#verse tags pending

[shadovan]

@lcftyambiticns continued from here:

Lorroakan rarely left his tower —— why would he risk getting stabbed in the back by some lunatic when he had his minions assistants to run errands for him?

Today, however, his presence was required at the Counting House, and he was dead set on taking his frustrations out on the next innocent employee and letting them know that his VALUABLE TIME wasn't to be SQUANDERED.

He paused when he spotted yet another execution notice hanging on a wall. This city was truly going to the dogs...

' You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen. '

Initially ignoring the voice, Lorroakan suddenly felt someone staring at him. Was HE being addressed? With a perplexed frown, he slowly turned his head.

What in the nine hells... The audacity of some people!!

The wizard blinked, taken aback and bewildered, as he gazed at the pale man who was shamelessly ogling him.

". . . . I beg your pardon??" He wasn't flattered ( perhaps a little ), but offended and felt his cheeks flushing.

"I suggest you cease gawking at me if you value your well-being," he snapped, distaste and disdain his voice; clearly flustered unnerved by the . . . unexpected attention.

His left eyebrow raised at the threat — or was it more self-defense on the other’s part? Both could be applicable depending on how the remark had been received. Perhaps his tone hadn't come across as he had expected.

"My well-being? I doubt you could do much to me," he said with a smile, a simple shrug of his shoulders while Tareque rested his arms on the table in front of him. It wasn't even a remark of arrogance, just simple fact. This form would be destroyed, but it would only come back stronger.

"Besides, it was a compliment," the lich added, gold eyes looking the man up and down without a hint of subtly. "But now you're looking at me like you just had a pointy stick shoved up your ass, so I may need to retract it."

He wouldn't. The sentiment was still accurate, but how dull would it be to simply walk away without causing more of a fuss? The fact was that Tareque was merely that damned bored, and Lorroakan was providing a pleasant view of a distraction from it.

[vinzred]

new thinblood malkavian boy Tag Wilson

[archived-diegesis]

Local cowboy and his daughter

He knew that she wouldn't always be small enough to be held like like this, so while he can he'll gladly enjoy carrying her around the farm.

A gift for @praeteritus-memories boothill and Clara for our a.u

Enjoy the cuties-

[infernal-feminae]

@metaladam said: "No joking around here, Carmilla Carmine." He respected this sinner, they were crafty and precise in how they fought. He didn't come here to have fun, he came here to end the threat she represented. "You have to die, and you know why."

"I'm surprised it took Heaven nearly 70 years to get off their asses to do something about it." She damn well knew why he was here. Carmilla never hid the fact that she sold angelic weapons to both sinners and hellborns alike. The kind of power that could kill high-ranking demons and angels was sure to catch Heaven's attention eventually.

She knew this day this day would come.

"Then you must know I won't go down so easily." She hid her apprehension well as she got into a fighting stance. Carmilla truly had no idea if she would survive this, but she would give everything she had. He daughters needed her.

[draconicfool]

"'m not afraid of standin' still, 'm jus' afraid of bein' bored." The smaller tilted his head slightly as he looked her over. Maybe something could be related to in that sense, he supposed. The thought that perhaps, just perhaps, there could be more than the smell of death that they had in common. Something other than a pervasive attempt to hide from things they'd both rather not think about.

@fearsgod || sc.

[mihrsuri]

Children Of A Golden World

In following a legendary age - an age in which the leaders of that age lived up to their mythos and in point of fact, far surpassed it - how might you build your own lives? All the children of King Thomas I and Queen Mihrimah faced this question in their own ways and while they are not their parents (for who could be) they are still in their own ways, extraordinary people.

(A Study Of Royal Childhood Post The Great Settlement: 1533-1600)

Turhan/Thomas (b 1556): Turhan Prince Of England. Crown Prince Of Albion. Prince Tom. Hani. King Thomas II. Turhan The Just. His Most Gracious & Faithful Servant Of Allah. The Infidel Half Breed.

Maryam (b. 1559): Maryam, Princess Of England, Princess May. Meri. Empress of Persia. The Wise And Just Empress Maryam. My Most Beloved Rose Of A Wife.

Suleiman (b. 1562): Suleiman Prince of England. Prince Sul. Little Bear. My Little Magnificent. Duke of Oxford. The Second Son. Warrior Of The White Rose.

Halim/Henry (b. 1565): Henry Prince Of England. Prince Hal. My Most Wise Cousin. Grand Vizier To Sultan Mehmed III. Pasha of the Ottoman Empire. Little Hal. Halim.

Ayşe/Anne (b. 1570): Ayşe Princess Of England. The Thorny Twin. Little Tiger Cub. Sharp Tongued Poet. Ani. Beloved Lady Of My Lady Exeter.

Esther (b.1570): Esther Princess Of England. The Sweet Twin. Little Petal. Duchess of Cambridge. Gentle One. Flower Of England. The Jews Wife. The Halfbreed.

[visionheld]

@stillgrows : "Kaveh." When Kaveh turned at his name, Haitham reached out a hand to fix some hair near his ear—it had become tucked somehow, likely from Kaveh himself messing with it, and was sticking out as a loop. Once it was fixed, Haitham turned his attention back to his book without another word.

It’s no secret that Kaveh is prone to getting absorbed in his work. Anyone who’s spent a significant amount of time with the man could tell you that. His principles forbid him from doing anything half heartedly, becoming entirely engrossed in any project he's been tasked. The rest of the world seems to melt away in those moments, the only things within the room being himself and the select few objects and equations that make up his muse at the time.

Naturally, when one is so deeply fixated on a single subject, more minor things such as their surroundings and physical presentation slip out of focus. He is well aware that this is a habit of his. Therefore, when Kaveh is in his studio or out working on site, the architect portions off some of his acute focus in exchange for some general self awareness. Ideally, he would be able to devote all his attention to what he's working on. But neglecting the attention of his colleagues and clients would make him a discreditable architect, just as much as it would if he started cutting corners on materials, or settling for a generic design out of laziness.

However, in instances like today when he is alone in the comfort of his home, Kaveh discards this outside awareness in order to increase productivity. Here, if he starts to neglect subjects outside of his project, he's not effecting or harming anyone but himself. His reputation as a brilliant, reliable, and accomplished artist can remain untouched. The future of Kshahrewar, and the arts as a whole can rest safely knowing that its star has not yet dwindled.

Kaveh doesn't know when Al-Haitham entered the living room. He's been vaguely aware of the scribe's presence for the last few hours but he saw no need to waste his energy on acknowledging him. It would seem that the feeling is mutual, as his roommate had also failed to greet him upon entering the room.

Kaveh imagines Al-Haitham prefers it this way. His junior has always preferred the peaceful quiet, and is not eager to disrupt it for anything. He imagines Al-Haitham also prefers it when Kaveh specifically is quiet, as the scribe does not hesitate to comment or complain when Kaveh is disturbing the peace.

The thought makes Kaveh's brows twitch in annoyance, momentarily considering getting out his tools and making as much noise as possible in retaliation. But ultimately he discards this idea. Al-Haitham isn't worth the trouble, and besides -- It's not often these days that they can share a peaceful moment in the same space. With Kaveh pouring over his blueprints, and Al-Haitham reading his book at his side, content to share the comfortable silence together... It almost feels like the old days. It almost feels like nothing has changed, even though everything has.

But those days are over, and anything that resembles them is short lived. Someone has to break the silence first. Someone has to pull away the curtain and ruin whatever amicability is shared between them. Many days it's Kaveh's doing, the architect so mistrusting of any goodwill Al-Haitham may spare him that he seeks to reveal whatever hidden motive the other may have.

However, today Al-Haitham breaks the silence first.

Kaveh instinctively tenses at the sound of his own name, bracing for whatever snide remark his roommate has prepared for him or his work. Surely, that's what this is about, isn't it? He can't imagine what else would be deemed important enough to pull Al-Haitham from his precious book, especially not when he's outright ignored Kaveh when he was trying to talk to him last night in order to read it. Despite his better judgement, Kaveh turns to face the other, a sharp comment of his own resting on the tip of his tongue like a weapon.

Kaveh is prepared to defend himself from whatever criticism Al-Haitham has in store for him. But he's not prepared for what actually happens.

A look of alarm quickly replaces the frown on his face when he realizes how close his roommate is to him. Had he always been this close? Had Kaveh been so engrossed in his work that he'd missed Al-Haitham getting closer? More importantly, what does Al-Haitham think he's playing at getting so close to him? Can't he see Kaveh is in the middle of something? Does he think it's funny messing with him when he's got a looming deadline?

Kaveh stiffens as Al-Haitham reaches towards him, confusion now seeping into his startled expression. The scribe's hands find their way into Kaveh's honey blonde hair, freeing the strands that had gotten mussed with a tender ease. Kaveh is stunned into silence, unable to do anything but stare back at his roommate in utter incredulousness. Al-Haitham does not meet his gaze, keeping his eyes on his senior's hair.

Kaveh notes how focused Al-Haitham looks in this moment, his eyes steady and resolute. The sight brings forth an uncomfortable twinge to the pit of Kaveh's stomach, a sensation he's long come to associate with his former best friend but has never had a name for it. In his newfound disquiet, Kaveh feels suddenly compelled to take Al-Haitham's chin in his hand and make him look at him properly. All these years have passed and he still can't be bothered to show his senior proper respect, even when he's going as far as to mess with his hair.

But before Kaveh can deflect or give in to his impulses, Al-Haitham withdraws. The moment of intimacy, as confusing and unwarranted as it may be is over. Al-Haitham has returned to his book like nothing had even happened, like Kaveh wasn't there at all. Kaveh feels another twinge in his gut, a rush of indignant warmth rising to his chest and face. What in Celestia's name was that about? What kind of person just runs their hand through someone's hair without permission and then goes back to pretending they don't exist?

The architect scowls, standing from his seat and throwing his hands on his hips as he levels his irritated gaze on his roommate. “ Was that all? Is that seriously what you thought was worth interrupting my work? Honestly, Haitham does messing with me bring you so much enjoyment that you have to disturb me first thing in the morning? You know someday I should come into your office and disrupt you like that! See how you like it! ”

As if to make good on this threat, Kaveh gives into his own impulses and buries a hand in Al-Haitham's hair. The gesture is much rougher than when Al-Haitham had done it. Kaveh's hands are coarse and calloused from years of manual labor compared to the soft hands of a comfortable scribe. Not to mention the clear annoyance in the architect's movements as he briskly combs Al-Haitham's gray hair upward and out of his eyes.

Ordinarily such an obvious attempt at starting a fight would be met with disgruntlement and disdain from Al-Haitham. But yet again the scribe surprises him. At last he meets Kaveh's gaze, an uncharacteristic wide eyed look in his piercing eyes. The sight makes Kaveh stop dead in his tracks, feeling his stomach drop as he realizes what he's doing. He pulls his hand away with a speed that would suggest that Al-Haitham's scalp had burned him.

Even after Kaveh has withdrawn, Al-Haitham still stares up at him in silence. His gaze only makes Kaveh feel more agitated, the twinge in his stomach now so great that he feels may vomit at any moment. He'd made all that fuss, thinking he'd prefer it if Al-Haitham looked at him. But now Kaveh understands that this is much worse.

He's never been uncomfortable being the subject of others' gazes before. But no one looks at him like Al-Haitham does. No one seems to really see him like he does. That truth frightens him, frightens him so much that he had pushed his friend away because he hadn't wanted to be seen. He still doesn't want to be seen. Not like this. He doesn't know what to do with it.

“ I'm going to work in my room, ” It's Kaveh's turn to break the silence, abruptly announcing his departure. “ Don't you dare disturb me. My deadline is tomorrow morning and I only have two thirds of this proposal drafted, ”

Without sparing a moment to let Al-Haitham get one last word in, Kaveh haphazardly scoops up his blueprints and supplies and storms out of the room without another word. To his own frustration, despite his best efforts Kaveh is unable to return to his original state of focus once inside his bedroom. The twisting of his stomach lingers hours after the exchange in the living room. Worst of all, the image of Al-Haitham's brilliant eyes staring up at him has burned deep into his mind, searing through any and all designs Kaveh had been working on previously.

[cryopathiic-a]

Human facade reference that I had forgotten to post D:

[shadovan]

@infernalxmachinery cont.:

Karlach looked down at the....elf? At least she thought he was an elf. He's elf-shaped in any case. Her tankard made a quiet thunk as it hit the bartop beside her. She had hoped going to the Mermaid on a quiet night would mean less people. She was sorely mistaken.

"You have no idea how bad of an idea I am, promise ya that."

Dammon had managed to get her stable but...she was still blistering anyone who managed to get too close. Thankfully not nearly as bad as a few months ago. She hadn't managed to set anything on fire recently, so that's a bonus.

Regardless, she was still lonely and most people avoided the giant tiefling like the spellplague.

Perhaps it hadn't been the most eloquent remark on the lich's part, but at least she hadn't veered away from the crass nature of it. Karlach wasn't the only one that people actively made to avoid, so her response intrigued him far more than it probably should have.

In his case, it was typically the lingering scent of musty graverot and the chilling presence that granted the lich a wide berth by the public.

"See, that's precisely the thing you shouldn't say to someone who's curiosity is too tempting for their own good," he pointed out with a widening smile.

Regardless of what developed from this, Tareque was never one to turn away pleasant conversation with a stranger. Even if by using lewd commentary as an ice-breaker. Hell, sometimes that was the most interesting way to strike up a meeting.

[wdwctrl]

@twcbelts asked " you keep saying and doing things like this, i might just end up pregnant. "

he might have a problem, and that was his need to keep his cock nestled within her walls, feeling the way she would fit so snug around him as he'd keep fucking up into her, keeping his seed right where the more feral side of himself wanted it. he had a deep desire to fill her up, have her round with his baby. he'd just murmured about stuffing her full when she spoke up, her words sending an almost primal urge through his veins though he knew she meant them mostly in jest.

she was pressed back to his chest, thighs spread wide to open her up for brutal thrusts. hand had encircled her throat as she finished speaking, not squeezing too tight but pressing just enough that she knew how fucking close he was to doing just that. his free hand slid down the front of pale torso, calloused digits finding her clit and circling in a teasing manner. "you'd love that wouldn't you, gatita? be round with my baby," there was a hint of dark need within his voice, the man damn near feral at the thought of her pregnant with his baby.

[archived-diegesis]

Alright line up she's making BBQ

[wildskissed]

Random Asks - @shadovan mused: He’s been told that on this particular day of week, it’s customary to be open about one’s lewd thoughts. As such Tareque began whispering a few lusty fantasies in Eve’s ear. It’s not his fault his voice is practically purring as he does so.

Eve was not at all expecting for Tareque to come up behind her and start purring in her ear. Not because it wasn't something that he would do, but because the things that he was saying was making her cheeks flush crimson, and a shiver go down her spine that she could feel between her thighs. Was he trying to rev her up?

"If you are not careful..." Eve started, turning around to face him and resting her hands on his chest, "...I'm going to make you follow through."

With that, she let one of her hands slide down his chest, moving to his stomach and then between his legs. Leaning in, she looked up at him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Two could play this game, and if he was going to wake the beast then he was going to have to show her that he could handle it.

"Is that something you can do...?"

[techniiciian]

matt , with a gun in his gym shorts and a smoothie in his hand :

a random cop : what do you got there son ?

matt : a smoothie

— taken from a convo on disco w/ @stillsolo

[mihrsuri]

JOAN.

Dauphine of France. Princess of Scotland. Princess of Albion. Queen Regnant of Scotland. Queen of England. The Half Breed Heathens Whore Of A Wife. My Darling Wise Thistle. Little Wise Eyed. Jeanne.

Though Joan’s father died not six months after her birth his love for her was remarked upon - indeed it was said that he could hardly bear to be apart from her. His death was something her mother Mary never recovered from despite two subsequent marriages and the reminder of him in her black haired and grey eyed daughter seems to have been a mixture of grief and solace to her. Joan proved to be a serious child - interested in books, archery and riding but with a keen talent for music she was included in and educated in rulership from a young age, particularly by her paternal grandmother who remarked that she saw ‘very much of Marguerite of Navarre in her’ she was excellent at politics, at rulership and in her concern and interest in the lives of all her people but she was not warm and nor did she have the charisma and ability to draw the eye of her mother, something that drew unfavourable comparisons. Her marriage was made out of pragmatism on her part and no one was more surprised than Joan when it turned into love.

(inspired in part by this edit by @emilykaldwen (ABBY MY BELOVED))

[inmensapotentia]

Heated Hot Springs - Aizen (from fluff!Mode or arrancar!Mode)

Water was generally considered a limited resource within Hueco Mundo, but Aizen was above the rules he placed on the Arracncars. Besides, Gin had set up a wonderful filter system so that he could reuse the water for bathing. Or at least soaking as he quite enjoyed the heat and how it helped his muscles relax. He wasn't terribly stressed out generally, but sometimes he seemed to sleep in positions his back was less than fond of and his private bath was a good way to counter act it.

Looking up when the door opened, Aizen had expected to see either Gin or Tousen but instead his gaze fell upon the gentle hearted Arrancar that had been spying on the Sexta for him. Lips curling in a slight smile, he stayed where he was in the bath, leaning against the wall. She was thankfully easy to manipulate, having shown weakness towards not only himself but Grimmjow as well. Which seemed to be working at warming the Sexta up to Aizen as well with the gentleness he portrayed with Mode.

"Don't let the heat out, Little One..." The chastisement came on a nearly playful note as he sat there, he steam wafting up from the water only partially disguising his body.

@modeinthemiddle

[liecoris]

「Uh--」 Mukuro blinked a few times, she certainly wasn't expecting to see a man in full plate armor。 Actually the more she looked at him the more。。。 angelic his appearance seemed to be。 Which confused her even more, with the way Mukuro lived her life she shouldn't see an angel at all。

「Who。。。 what are you?」

closed starter for Gabriel 【 @memoriamexarca 】