerating Jude? I slowly waddle towards the kitchen counter where Jude is sitting. The boys are making conversation. "I'll be back." Ilyas says as he leaves to go to his room, hearing his phone ring. "What black magic did you do on my son?" I ask Jude, him stuffing his face with a pancake. "He's not as tough as he seems." He says, nudging me. Ilyas comes back into the room. "So? Opinions?" He asks me as I take a bite of his food. "I love it, baby. Thank you." I say. "It is really good." Jude agrees with me. "Good. Didn't wake up at 7am on a weekend for nothing." Ilyas says, taking a bite of his creation then dusting his hands on his apron that is far too small for him. "I'm glad you two are getting along." I say. "Me too. It's nice not living with an opp." Ilyas says. Jude gives him a sarcastic smile. I kiss Jude. "Ew. I don't like him that much." Ilyas chimes in. I grab him by his tiny apron and snog his face with kisses while tickling his sides. Ilyas is struggling to breath and Jude is laughing his ass off. My perfect little family is growing.

Wattpad: funkyfishfeet

DM for requests

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 13

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: violence, gore

Chapter word count: 3.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - The Eagle and the Dragon

There was a rush of preparation. Ilya donned his armor, put his sword into his belt, slung the bow and the magic quiver onto his back, and held his mace in his hand. Paul, feeling rather ill-equipped, had Dobrynya's spear. On second thoughts, he took his broken sword and put it in his belt as well. It may be broken, but it had its use. Zhara stood on her perch, watching him with eyes full of love and concern, though she didn't try to stop him.

Elena gave Paul a pouch of herbs. "Burn this and whoever smells the smoke will fall asleep," she said. "Be careful to stand downwind of it. May the gods be with you."

Baba Yaga gave them two other things, a handkerchief which she said could help them cross a river of fire—she didn't know if Illarion was going to use it on them or not, but the river of fire had been a favorite weapon of Koschei's—and one of the skulls she took from the fence, its eye sockets stuffed with moss. Paul thanked her and put the herbs, the handkerchief, and the skull in a knapsack.

"A word with you, Russian boy," the witch said, beckoning to Paul.

Puzzled, he followed her outside, to where Voskhod was standing, calmly awaiting the return of his family at the end of the day. Baba Yaga didn't say anything for a while. She looked Paul up and down, causing him to rub a self-conscious hand through his curls, which were getting long.

"Do you wish to return to your world?" the witch asked abruptly.

Paul stared at her, uncomprehending.

"If you manage to return alive, I can open a door and send you back, should you wish," she continued. "I told you I still have some powers left, didn't I?" She smiled humorlessly. "But for now, I don't want Illarion to get wind of it. If he knew I could open doors between worlds, his ambitions would extend to your world as well, and that would be disastrous for all. So try to defeat him, Russian boy. Your fate may depend upon it."

Horrible as they were, there was something perversely encouraging in her words as well. But Paul wasn't really listening. All he could think was that he didn't wish to leave. He wished to stay, not to prove himself or to defeat Illarion or to achieve any such heroic deeds. He wished to stay simply so he could see the dawn with Zhara.

Baba Yaga gave a shrill whistle, and from the hills behind them, the Day and Night horses returned, their saddles empty this time. Paul and Ilya each took one. Zhara settled into her usual place in the inside pocket of Paul's kaftan—they had agreed that it would be best for her to stay hidden until they could determine what Illarion was planning. And then, leaping as one, Day and Night side by side, the horses flew across the vast expanse of sea, taking them to Buyan Island.

***

The horses landed on the rock, as lightly and daintily as stepping over a garden fence. The oak, which they'd seen from the shore, spread its twisted branches over their heads, its leaves so dark and thick that twilight reigned around its base, despite the midday sun. Other than the rustling of the leaves and the crashing of the waves underneath, there was no other sound, no sign of life on that rock.

"So where's the Alatyr Stone?" Paul asked, looking around.

"Some said the island is the stone itself," replied Ilya, holding his mace at the ready. "Perhaps that is why Illarion chose this place."

"What do we do?" Paul found himself dropping his voice to a whisper, as though afraid the island itself may be able to hear them.

Ilya slowly walked around the base of the oak, keeping an eye out for danger. "We wait, 'til Illarion shows himself."

That didn't sound like much of a plan to Paul. "In the tales of my world," he said, "Koschei keeps his death hidden in a chest under this oak tree. Should we—I don't know, start digging?"

"Digging?" Ilya snorted. "Do you honestly think Illarion would be so careless as to leave his death unguarded?"

"He may be arrogant in his power," Paul said, speaking from experiences. "It's worth a try."

Ilya looked closely at the gnarled roots at the base of the tree. Then he shrugged and drew his sword from its scabbard. "You take that side," he said to Paul. "Use the spear."

The moment Ilya's sword touched the ground under the oak, the tree split open.

A giant double-headed eagle sprang out of the oak and flew straight at Paul, feathers gleaming strangely under the sun, sharp beaks pointing at him like knives. A net dropped from the branches over him, pinning him to the ground. The eagle gathered the net up in its powerful claws and took to the sky, with Paul dangling under its belly like some grotesque fish.

"No!" Ilya jumped after the eagle. The roots of the oak, writhing like serpents, wrapped themselves around the bogatyr's wrists, dragging him down.

It was a trap. There was nothing on the island. Illarion had lured them here to make them easier to kill.

By some miracle, Paul still managed to keep a hold of the spear. He thrust it upward at random, hoping to make some contact, only to find that the spear was glancing off the eagle's claws and feathers ineffectively. To his horror, he realized the reason the eagle gleamed so brightly was that its claws and feathers were made of metal, iron and copper covering its entire body like a suit of armor. And most horrifying of all, a green medallion dangled from its neck.

Zhara leaped out from Paul's pocket. She flapped her wings, turning her entire body into a ball of fire, and tried to launch herself at the eagle, but the heavy, thick net weighed her down, and she could get no further than its legs.

On the island, Ilya gave a great roar and tore a root from his arm. He picked up his sword and chopped off the rest of the roots, freeing himself, before quickly removing his bow from his back and firing an arrow at the armored eagle. The arrow clanged harmlessly against its metal plumage.

"Destroy its medallion, Ilya!" Paul shouted, but his voice was blown off by the wind and the waves, and he couldn't tell if Ilya heard him or not.

Paul saw Ilya mount the Night horse. With a mighty leap, the horse took flight and chased after the eagle. It soon caught up. Ilya swung his mace at the bird, hitting its flank with an ear-splitting clash, sending a shower of sparks over Paul and Zhara. No matter how well-protected the eagle was, it had to feel that. It turned back with a shriek, razor-edged wings slashing at the knight and the horse. Caught in the net in its claws, Paul was swung around so violently that there was little he could do other than cling to the spear with one hand and hold Zhara close to his chest with the other. The sea and the sky whirled into a maelstrom of gray and white, making his head spin and threatening to bring his breakfast back up, until he had to shut his eyes and curl himself into a ball around Zhara, praying to all the Saints of his world and all the gods of this world that it would be over soon.

The clangor of steel on steel went on over his head, mingled with curses from Ilya, panicked screams from the horse, and screeches from both of the eagle's heads. Then there was a muffled screech, and the eagle dropped a little, as though a new weight was added to its back. Paul risked cracking one eye open and saw the Night horse leaping toward the shore with an empty saddle. His heart sank. Had Ilya been killed? If so, why was the eagle still howling and twisting? Then Paul heard a grunt and realized Ilya had jumped onto the eagle's back and was now clinging to its neck while trying to stab at the medallion. The shore was now within sight.

Though he and Zhara were still being jerked around like puppets on a string, the jolting and jostling were not as bad as before, and Paul found he had some measures of control over his movements. He stuck his spear at the eagle's legs again. With its armor, the stabbing of the spear probably felt no stronger than mosquito bites, but at least he could distract the eagle a little and give Ilya a chance. Next to him, Zhara also renewed her fiery attack. The eagle squawked irritably and tried to kick at them, but dared not let go of its precious cargo. Paul craned his head, trying to see if Ilya had gained a purchase around the eagle's neck at all. He couldn't see anything past the eagle's belly.

They reached the shore. The moment it was close enough, the eagle dropped the net. It landed in the shallows. Dazed, Paul picked himself and Zhara up, saltwater burning his eyes and nose, just in time to see the eagle land hard on the ground, using the sudden force to throw Ilya off its back.

"Ilya, watch out!" Paul shouted.

It was too late.

As soon as the knight tumbled onto the shingle beach, the bird drove the tip of its wings at his chest. Ilya rolled over, but he was not fast enough. Tangled up in the net, Paul could only watch, helpless, as the eagle impaled Ilya in the back with its knifelike feathers.

There was a terrible scream. Paul didn't know if it was Ilya or himself or perhaps even Zhara. He didn't stop to think. He picked up the spear, slashed through the net, and ran at the eagle. The monstrous creature was just pulling its bloody feathers out of Ilya and turning toward Paul when he drove his spear at the medallion on its chest.

It wasn't like with Alyosha and Afron, perhaps because the armored eagle wasn't a living creature. The medallion didn't simply crack. It disintegrated, and along with it, the bird collapsed in on itself. Feather by feather, plate by plate, the metal crumpled like sheets of paper in an invisible fist, until nothing was left of the bird but a ball of crushed iron and copper. It took the spear along with it, and Paul had to let go of the shaft before it took his arms off as well.

Then the sea exploded behind him.

A dragon, a zmei, like the one he'd only seen in pictures, burst out of the water, its body covered in coppery green scales, green leathery wings dripping foam, three horned heads with gaping red mouths roaring at him. Before Paul could even feel fear or shock, the dragon reached out one of its legs and snatched Zhara from where she stood on the beach, its claws closing around her small body like a cage. It then flew toward the castle on top of the cliff and was gone in a blink of an eye, leaving only behind an echo of Zhara's panicked cry.

Paul stood stuck to the spot, watching the dwindling figure of the dragon as it disappeared into the castle. He was too stunned to move, too stunned to even fully realize what had just occurred.

A choking sound from Ilya snapped Paul out of his daze and sent him stumbling over the shingle. He knelt down by Ilya's side. The bogatyr had turned over on his back. His armor still looked intact from the front, but the growing dark pool underneath him and the red stains on his lips revealed the severity of his wound. The coal-black horse of Night stood by placidly, joined by its milky-white mate. Paul's hands shook as he helplessly reached out for Ilya, both wishing to offer the knight some comfort and afraid he was going to make things worse. He looked down the beach, searching for any sign of the house on chicken legs, but the cliffs stood in the way.

"Try to be still," he said to Ilya, surprised at how steady his voice was. "I'm fetching help."

"No..." The knight shook his head. A red bubble burst at the corner of his pale lips. "Go after the tsarevna. Help her." At some point during the fight with the eagle, he had lost his mace and his bow. Now he pressed his belt and Baba Yaga's quiver into Paul's hand. "You're the only one left now."

With that, Ilya's fingers went slack, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

Paul remained kneeling by the fallen knight for a moment longer. Then he got to his feet, trying to ignore the trembling of his limbs. Here it was, at long last, what he had always dreamed of. Here was his chance to be a hero. So why couldn't he feel anything other than crippling, sickening fear?

He knew now that if a coup were to occur in Russia, he might as well resign to his fate. He wouldn't be able to come to his mother's rescue as he had always imagined. He wouldn't even be able to save himself. Besides, he didn't care enough about his mother to risk his life for her, if it ever came to that. He had never cared about her. She was his mother in name only. He realized that with a strange sense of detachment—the thought of his mother no longer made him angry. Rather, he was a little sad about it, only it felt like he was sad for someone else, like he was watching another person's tragedy from afar, not his own.

But someone he did care about deeply was in danger, and he couldn't leave her to her murderous brother.

With a deep breath, Paul tightened Ilya's sword belt about his waist, strapped the quiver to his back, mounted the Day horse, and steered it toward the castle on top of the cliff.

***

The castle, its walls radiant like pearls under the sun, was deserted and silent as the rest of the coastline. The white horse circled the golden domes, before alighting on a high tower, its snowy coat blending it perfectly with the walls. Paul hid himself behind the battlements, and, from this vantage point, took in a sweeping view of the castle. Where could Zhara be? Illarion was preparing for some ritual, that much Paul knew, but whether it would take place in the dungeon or the topmost tower of the castle, he could not begin to guess.

Then he peered into the courtyard below, and his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dragon was curled up in front of the main entrance like a monstrous guard dog, a medallion glowing amongst its green scales, its three heads swiveling this way and that to watch out for any attempt to breach the castle. Even as Paul watched, one of those heads whipped around, fixing on the very tower where he was hiding with a baleful, suspicious gaze. Paul hastily ducked behind the battlements again, praying that the beast hadn't seen him.

No such luck. He didn't dare look down again, but he could hear the unmistakable clashing and scraping sounds that signified a dragon made of metal was slithering its way up the wall, trying to catch its prey by surprise.

What to do? There was a door leading from the battlement into the heart of the tower, but it was locked and barred; if he tried breaking the lock using Ilya's sword, the noise would surely draw the dragon's attention before he could get the lock open. He could try finding an open window and flying the horse to it, but again, the risk of being discovered was too great. No, he had to face the dragon. If only he still had the spear or even Ilya's bow, he could try shooting at the medallion. All he had now was the sword and a handful of arrows, and he'd be dead before he could get close enough to the dragon to use them.

Wait. Those were not all he had. He still had Elena's sleep-inducing herbs. Would they work on a creature that was made of metal? He had to try...

Trying to make as little noise as possible, Paul pulled the pouch of herbs and the skull out of his knapsack. After tying some herbs to an arrow, he removed the moss from one eye socket as Baba Yaga had told him. A spark of fire shot out, but the herbs, damp after his dip into the sea, refused to catch. The scraping sound was getting closer.

Cursing under his breath, Paul tried again. Blessed be the Saints, the herbs caught this time. Protecting his nose and mouth from the smoke with one hand, he threw the arrow haphazardly into the courtyard with the other, praying that it was enough to draw the dragon's attention.

And it was. As the arrow hit the flagstones with a soft clang, the scraping paused, then receded—the dragon was now crawling down to examine this new source of noise. Paul rapidly tied more herbs to arrows, set them on fire, and threw them down. Clang, clang, clang, clang. The smoke was now surrounding the dragon. Then he waited.

A dull crash, heavier than the clang of the arrows, told him that Elena's herbs had worked, even on a creature not of flesh and blood. Letting out a breath of relief, Paul got on the horse again. They flew into the courtyard, where the dragon now sprawled, its three tongues lolling out of its mouths. It was even snoring, with a sound like a boiling samovar.

Although it appeared asleep, Paul reminded himself to approach it with caution. He waited for the smoke from the herbs to dissipate before picking his way toward the dragon's heads, carefully stepping over the thick coils of its body until he was face to face with the medallion. Then, raising the sword above his head, he made his strike.

A harsh grating sound confused Paul. He looked down just in time to see the coils between his feet moved. He tumbled backward, the sword flying out of his hand, numbness reverberating throughout his body as his spine hit the flagstones. Iron claws swiped at him, and the numbness was replaced by an excruciating pain across his chest. The dragon, no longer asleep—whether because the smoke was gone, or because the smoke wasn't enough to keep it sleeping, or because it had never been asleep in the first place, he didn't know, and anyway, why does it matter now—bore down on him, all three mouths wide open like bowls of blood, showing fangs as big as daggers. He couldn't take in air, with the dragon's furnace-hot breath blasting him in the face and its weight pinning him to the ground, crushing him. He could only hope that he would lose consciousness from the lack of air before the dragon tore into him. Already black spots were swimming in front of his eyes.

This is it. I'm going to die here, like the useless, cowardly lump that I am.

Stop saying that you're useless, Zhara's soft voice sounded in his ears. He could feel her lips on his, her presence in his arms—had it only been the night before?

Paul's eyes snapped open. No, he couldn't give up. Zhara was depending on him.

Straining, he pulled his arm out of the dragon's grasp, screaming as the iron claws ripped through his old wound. He managed to close his fingers around the hilt of Ilya's sword lying nearby. Bringing the sword upward, he stabbed at the head closest to him, driving the sword through its chin. The dragon roared and wrenched away, exposing the medallion at its throat, where the three necks met. The moment he felt the weight upon him lifting, Paul jumped to his feet, pulled out his own broken sword, and rammed it into the medallion.

Just like the bird, the moment the medallion was destroyed, the dragon started imploding into a ball of molten metal. This time, Paul remembered to pull the sword out of the medallion, though Ilya's blade, lodged in one of the dragon's jaws, was lost.

Paul limped up the front staircase of the snow-white castle, toward the carved and gilded double doors, which were left ajar. He took slow, careful steps, partly because his ankle had been sprained when the dragon pulled him down, and partly because he didn't feel particularly brave, with only half a sword in his hand and a handful of arrows on his back, and he didn't know what other monsters or horrors the castle would have in store for him. But he continued anyway, putting one foot before another, spurred by a fire deep in his heart.

For all his caution, the castle seemed deserted. Unlike Afron's brilliantly painted fortress, the stronghold of Arthania was all lofty white walls, with decorations made out of amber or intricate carvings tastefully picked out in gold leaves. The late afternoon sunlight shone through tall windows, throwing patches of gold on the marble floor. The shuffling of Paul's feet and his heavy breaths were the only sounds echoing along the winding corridors, while he passed by door after half-opened door, leading into rooms decorated with more gold and amber, their color reminding him of Zhara's eyes.

Finally, after ascending a staircase flanked by giant marble columns, Paul arrived at another set of double doors, the only ones that remained closed in the entire castle. Something told him this was his destination.

"Hold on, Zhar-ptitsa," he whispered. "I'm coming."

He pushed open the doors and found himself in a throne room, all white and gold like the rest of the castle. A golden throne sat empty on a dais of white marble, in front of a floor-to-ceiling window facing the sea, framed by ivory velvet curtains embroidered with gold thread. A long table was placed just behind the throne, and a redheaded figure stood by it, bending down to examine the few items on the table.

"—recognize Gagana and Garafena, sister?" the figure was saying in the croaky voice of a boy who had just gone through puberty. "Our favorite childhood toys? Controlling metal toys is not nearly as fun as controlling a human being, but they have their use. I thought you'd like to be welcomed home by something familiar, now that Father and all your friends are gone—"

Hearing Paul's approach, the boy turned around.

"Ah. There is your gallant defender," he said. "I must admit, I didn't expect him to last this long."

Chapter 14

Taglist: @ali-r3n

[firewoodfigs]

ayo … i’m on a poetry high and basically devouring every poetry website i can find and i’m still looking for new stuff. so please drop ur fave poets/poems 🙏🙏 or even ur fave poem u wrote urself i’m starved

omg aaaahhh i love questions about poetry and i'm always delighted to hear when people go on a poetry high (and that it's still very much alive)! unfortunately i read most of my poetry off books that i thrifted, but Poetry Foundation is a pretty reliable archive and fairly easy to navigate if you have a name in mind :) i also really enjoy the stuff curated on @secretchords_apoemfortheday and @apoemaday, and if i have a specific author/anthology i'm looking for i usually just try my luck with online PDFs.

in terms of specific recommendations, the following is a little list of mine (with links included!):

Louise Glück (who recently passed away, but left behind a very lasting legacy. A Summer Garden is marvelous; a field of stars.)

Mary Oliver (The Summer Day is one of my personal all-time favourites!)

e.e. cummings (i carry your heart with me(i carry it in) is a timeless classic)

Robert Frost (Nothing Gold Can Stay is especially apt for the fall!)

William Blake (The Tyger is terribly royai-coded lol)

Pablo Neruda (love is so short / forgetting is so long)

Frank O'Hara (Lunch Poems)

W.H. Auden (if equal affection cannot be / let the more loving one be me)

Richard Siken (Crush)

Carol Ann Duffy (there you are on the bed / like a gift, like a touchable dream)

Sylvia Plath (not technically poetry, and I know Plath has lamented her prose on multiple occasions, but The Bell Jar is easily one of my favourite novels and reads like a poem--the imagery is so visceral and gripping, and the overarching metaphor of a bell jar is just insane)

Ilya Kaminsky (Deaf Republic)

Mark Nepo (how the heart makes a duet of wonder and grief)

my own poems are generally marked #poetry on my tumblr page (although the tags are frustratingly uncooperative most of the time...). some of my favourite poems i wrote are:

the diametrics of dialogue (conversations with you) -- this is a deeply personal piece which i recently had the privilege of reading in new york thanks to the phenomenal @mirabile---visu, and i will cherish it dearly always :)

honeypot

when creation creates

an anthem for youth undoomed

America and the moon

queenfish

remember, beloved

we lived in a state

love crept through the garden gate (in the process of turning this into a song!)

magnum opus and the queen of hearts will always have a special place in my heart as well because they were the first ones that got published online :)

enjoy, lovely (and welcome to the wonderful star-eaten world of poetry)! <3

[morgana-ren]

Are there any songs you associate with your ocs?Like, something that fits them?

Oh yeah, we both have a small list. Sea shanties work for any one of them, so I haven't put many of those on here. Obviously there's many more than this, but these are the ones that come to mind off the top of my head. Some of them are very circumstantial in a 'you had to be there' kind of way, but a lot of them are vague as well. Yeah, some of them are the stereotypical ones you see on lists like this, but hey, I've been hanging around for too long not to have some of those.

Here's a small list of my songs for each idiot:

Corvus

Mare of my Night - Týr

Bloodstains on the captain's log - Carach Angren

Pretty when you cry - Vast

I'm your nightmare - The Brains

Sweeter than wine - The Brains

Sweet Things - The Pretty Reckless

Novelty Crosses - The Black Dahlia Murder

Whisper - Burn the Ballroom

In this world or the one below - Assassin's Creed IV Black Flag

Mother Russia/Dominion - Sisters of Mercy

Pain - Boy Harsher

The Bondage Song (Unchained Mix) - London After Midnight (Slight flash warning)

Love you to death - London After Midnight

Keelhauled - Alestorm

Lorely - Blackmore's Night

One winged angel - Aurora Australis Music

Smells Blood - Kensuke Ushio

Fear and Delight - The Correspondents

The scorpion and the frog - Marc Senter

Cry little sister - The Anix

Scream - Avenged Sevenfold

Luci - Zand

He's a pirate - Falkkone

Ilya

Lingering in an imprint haunting - Carach Angren

Katyusha - Megaraptor

Бабушка - ПНЕВМОСЛОН

Yuve Yuve Yu - The Hu

Black Thunder - The Hu

Wolf Totem - The Hu

This is Mongol - The Hu

Kiss - London After Midnight

Lacrymosa - Kalafina

Swan Lake - The Agonist

Where good girls go to die - London After Midnight

Russian Girl - Женя Любич

ПЕСНЬ 1 - БАТЮШКА

Batse tsyku - Бетал Иванов

Грустная Сука - IC3PEAK

Dead but Pretty - IC3SPEAK

Это пройдёт - Pornofilmy

Дядя Володя - Pornofilmy

She's in Parties - Bauhaus

Bind, Torture, Kill - Suicide Commando

Alone again, or - The Damned

History of Artemisia - Junkie XL

I, Caligvla - Ex Deo

Doce Doce - Fred Bongusto

Astarion

The Masochisn Tango - Ringlefinch

Kiss me you animal - Burn the Ballroom

Villainous Thing - Shayfer James

Hades OST... but it's funky - Alex Moukala Music

Bruises and Bitemarks - Good with Grenades

Danger! High Voltage - Electric Six

She dominates - Blitzkid

La Bomba- Lord of the Lost

Hit me like a man - The Pretty Reckless

After Dark - Tito y Tarantula

Jolly Sailor Bold - Ashley Serena

Choke - Royal and the Serpent

Hatefuck - The Bravery

Sex Hat Keine Macht - Oomph!

Tongues and Teeth - The Crane Wives

Lovesong - Snake River Conspiracy

Before I'm Dead - Kidneythieves

Metal Woman - 3 Inches of Blood

I'm Charming - Black Dahlia Murder

White Wedding - Billy Idol

You are a pirate - Alestorm

Bad Voodoo - Kreeps

Dead Girls are Easy - The 69 Eyes

Ex Mortis - Ice Nine Kills

Paradise - Satanicpornocultshop

Fuck Me - Vernon Jane

You belong to me - Cat Pierce

Reaver

Laisse tomber les filles - April March

Sisters - Pain of Salvation

Stand and Deliver - Adam & the Ants

The pain looks good on you - London After Midnight

Esmeralda - Burn the Ballroom

Love me, love me, love me - Kikuo

Who is she - I Monster

Gunslingers Glory - The Dead South

Gett off - Prince

Bloodsport - KMFDM Vs Skold

Gintleman's Club - The Dreadnoughts

Sleep is for the weak - The Dreadnoughts

Stupid Girl - Cold

Platz Eins - LINDEMANN

G Spot Micheal - LINDEMANN

Skin City - Steven Tyler

Violent Pornography - System of a Down

Santiano - The Longest Johns ft. SKALD

Sex - Oomph!

Follow me down - The Pretty Reckless

Amore Fermati - Fred Bongusto

Pervert - The Descendents

Your heart is as black as night - Melody Gardot

Bück Dich - Rammstein

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

its 2 am, its me, its a new truckdump of songs for just about everybody

Lucio

got a little weekend project planned, gonna kill my parents and deal a worm for unthinkable power and then it all goes downhill from there shwoopsie

Muriel flexing his deal after he got it xdd sidenote do you think asra was immune or did they have a brief period there where muriel totally accepted his only real friend forgot him because he wished for it but at some point asra was chillin in the shop huffing some myhr and went "nice. anyway wow i wonder how my best friend muriel is doing these days"

nah they probly arranged the myhrr thing together ig god how tf do you spell merr fuKIN MYRHMHGR MYRRH also why the hell does morga get to remember him too like what does she care how does this freaking thing work. what cuz she saw him once when he was 3? whats up with that cause i was like hm ok maybe cause she knew him before the deal but then i realised yoU DUMBASS EVERYONE KNEW HIM BEFORE THE DEAL N THEY FORGOT THATS THE POINT so idk whats the metric by which the forgetability is assigned or whatwver those two got some weird thing goin on that i never received an explanation for. it might just be me being a dumbass again tho hkchvndt

this one kinda gave me a asra+ilya vibe specifically their lil colloseum performance i say jolly good show. god that ginger bastard would love ol' chicago.

ok this one is barely anything but going strictly off of the absolute girlboss vibes its putting out its giving me nadia. "is your mother worried. would you like us to assign someone to worry your mother" goes hard

i think i had more but i forgor anyway the actual point of this message is i hope youre doing okay and not regretting putting yourself on a schedule too much dgjyhkvd youre a cool dude n you can do whatever you want forever i hope everything is going exactly your way and if its not then thats absolutely fucking ridiculous but i know youll nail it

@tetsuooooooooooo those are all such good suggestions! I've put them on the playlist and now I'm putting them on the tag ^.^

And may I say that you've just opened a whole new can of worms in my head about Muriel's curse and the myrrh thing?! I mean, let's say there wasn't space or time for Muriel to plan things out with Asra ahead of time, what if Muriel spend several weeks wondering if he wanted Asra to remember him? Finding relief in a place his trauma couldn't reach him for the first time in years, and having to decide between having a completely fresh start without his oldest friend, and keeping this oldest friend around, even if that means keeping the memories of his past life around too -

Or what if he had to figure out the myrrh issue himself, and there was a time when he wanted Asra to remember him but needed to figure out how? Did he do that with Asra's help, showing up at the shop door like "you don't recognize me right now, but I'm your oldest friend and I need your help to figure out how to let select people remember me. Oh and as proof that I'm not lying, here's a list of all your most embarrassing moments since you were seven that I was there for."

Well there goes the next few hours of my day XD

[mystery-salad]

BEHOLD, THE MESMER COLLECTIVE’S CLOSE-KEPT SECRETS!

These are the various pages that our dear April had stolen from the Mesmer Collective in GW2′s latest achievement! Clearly she stole much-valued intel, remember to not take it to any tabloids and under no circumstances upstage Anise at a dinner party, shhhhh!

Image descriptions below!

[image 1-2] A Collective History Vol. 1: As I begin penning this chronicle from this cozy nook in the Muse, I cannot help but marvel at what this small organization has accomplished over the past two centuries. From aiding a burgeoning Shining Blade to the Chronoflux Anomaly, the Collective has seen and solved its fair share of mysteries since its founding in 1070 AE. Our Fifth Veil has been rather patient with my questions, though not the most forthcoming when it comes to personal questions. As he puts it, “some mysteries are meant to remain as such.” -Foreword by the author, Third Veil, J. Whelark

It was the early months of the Searing. Duchess Adelaide Barradin had received a private summons from Prince Rurik and was tasked with leading a diplomatic mission to Kryta. Having recently served as a diplomat to both Kryta and Orr at the end of the Third Guild War, she had the respect of the Krytan royal court. By her own discretion, the duchess handpicked a small but elite detachment of her own students and contemporaries, many of whom welcomed the reprieve from the front lines, while others worried for the comrades they left behind. The coterie of mesmers were to deliver correspondence and crucial tactical information to King Jadon of Kryta on the prince’s behalf. In her later journals, she would reflect on this moment as the last time she would speak to her daughter and her husband.

[image 3] A Collective History Vol. 2: The troupe would cross the Shiverpeaks with help of two Deldrimor pathfinders, Lyn and Bhrode Runecarver, with the hopes of avoiding the Stone Summit, among other more natural dangers of the mountain passes. Even with their dwarven guides, they lost two of their group to a Summit ambush near the Frost Gate.

“We’re exhausted. Spirits are low. No time to mourn after Kelsi and Torrin covered our escape. Our guides have done what they can to console us, but it’s little comfort. I got a fire going, somehow. Never expected any of Scarlot’s survival lessons to stick. Cendin would’ve conjured flames with magic just to show off. I miss them so much.” -Journal of Third Veil, Velise

[image 4-5] A Collective History Vol. 3: Having reached the gates of Lion’s Arch, the duchess and her attaché were finally granted entry into the city. They were escorted to the palace by the Lionguard; it was “a humid evening, despite the coastal breeze.” Even at that hour, King Jadon was engaged in council with his advisors as charr forces amassed on the eastern Krytan border. Duchess Adelaide presented the king with the diplomatic parcel as he made introductions. When King Jadon addressed the emissary from the White Mantle, the duchess noticed three imposing figured garbed in golden robes and armor, with multiple sets of dark ethereal wings emerging from their backs. They hovered quietly, flanking the “stout but stern man in unusually vibrant attire” in a corner of the inner chamber.

Unknown to most, the duchess was in posession of a relic stolen from Orr early in the Third Guild War. The Veil of Ilya, an elegant but otherwise visibly unremarkable domino mask, was rumored to pierce the curtain of reality, to look upon things not normally seen by mortal eyes. Its passive magic would allow the wearer to perceive things hidden by illusion or that exist out of phase with Tyria proper as if they were there normally. Should the wearer actively draw upon the Veil’s well of power, they may reveal these things to those around them within a defined space and for a short period of time.

Before the Unseen could act, the duchess exposed them with the full power of the Veil. It was said that the mursaat attacked with powerful magics, killing the king’s advisors and royal guard in seconds. Adelaide and her companions came to the king’s defense with combined feedback spells, evacuating His Royal Highness through secret corridors at his direction.

[image 6-7] A Collective History Vol. 4: In a gambit to learn more about their mysterious pursuers, the king and his mesmer escort, tired and tattered, had set a trap for a mursaat who had wandered further ahead of their hunting party. On their own, a single mursaat was formidable--deadly, but not invincible. Even with their foe defeated, one of Gauvain’s students fell in the skirmish and King Jadon sustained serious injuries attempting to protect the young spell-slinger. The rest attempted to carry the king afterward, but he would succumb to his wounds the following day.

The remaining four continued into South Kessex, toward what King Jadon thought could be a possible safe haven. During their detour to “bury” the dead, the mursaat had made up for lost ground and would eventually surround them. The duchess and her comrades stares down their attackers as the Veil of Ilya revealed their presence once more. In a blinding moment of flashing sigils and spellcraft, the four were dazed by the light--only to find the mursaat lying dead around them.

Before them appeared the projection of a man who introduced himself as Obryn--a seemingly powerful spellcaster in his own right. Their mysterious savior would help them find proper shelter near the village of Shaemoor and keep them informed as best he could.

[image 8-9] A Collective History Vol. 5: “As a child, I’d heard my parents weave stories of their home, Istan. Early on, I suspected ‘Bryn might be a djinn. No one in the Collective has ever seen him outside his projected form, and it’s become sort of an in-joke for new recruits to speculate wildly. It IS a handsome projection, and yes, I’d asked, and no, he was flattered but uninterested. His loss.” -Journal of Fourth Veil, Nemah

In the weeks following, after the charr invasion of Kryta was routed by the White Mantle and their masters, their occupation of Kryta began. The remaining mesmers decided they would not abandon Kryta to its new regime. There, Adelaide, Velise, Gauvain, Nemah, and Obryn would form the first inner council of the Mesmer Collective, a fledgling network of spies and informants that would serve Kryta in the formative years of the Shining Blade and, later, their own kinsfolk in the Ascalonian settlement. In time, the Collective’s numbers would grow. Individuals with ties and connections to larger Krytan towns would form the first outer council and, eventually, the first members of the Shroud.

The truth of King Jadon’s disappearance and death remains a secret to this day, known only to a privileged few outside of the Collective. Even after Queen Salma reclaimed the throne, the young Mesmer Collective deemed it best that the truth remain buried, worries that Jadon’s death under the protection of Ascalonian diplomats would rouse suspicion and undermine the burgeoning trust between the new Ascalonian refugees and the Krytan people.

[image 10] Recipe from the Queen’s Roast: The Queen’s Roast, feeding the people of Divinity’s Reach since 1231 AE

Receipt from the third week of summer.

6 cups of Queen’s Floral Tea 1 pint of Apple Grove Cider 1 Yak Wellington with hearty mountain greens and a piece of rhubarb pie (customer encourages the largest slice possible) 1 rare yak steak, hold the sides 2 slices of the daily cake special 1 plate of the daily house roast, please include all sides 1 Caledon blueberry salad with sautéed kale

Signed for by: Countess Anise