#jewel-coloured birds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 7 months

Note

Hello! Would it be alright to request something where prince!steve and his Princess attend their first formal event together?

tysm for requesting ♡ prince steve au

"Don't spill anything," Steve advises under his breath. "Your corset is alabaster."

"I know. I feel like breathing the wrong way is gonna crack it like papier mache."

He snorts, adjusting your hand on his arm to the correct position where you stand around a corner from the grand staircase. You wince as rich laughter bounces off the marble steps, the sound wrought with a feeling akin to hounds snapping at your heels.

"Your nails look nice," Steve says.

He's already complimented your face, your hair, and your dress. There's not much left to praise, but he finds something anyhow, and a flush of pleasure warms your skin. "Thank you," you say, looking down at your painted nails, a shimmering mother of pearl lacquer coating each one. The cost rivals a month's groceries. "They had so many colours… we started with red, but I thought it looked silly on me. My hands are weird."

"Your hands are perfect." His eyes shine with sincerity, lips pulled into an amused smile that feels like a well-aimed bop to the chest. "I can get you more. Nail lacquer, I mean. There's a small Sri Lankan boutique by Cordelian House, they have all that intricate cosmetic stuff. It's where Munson gets his kohl sticks." He smiles at you reassuringly. "I'm trying to distract you. It's not working, is it?"

"I'm going to mess up. Your mom– the queen–"

"You can call her my mom. That's what she is." Steve nods his understanding of the things you've said without saying them. "She'll be disappointed if you mess up. But I won't be. I'm proud of you for even putting on the dress. I'd be proud of you if you didn't."

You lick your lips, cherry balm sticky on the tip of your tongue. "Thank you, Steve."

He says things like this with little regard for how forward it is. Not that subtlety is required. While antiquated in some aspects, the contemporary royal society is loudly lustful. You and Steve could be intimate together now weeks before the wedding and nobody would bat an eye, but you suspect that he's just as unprepared for that as you are, no matter how gently he covers your hand with his.

There's a short sound like a bird call. Steve straightens his back, his thumb drawing a half circle across your fingers. "Ready?" he asks.

You nod. You don't really have a choice.

They announce you together, Prince Steven and his Soul Marked Y/N. It sounds ridiculous to hear his name after weeks of Please, call me Steve, or anything else but Steven. Doubly so to hear you announced as his and not yourself. A simple 'Miss' would have sufficed. Braced for a night of similar small agonies, you hold tight to Steve's arm and begin your descent down the grand staircase and into the foyer. The palace is a structure of white stone that shines silver in some lights, impossible walls of selenite and gauzy silks. The steps are more solid, a plain marble that clicks under the soles of your short heels.

"Don't let me fall," you say under your breath, the hush of the crowd nearly occluding your voice completely.

"Never." You can hear his polite smile. "Don't panic."

You can't not panic, sweat at your naked collar, pearls like beads of ice bobbing with each step you take. The second you reach the floor you deflate with an exhale, your back clicking at the sudden decompression. There's a brief round of applause at your arrival before the cheery music begins anew, the dancing begins again, and the many faces that surround you blur into jewels and elegant clothes, fabrics coloured manilla white, snailshell purple, emerald green, a rainbow of satins swirling this way and that as girls are pushed into spins to the right of the foyer under the ballroom chandelier.

"You'll dance with me, yeah?" Steve asks tentatively.

You meet his eyes, all their soft brown gazing at you like you're worth his worry. His lashes twitch as his gaze darts swiftly down and up again.

"Do I have something?" you ask, lifting your chin.

"Lipstick. I can fix it?" He brings his hand to your lips before you've answered, using the trimmed nail of his pinky finger to wipe at your lip. You turn still as a porcelain statue, a shiver rushing down your chest at the warmth of his touch.

"You'll dance with me?" he asks again, his knuckle brushing your chin as he drops his hand.

"Of course I'll dance with you, Steve. We're expected to."

He throws a glance at the people around you and steps closer. "I want to dance with you because you want to dance. We don't have to do anything. Not this ball, not the dance. Not the wedding." He sighs. "You have choices."

"No. I don't." Because there glows your wrist. Threads of translucency like spider web and downy feather combined, a sorry hue of blue.

"Yes, you do," he whispers. "You want to leave? We'll leave right now. I just want you to be happy, and with me."

You think about it. The weight of hundreds of eyes on your shoulders and the restriction of your corset is making you nauseous. If you left, that sickness would go. But Steve wouldn't get to dance with you.

"I don't want to leave," you say, not sure if you're lying or not. You'd quite like to have his hands on your hips again. And sometimes before the dip he breathes in your ear, says something soft, like Keep going, you got it.

"No?" he asks, relieved.

"No. Let's dance. We need the practice…" You offer your hand. He takes it, the smudge of lipstick on his pinky finger like a heart. "I'm sorry. I want to dance."

"What are you sorry for?" he asks, leaning down to kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Let's dance. If you mess up, I'll mess up worse. I promise. I'll chicken dance in front of everybody."

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

980 notes · View notes

save-the-villainous-cat · 1 month

Note

Okay listen closely I'm boutta get specific.

Flirty, sarcastic villain x Kind, "pure" hero

But also when the villain flirts with the hero, villain gets flustered when it is reciprocated because they thought the hero was too pure to do it 😏

Feel free to make it spicy if you want 💅✨

“Oh noooo.” The villain’s gaze changed to something possessive, something satisfied as they circled the hero. “What a pretty bird in my trap…”

“I actually wanted to talk to you,” the hero said but the villain’s hand was on their chest immediately, pushing them back into the wall. Still bound, the hero had to gasp, almost falling but the villain caught them just in time.

They’d been sent here to recruit the villain.

A month ago, the hero would’ve laughed in the face of anyone suggesting that.

“So you walked into my trap?” The villain grabbed the hero’s jaw gently and turned their head from side to side, as if the hero was a jewel in their collection that needed inspection.

“…not willingly.” The villain smiled and let go of their prey.

But it was quite true. Everyone could tell how possessive the villain was, how stupid they could be whenever the hero was involved.

They did everything to get the hero’s attention. And they did even more to protect them.

It was mostly funny to the hero. They liked the villain.

“You know, in nature pretty birds with all their colours are easier to detect. Easier to catch,” the villain said. Their eyes followed the hero’s blue and green uniform, as if they were judging them.

For a long time, the villain had been testing waters, trying to flirt with the hero now and then, trying to throw them off their game.

But this time, the hero was prepared. Kind of.

“As long as the reproduction rate is higher than the death rate, birds will stay pretty,” the hero said. They didn’t really know what they were saying. But they liked how the villain’s gaze jumped up again.

“Oh? Are you trying to flirt with me?” the villain mused.

“A high reproduction rate is always beneficial,” the hero answered.

“Oh—”

“Just saying…” They wetted their lips. “I mean, how could I ever resist? You even saved these people last week.”

“Ah—well, oh that? That wasn’t—” The villain looked a little embarrassed. They were still so close to the hero, yearning for the touch.

“Or when you saved that kitten from the streets? It kept scratching you and you kept cursing but you wouldn’t leave it to die.”

“Wait, you remember that?” the villain asked. They smiled nervously and that little break of eye contact was enough time for the hero’s hand to slip out of their bonds and grab the villain. They pulled them close.

“You’re very sweet if you think that I haven’t been paying attention.” Now, it was the hero’s turn to look the villain up and down. “Turns out, paying attention to you is one of the most delicate activities in my life right now.”

“Oh, I didn’t—”

The hero smiled to themselves. They hadn’t had this much fun at work in a long time. The villain’s begging for attention was just as adorable as their reaction right now. They didn’t know what to say.

“Such a shame we can’t do this more often…oh, wait. You could join the agency…” the hero said, winking.

And it didn’t even take two days for the villain to switch sides.

#nooo cat mentioned bio again kill her!!!#writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request

402 notes · View notes

odoraful · 3 months

Text

Heart Grow Fonder

following a long trip in liyue, you return to mondstadt to reunite with a certain blonde alchemist.

word count: 961 a/n: speaking of characters who haven't shown up in a while (ﾉД`) i thought i'd write a reunion scene to manifest his return, hoyoverse, the people need him back! i hope you have a lovely day/night!

A sudden breeze picked up as you walked up the rickety wooden steps of Stone Gate towards Mondstat. It felt cool on your skin, providing a needed respite against the midday sun. The wind tousled your hair before subsiding, leaving it laying at an awkward angle. You chuckled, brushing it out of your face. Must be telling me to hurry up, then. You thought. In the City of Wind, the breezes seemed to have agendas of their own. Interpreting this as their playful welcome to your arrival, you quickened your pace.

There was an invisible thread always drawing you back to this city, no matter how far you travelled. It was tied inextricably to the sense of comfort and warmth you associated with it. Leaning on the wooden railing lining the boardwalks of Stone Gate, you saw the very person who tugged at that tenderness in your heart. The blonde alchemist had his sketchpad out, glancing between the page and the railing opposite him. You saw a small bird perched on it. It flittered its wings every so often, and you saw his eyes widen at the movement. You slowed your gait, hoping to not scare it away. However, the bird turned its head at your arrival and flew upwards in your direction. Albedo’s eyes followed where it had flown, landing upon you.

Albedo had spent the weeks of your absence at his campsite. This was the first time that you weren't just a day's trip away in the city, or even by his side. In those early days following your departure, he swore he saw phantom images of you. Sucrose would notice Albedo’s eyes linger on empty spaces around the campsite. When she asked, he would reply that it was nothing and continue his work. However, in the corners of experimental notes, Sucrose curiously found sketches of you. She counted them. There was one with your arms folded, a playful expression on your face. Another was you taking a curious peek at an alchemical substance. She spotted one more of your side profile staring up at a twinkling sky. Although Albedo was used to setting distances between people, it was different with you. Alone without you felt… emptier. Idle moments when he drew his favourite expressions of you could only briefly fill that emptiness.

You covered your hands over your mouth. “I’m so sorry Albedo!” You rushed over to meet him.

Cocking his head to the side, he pouted a little. “I didn’t expect the first words I’d hear from you to be an apology. What for?”

“I made too much noise coming over to you and I scared the bird away,” you said, sheepishly.

Albedo shook his head, his expression remaining composed. “It’s alright. The bird had stayed its course and coincidentally flew away at the same moment as your arrival. Besides, I had already finished my sketches.”

He noticed the dejected look still on your face. This certainly wouldn’t do for your reunion; he had to find a way to cheer you up. He flipped through his sketchbook, opening to the most recent page. You peered over for a better look. The sketches were strikingly true to life. Albedo had even drawn sequences of the bird fluttering its wings which were overlaid on top of one another. The resulting effect gave the illusion that the bird was moving on the page.

“The bird is known as an emerald finch. It’s one of the rarer finch species, known for its blue-green coloured plumage, like a jewel.”

You inspected the drawing closer. “Ah! I thought it looked familiar. I always saw a few of these birds gathering in the plazas in Liyue.”

Albedo nodded. “Yes, emerald finches are predominantly found closer to Liyue Harbour. However,” he took up his charcoal once again to scribe the date down in the bottom corner of the page, “this little one happened to find its way to me.” He met your eyes and smiled. “It’s quite adorable, isn’t it?”

During your travels, you remained patient. You counted the days until your return, but never let your wish impede the work needed to be done in Liyue. You both made sure to write letters to each other each week, but despite the regular correspondence, it was only now you realised just how badly you missed him. Letters weren’t nearly enough. You couldn’t feel his calming presence, see that fond smile, hear him casually talk about, well, just about anything.

Not letting a second more waste, you threw your arms around his torso. The position was certainly a little awkward. You had hugged him on his side, himself still holding his sketchpad.

“Dearest, hold on.” Albedo murmured. He quickly tucked his sketchpad away in a pocket on the inside of his coat. Releasing your arms from him, he turned to face you properly and circled your arms around his waist once more. “There, that’s much better.”

You buried your face against him and he reached a hand to stroke your hair.

“I missed you.” Your voice was muffled against his clothes. Albedo could still make out the slight waver in your tone. He breathed deeply. A wholeness surged within him as he heard those words, and felt you tangibly in his arms at last.

The winds had been still up to this moment. They knew well enough to respect the privacy between lovers.

EPILOGUE

“Are these little drawings of... me?” You were flicking through his notes relating to his latest project when you saw sketches of, undoubtedly, yourself.

Albedo faced away from you, busying himself with collecting random papers on the table and putting them in a neat stack. The action held no practical purpose, but it did help to hide the bashful look on his face.

#✏️〰odorawrites #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact albedo #genshin albedo #albedo fluff #albedo x reader #albedo x y/n #albedo x you

151 notes · View notes

march-hare01 · 7 months

Text

The XA Ford Falcon "Superbird" Hardtop concept car debuted at the 1973 Melbourne International Motor Show.

The "Superbird" concept was an attention grabber and featured metallic Silver paint with a bright orange 'bird' outline graphic that ran down both sides, stretching from the rear bumper to the front wheel arches. The interior was trimmed in a similarly bright mix of red and pale grey upholstery.

The rest of the specification was pretty much standard XA GT hardtop, although the bonnet wasn't painted in the usual contrast colour. Polished 'kidney-bean' mags and Goodyear Polyglas tyres completed the package.

It created so much attention that Ford decided to produce a limited run of 700. Unfortunately, these were watered-down versions of the showcar with a reduced size for the Superbird graphic, and a milder 4.9 Litre 302ci V8 engine in the package instead of the GT’s 5.8 Litre 351ci V8.

They were available in three different colour combinations; Lime Glaze / Jewel Green, Polar White / Cosmic Blue and Yellow Fire / Walnut Glow.

126 notes · View notes

claypigeonpottery · 11 months

Text

sold

happy pride month!!

have some sapphic pigeons <3

this plate was done for an art challenge, one piece of art a week for four weeks, each one inspired by a queer flag. I chose the sapphic flag for this one, with violets surrounding two pigeons.

there was supposed to be a bit more of a lavender colour on the pidge on the left, but underglaze is fickle *shrug*

I carved this plate back before our pigeon, Albertha, died. Albertha and Jewel were mates, they did everything pigeon mates do, and this plate depicts them together.

we still have Jewel, and we got her a friend for company, Scout, but they aren't mates. I miss my grumpy bird.

Jewel (white) and Albertha (grey)

my etsy

#pigeons #sapphic #birds #wlw #pottery #ceramic #sgraffito #underglaze painting #sapphic flag #queer #pride #wlw pride #claypigeon #glazeware

387 notes · View notes

ereana · 3 months

Text

Neuvifuri - Wait a minute…are you jealous?

The Court of Fontaine was a very cosmopolitan city. The Steambird employed reporters from across all of the seven nations, tourists could frequently be found wandering the streets in awe of the many attractions, and while the Research Institute was still recovering from a rather unfortunate incident it still held a well respected reputation as a place of engineering and learning.

Yes, it would be fair to say that Fontaine was a country that welcomed people from far and wide, throwing its doors open for travelers and fortune seekers alike. Of course all would be expected to obey the local laws of the nation of justice lest they find themselves in a front row seat to one of its famous trials or even worse, sentenced to the murky depths of the Fortress of Meropide.

Neuvillette finds himself fervently wishing to offer the experience to a certain visitor who had arrived in the Court not two days ago and had seemed to take it upon himself to irritate the Iudex in the worst way possible.

Draconic blue eyes narrow at the aggravating display playing out in front of him. A taunt. A provocation. One that he dearly wishes he could answer if it wouldn’t end up destroying half of the theatre with his anger. He settles for gripping the handle of his cane instead, all too aware of the way his nails have sharpened into claws within his gloves.

Morax bows with a charming smile. He speaks eloquently about the play that just finished, easily maneuvering the conversation into areas that make the woman in front of him light up with glee as she launches into an explanation about the topic.

Normally seeing Furina this happy would be a cause of joy for Neuvillette. Normally he would smile faintly, listening to every word that she spoke with more attention than he gave to the trials he’d been working on that day. Normally when she laughed bashfully, apologizing for her rambling he would gently remind her that he was always interested in what she had to say. Furina would stop and look up at him with her beautiful mismatched eyes that reminded him of both the deepest ocean and the clearest lake on a spring day. She would let out a nervous giggle, favour him with a grateful nod and resume the conversation. The precious ritual was a testament to how far they’d come since the day of the Flood, how he’d somehow managed to drag himself back into someone whose company she welcomed instead of disdained.

A ritual the overgrown geo snake was spoiling with his presence.

There is a small part of Neuvillette that understands he is not acting rationally. It knows that the former archon has retired from his duty - abandoned it more likely - and that the being now known as Zhongli has not committed any crime that would break one of the written laws of Fontaine by complimenting the director of a play he enjoyed.

But human laws mean very little to a dragon.

What use was paper and procedure to the newly awoken instincts that now roar in his head to tear off the Usurper’s hand that dared to touch his lady?

The small voice that whispers it was merely a handshake is drowned out by the rage of the beast within.

His lady. His treasure. His mate. His everything.

The words didn’t matter, they were inadequate to describe the depths of his feelings for Furina, for he was hers. Body. Soul. Mind. He’d lay it all at her feet if she would only ask. There was no need for her to waste her smiles on the intruder in front of her, and each one she bestows makes him seethe with possessive envy.

He has no right to feel like this. Furina is not a jewel to be coveted nor a bird to be locked away in his lair. Neuvillette would rather end himself than take a single choice out of her hands. If she wishes to smile at the consultant from Liyue then that is her prerogative.

Zhongli reaches for her hand again.

Enough.

“Lady Furina.” He calls out loudly. Eyes the colour of Cors Lapis dance with amusement at his approach. Nevillette bites back the snarl that rises from his chest feeling his fangs sharpen in his mouth.

Furina whirls around to face him. The surprise on her face melts into joy as she moves towards him, finally putting some distance between herself and the blasted man.

“Neuvillette! You made it.” She greets him cheerfully. “And what have I told you about calling me lady?”

“Of course, I always make time for your shows.” He replies softly, watching the way her cheeks flush a delicate pink at the reminder. “Are you free? I have something to discuss with you.”

One of the cases. Funding for her next project. A question about the records she’d dutifully kept for five hundred years. Her opinion on the newly proposed law.

Neuvillette could think of a hundred minor things to discuss with her in that moment alone. All that matters is that he is allowed to stay in her presence.

Furina blinks at him curiously. She’s known him for centuries and there’s very little he can hide from her, even less that he actually wants to. For a moment he fears she will refuse him, that instead she will kindly brush him off before returning to her conversation with the ex-archon who regards her so fondly.

But then she nods and relief crashes over him like a tsunami, swiftly followed by a powerful satisfaction at being chosen over the rival-threat-enemy interloper. He waits, rather impatiently, for her to say her goodbyes before ushering her away into an empty corridor. His ears pick up the sound of deep laughter that sounds like tumbling stones but he magnanimously ignores it when Furina links her arms through his as they used to.

“It must be quite important for you to whisk me away like this.” She muses as they walk down the hall. “Judging by your demeanor it’s not an emergency or anything truly urgent.”

Neuvillette feels her gaze upon him and his lips twitch. Always so clever, his lady.

“I would say it had something to do with the charming Mr Zhongli considering how fiercely you were glaring at him. But that can’t be right considering neither of us have ever met him before, unless he’s managed to commit a great crime in the twenty-four hours that he’s been here.” Furina continues.

Neuvillette says nothing, content to simply watch her as they walk together. The joy from her show being received well lights up her entire face. She is truly happy and the most magnificent creature he’s ever beheld.

Would it be too much creating a law requiring everyone to give a standing ovation at her plays?

Something to think about later.

“That can’t be it though, you only started frowning at him when….Wait a minute.” She stops and so does he. “Are you jealous of Mr Zhongli because he was talking to me?” Furina’s voice is thick with disbelief and laughter. As though the mere thought of anyone getting jealous over her was preposterous.

Neuvillette turns to face her fully, stepping in close until her back hits the hallway wall. The humour from her face fades as she regards him.

“Neuvillette?” She whispers into the sudden quiet.

He reaches out a hand, slow enough for her to move away if his touch was unwelcome. Furina remains frozen as he tucks a lock of silky white hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger against her jaw before pulling away. He swears he can feel the heat of her skin through the material of his gloves.

Furina stares up at him with wide eyes. Her blush returns full force under the weight of his gaze. She hasn’t yet realized that she has obtained the power of the Hydro Sovereign, that Neuvillette would move the tides at her command, but he doesn’t think it will be long before she understands. Dragons are not known for their subtlety after all.

“I believe you have judged the situation correctly, my Lady.”

#genshin impact #neuvifuri #neuvillette #furina #focallette #my writing

77 notes · View notes

punk-in-docs · 2 years

Note

Prince Paul spreading his wife over a dining table so he can eat her relentlessly 🤤🤤🤤

🥀The Matter of a Good Taste 🥀

AN: relentlessly you say? *Cracks knuckles*

I’ve written so much Prince Paul pussy eating I’m starting to think it’s my kink that I always seem to get this man on his knees to give some amazingly fantastic head when irl he probably never even ate a pussy once but you know what? Fuck it. Also this came out far sweeter than I had intended? Idk how. TW: none really apart from some serious pent up need oral.

Nights at the palace slip in all soft. Slippery and holding the gentle density of clouds.

It’s a rather stark change to the brutality of court in the day. All the velvet draped daggers and sugar faked smiles. The grins that then vanish in passing.

Snide acidic comments designed to poke like sharp gleaming needles. Designed to find the space between the ribs. Whispers wriggle like hissing snakes at your bodiced silk back.

Mornings are a parting wrench. You don your costume to please them all. Tie the stays tight. Lip rouge the colour of split blood. Heartthrob red.

You far prefer the nights. Time that narrows down - tapers, whittled - right the way down to you and Paul. When the candles burn their tongues of gold and spin the room to shadow and gems. Sparkling like the Crown Jewels.

You sit down to dine together and pour way too much wine. A heavy dinner. Always heavy. The same pallid creamy white soup. Roast meat - bloody and smothered sticky with dark wine sauce. Potatoes and onions with thyme and sage. A meal that sits heavy and clunking in your belly.

You chat about your days. You tell him about the tea party for the girls orphanage, and the earned shreds of gossip whispered out the side of Milena’s mouth. He tells you about the military coup, the uprisings. The jagged feeling towards the crown.

When the staff fade away with their chattering’s and cease heavy footfalls on the parquet. That’s your favourite. When peace descends. Thick like a smothering eiderdown.

The exquisite squeeze when your maid undoes your stays. When you can finally breathe out. The hot steam of a bath clearing your sinuses. Clean spice of tuberose soap and being wrapped in a cool cloaking chemise for bed. The smooth cotton sheets crisp and cold that you slide into, as you wait on Paul to join you.

You’d never tell him your habit. That each night as you lay in your bed, you listen out for his footfalls. You smile when you hear them coming closer outside the doors.

And you wait an awful long wait, tonight.

He doesn’t appear to be coming.

The carriage clock on the huge golden mantel strikes twelve. The chimes mock you with their tinny echoing cry. He should be in here, arms stuck wrapped around your back. Lips in your neck. Maybe a rough tumbling fuck if the day has been hellish.

Another half hour. And before the next can come, you throw the covers off and go in search of your absent husband.

Padding barefoot over the numerous antique rugs. Through the gilded doors. You find him in the dining room. Firelight shines wetly off the polished surface of the table. Ripping and curling orange. He’s staring. Transfixed by it.

He’s sat there in his shirt, undone waistcoat, and breeches. Ruffled neck wide open. Whisky eyes cast and doused in flame. Dormant like one of the outer crust of the stuffed animals displayed on these walls. The brushed hyde of glassy eyed stags or the great still plumage of some exotic bird eternally perched.

You lean against the huge door. Hips pressed to the golden handle. Stay to your silence. Watching him for a moment.

When day was done it was a release for you. An undressing. Unwind. For Paul it seemed less so.

Sometimes the tranquility that undid you, paved the way for a whole crush of thoughts in his head. Sisyphus and his boulder up that hill. The press of a frown pinching brows.

Heavy was the head that cannot yet seize the crown.

No one else gets this view of him. You made your mind up to adore it. He was all cherubim beauty. So striking. You thought the very same thing the first time you laid eyes on him. Definitely not a weak chin.

The pillow set of pink lips made to mouth at. Made to bite. The melty eyes that swing between venom and boyish levelled at you. The lush line of his jaw and the way his hair is set with a natural curl. The flick of doe lashes that really should be flecked with dew, they’re so girlish-pretty.

“Something vexes you?” You ask. Crossing your arms and gently intruding into the room. Hair loose down your back tickling your waist.

He looks over at you like he’s startled. Eyes all big and flame captured. Lips part softly. Like he’s a bunny been caught out by the hawk.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” He asks. His tone ripe with accusation. Throat bobs where he swallows.

You lay your vicious tongue to rest tonight. There’s no need for your dagger sharp words.

“You don’t escape my notice that easily.” You level shrewdly.

Not like how you escape hers.

The woman who is surely preying on his head right now. The glorious Empress, whose long casting shadow governs and hovers his every tiny step.

He doesn’t really respond. In the way he does when he can’t lay his thoughts to bed. Where his head is too heavy and buzzing full to lay on the pillow beside yours. Too itinerant.

You walk to his side. Hesitate before touching him. In case he snaps and insists he needs his space.

He tips his eyes across your body. Sees you whole where you’re stood.

The fire brushed strokes of fuzzy apricot across your chemise. He can see the shape of your naked body barely concealed underneath. Soap skimmed skin. Pillow crease caught in your cheek. Warm dewy from rest.

“Rough day.” He finally answers.

You nod. Just nod.

“Shall I keep to my rooms tonight, Tsarevich?” You enquire. Face a cold bed. Space gaping. Unfilled on the pillow opposite.

You say it without teasing. Without jest. You don’t purr flirt at him. You ask genuinely.

“Don’t.” He answers weakly. Throat bobs again.

You tip your head to the side.

Decide finally to slide towards him and run your fingers through his hair. Hip against the table. Stroking fingers through his pretty curls. The fire shot yellow gold some of the tresses. Chestnut too.

You want to tell him to lay it to rest. Whatever it is. Be done with it now. That the beast plaguing him will seem less daunting - will have its sharp teeth blunted by the dawn after a full night of rest.

He leans to you. Hands come for your hips and tugs you in.

Rests his head against your belly. Rubs his forehead into you there. Mashes his face to your soft body. Rolls to you the way the tide rushes to meet the shore. Breathes perfume and soap. You.

You in pure gunpowder shot form. Dynamite strong. Closes his eyes. Hugs you like he’s been lost at sea for months. Drugged on nearness.

Intoxicated on the fact you’re impossible and bolshy. Hardest, sharpest woman he’s ever met; yet you’re being so easy for him now. No challenge laid before him.

“Anything I can do?” You ask. Feeling the warmth of his skin under your palms where you slide down his shoulders. Kneading skin. Nails withdrawn tonight.

The air shifts on those words. Tumbles away like ash on the breeze.

He pulls back and gazes up at you. Flick of long lashes. Something stirs in his eyes. He looks up at you before suddenly he’s rising to his feet with the scrape of the chair slicing into the silence.

He cups the back of your neck and kisses you firmly. Cotton sleeves drape to your body as he pressed his whole self to you. His lips becomes insistent. Kiss warps into hunger.

He’s ripping away to nip your neck and lick kisses at your shoulders. Back pressed firmly up against the hard edge of the table. His body keeps you there. He’s pawing at your chemise. Melting his mouth to yours again as fumbled hands slip your skirts up.

He’s giving you kisses that make your heart slip to warm treacle. Pouring down your ribs and melting. Stunning your lips drunk that this is how he wants to soothe a bad day. With the endless press and utterly blotting sensation of you.

His cheeks are furiously pink. Eyes black savage pits. Lips all sore. He keeps his hold on your mouth and makes your breath come short.

He plucks you up off the floor and spreads you on the table like you’re the next dinner course. Whips your chemise up to your knees. Lays you back.

You gasp. “Paul. Here?”

He can offer no answer.

His eyes burn shiny with the newly unveiled skin of your thighs right down to your toes. The arch of your legs. Plump thigh. Shapely calves. Delicious pussy all bare. Lips plump and cast in firelight. Ready for him.

He throws one of your chunky thighs over his back, and takes to one knee to eat you out.

Bliss bites right through you - clean through - spiking your blushes to top pitch. Making you shiver. Thighs seek to curl around his head and your hand shoots up to rake your nails through his silky hair.

You groan with the puffy glide of his fat tongue over your pussy. Lathing and searching. Swiping for your taste and diving for more. You taste like every tart sweet fruit - sugared and full with juice. Ripe to burst.

He doesn’t rush a single thing about this; takes his time to prod his tongue into you. Spread you open with tongue alone. Opens the bowl of your hips wide, wider, with his hands digging to the meat on your thighs. Fingers leaving dips in flesh.

Licks and laps at the new fresh slick he coaxed free. He’s chasing your pleasure. Not his. He’s going on search of it; a determined conquest. Touching you like you’re the holiest thing he’s ever known. Ever tasted.

You’re all sighs and easy moans as he digs his face into your mons. Inhaling the smell of your soap that clings to your curls. Eyes flutter closed with the pleasure of it.

“I love when you melt for me.” He says. Breath bursts in warm puffs over your pussy when he speaks. When you uncurl from being impossible and stubborn.

You catch sight of his lips. Glossy. He’s wearing a wet orange smear in the low amber light of the fire.

“I don’t melt for anyone. My angel.” You sigh. Hips leaping to his face as he suckles your clit like a nursing babe. Whining high as you slip your fingers through his scalp.

“Just you.” You gasp. Bliss draped upon every word.

His spit squelches into you. He spits and drools to make you wetter. He likes it. Spitting frothy globs into you, and scooping it out with his tongue when the taste has changed entirely to you. Swirling it around because he loves to have you dripping.

Juices are flowing out of you and dribbling slowly to leave a slippery stain on this shiny table. When he next eats a meal here, in this very chair. He’ll smile remembering this moment.

He twists his head to lap at a new angle. Eyes focused on yours. And it hurts to tear away. You watch him and it makes him want to cum in his breeches right then and there.

It’s hypnotic to have him work you over with his mouth. You adore it when there’s hate-fucking and anger involved; you simply shatter to incomprehensible pieces when there’s slow romantic passion, mixed into the bargain.

He eats you like he’s trying to study you with his tongue. Like he can root out some answers in your taste. That heady flavour of flesh and sex and woman - somehow tangy somehow sweet. Elixir of life;

He swirls tiny sloppy circles around the swelling bead of your clit. Fingertips coming into play - the man was a studying military strategist. That came into use in times like these; rubbing your folds - up down up down - before pushing those slick fingertips in. Sinking deep enough to earn a rise out of you.

He eases back, takes his tongue away to watch as he used just his fingers instead. Watching your face. Watching the glide and pump of curling them to you until he finds a rhythm that drags that silken and soaked giving spot a teasing tickle inside you.

When your hips start to jump and you start squirming. He knows he’s found what he’s after.

That divine spread inside you that rose with every knuckle deep thrust of his fingers. Every vicious swipe with his tongue that cracks flickers of lightning across your nerves. Makes you throb with it. God he’s good.

Suction coming relentless and heavy from his mouth, scorching patterns in harsh zig-zags across your swollen lips. Fingers encouraging that all encompassing pang of pleasure that will wipe out your brain to blank when you cum.

He’s digging his face right in and eating determinedly - relentlessly, to get after that leg shaking portion of your climax that’s steadily growing.

Terrifying trapping fingers travelling up your cunt walls as they flutter fast on his fingers. You’re laying back on the dining room table, near sobbing with the need to cum.

He’s just drinking in every sensation soaked second as he gulps you down. Half to ease away his tensions; half because making you cum has become an occupation that’s scored its devotion on his heart. When he dies he hopes they crack open his chest and find it sat there in bleeding tattooed letters. It feels like it should be.

Wordlessly, he brutally shoved you to the knife edge of your orgasm that has you literally bursting. The shudder of your hips betrays it first. How he doesn’t alter his pace; he keeps steady as he coaxed you through: the way you taught him.

Don’t speed up just because I’m close. Keep steady with whatever it is you’re doing.

You’d taught him that on your honeymoon hazy watercolour memories all misty to recall. With your clit captured in his mouth and your fingers fisted in his hair.

He’s a good student. He makes you gush into and all over his mouth. Spurting across the table top and he hums with the bliss of your release and doesn’t stop just because you do.

He drives and drags and slurps up every tender drop. Nurses you into the aftershocks with his tongue. Gentle gathered little noises as he swallows and gains his breath again. Tries to take control of his heart and the buzzing in his ears.

You’re slowly fading from shouts to whines. Fingers grappled into his on your now clammy thighs. Where you’d thrashed and wailed. Your hands held firm to him like anchors.

“My god, you give good head, my love.” You sigh. Back arching and your eyes still flicked closed.

“I was instructed by the best.” He insists. Before dropping an open mouthed kiss right on your cunt.

“Same time tomorrow?“ You ask with an impetuous smile. The clock strikes two.

He gazes back at from between your legs. Smile finally having returned. Eyes all slippery warm with passion.

“Minx.”

“Yes, but entirely yours.”

“Bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

JQ taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver

#Prince Paul #prince paul x you #prince paul x reader #prince paul x oc #prince paul fanfiction #prince paul smut #joseph quinn #prince paul catherine the great #catherine the great 2019 #prince paul imagine #prince paul fanfic #and prince paul #smutty #so much smut #so much hatefucking

651 notes · View notes

littlepawz · 9 months

Text

Birds were created to record everything. They were not designed just to be beautiful jewels in the sky, but to serve as the eyes of heaven.

~Suzy Kassem~

#birds #animals #nature #colourful birds #colours of nature #beauty #flying jewels #stunning photos #nature photos #bright feathers #wow

60 notes · View notes

confusedlittleguy · 4 months

Text

i love thinking abt fashion and beauty standards in WoF bc its so interesting how different the culture between each tribe is

i tried to type out my ideas but its not coming outta my brain hold on

icewings with being shiny and having the biggest antlers and being the cleanest and who has the bluest eyes and having the sharpest quills, theyd probably only wear white or blue 😒

sandwings with having the coolest patterns and having well-groomed hair and stuff abt hair length and style standards changing over time and whos ruling them - up until Oasises rule the beauty standard for hair would be whatever the queen (and sometimes her relatives) look like, and then during the sucession war youre hair could indicate whos side you were on, like being on Blisters side their hair would be braided and long and never cut and facial hair meh :/ they can do whatever as long as its taken care of, but on Burns side theyd have shorter hair, often being shaved/cut into a buzz cut and then cut/shaved back before it grows back and always growing out facial hair and on Blazes side they would care more about their hair being shiny and light or colourful, often beached/dyed white or blue to show that they are allied with icewings, and even soem dragons imitating Queen Glaciers mane of quills but not growing any facial hair even tho they are based in the Ice Kingdom bc honestly Blaze isnt that much of a practical thinker (or one at all) and Scorpian Den dragibs giving zero fucks abt the beauty standards of the rest of the tribe, individual gangs/cults/families/whatever have their own thing and after Thorn becomes queen hair styles become less 'everyone should be like this and or strive to be this' and more of an occupational and place in society type of thing, and also things like obsidian and sapphires and black, blue and pink fabric would probably be something that they think looks pretty

rainwings and being bright and colourful but also being flexible (BECAUSE ITS COOL AND THEY WOULD THINK ITS IMPRESSIVE not for sexual reasons and if someone makes a comment like that im going to throw up a foldable IKEA table) but also smelling nice, like certain flowers or fruit

nightwings with being large and healthy would probably be the traits that they find most desireable, i think that they would incorperate lots of moons and stars and space imagery into their fashion as well as silver and gold

mudwings actually probably wouldnt have beauty standards because they dont care that much about attracting other dragons, but for specific rare 'falling in love' type of instances they would learn about what that dragon likes, for fashion they also probably wouldnt have much except for gold veins between their scales and some headpeices that look like plants or are woven from plants, but that would be more common for higher classes and less common for lower classes

with skywing fashion i was thinking sorta based off european culture (mostly gaelic culture), but for skywings their beauty standards and fashion change with their royalty more than any other tribe, i think in Queen Firestorms rule the beauty standards would be far more relaxed than Scarlets beauty standards, but under Queen Rubys rule the standards would be the most relaxed, but all of them do have one thing in common - jewels, although commonly skywings will uphold the standard that traditional european based (closest to canon) skywings and rocky skywings are more beautiful, although within the avian skywing community they do have similair standards to birds, although its more that avian skywings of all genders look for shinier and brighter partners, duller avian skywings who dont end up having eggs probably end up with each other in toxic marriages/partnerships because they dont really love the other but they want to keep up appearances within their community

seawings - i think they, surprisngly dont have that many beauty standards despite the only two queens we've been shown being absolutely obsessed (/j i am joking) although they definitely do like pearls and probably shells, and patterns of sea stars and sea jellies would be used in clothing

#thats all for now #ill do some ones for pantalan dragons later #wof #wings of fire #sandwing #icewing #nightwing #rainwing #seawing #mudwing #skywing #wof hcs #wof au

32 notes · View notes

a-dinosaur-a-day · 1 year

Text

Round Two: Caihong vs Falcatakely

Caihong juji

Artwork by @i-draws-dinosaurs, written by @i-draws-dinosaurs

Name meaning: Rainbow with big crest

Time: 161 million years old (Oxfordian stage of the Late Jurassic)

Location: Tiaojishan Formation, China

It’s always a special treat to hear the announcement of a dinosaur with known colours, because it gives the most direct impression of how truly stunning these animals would have been to witness in real life. And Caihong might just be the most spectacular of them all so far, described in 2018 from an immaculate full-body fossil that preserves detailed feathers! Caihong’s feathers are longer than some other floofy dinosaurs, and would have had the appearance of a luxurious mane along its neck. Not only that, the fossil preserves feather microstructures that in life would have made this dinosaur gloriously iridescent!

Now iridescent dinosaurs aren’t new, Microraptor has been decked out in fabulous starling-esque plumage for a while now, but Caihong absolutely takes it to the next level. Its whole body was covered in iridescent black, including the enormous tail, but the real star of the show are the platelet-like melanosomes found on the head, neck, and the base of the tail. Different from the usual iridescent melanosomes, the structure of these tiny organelles reflects brilliantly iridescent colours, like those on the heads of hummingbirds and particularly the bright purple feathers on the necks of the trumpeter family. Caihong would have put on an absolutely dazzling jewel-toned display in the treetops or on the forest floor of prehistoric China!

Falcatakely forsterae

Artwork by @otussketching, written by @zygodactylus

Name Meaning: Forster’s Small Scythe Beak

Time: 70 to 66 million years ago (Maastrichtian stage of the Late Cretaceous)

Location: Maevarano Formation, Mahajanga Province, Madagascar

We like to joke that the different types of protobirds in the Mesozoic were just like modern birds with teeth, and that’s obviously an oversimplification, but sometimes it’s just true. This is one of those times. Falcatakely was an Enantironithine - an Opposite bird - very distinct from living birds, and yet, it convergently evolved a toucan beak, essentially rendering it a toothed toucan! Don’t get your hopes up, though - the teeth were few in number, concentrated in the front of the beak. But, still, that’s not going to stop me from calling this an Opposite Toucan. Unfortunately, only the skull is known, so it is uncertain how large the rest of the body was - the beak itself was 9 centimeters in length. Falcatakely lived in the seasonally arid Maevarano Formation, which transitioned between a swampy floodplain and a semidesert depending on the season. Here there were a LOT of weird animals, not just Falcatakely - this is the home of the herbivorous croc Simosuchus, the toothy dinosaur Masiakasaurus, giant stem-mammals like Adalatherium, the giant frog Beelzebufo, the weird protobird Rahonavis, and more normal things like Majungasaurus and Rapetosaurus. Honestly, we should stop being surprised at the strange things islands manage to produce, but I’m not quite ready to give up that shocked feeling yet.

#dmm #dmm rising stars #dinosaur march madness #dinosaurs #birds #dmm round two #birblr #palaeoblr #paleontology #bracket #march madness #polls #caihong #falcatakely

148 notes · View notes

velnica · 3 months

Text

Homeward (Orpheus/Eurydice)

A ficlet about Eurydice, Sanson's Ancient self, and Orpheus, Guydelot's Ancient self.

He is here again, with his sweet melody that filled the night air like a thousand nightingales. It is obvious that he is here for me, though I do not know why he would, when he can have his fill of adoring audience with far more enthusiasm elsewhere. Yet for nigh a moon he had greeted me as I leave for home, leaning his tall frame against the stone wall outside the building. His is a striking form under the moonlight; a shining jewel to my tarnished brass.

"Good evening, Eurydice," he says, as per usual.

"Good evening, Orpheus," I reply back, like all of those other days. He smiles back, and nothing else is said; from here on the only sound left will be my footsteps, and a song that follows them until I round over yonder corner. So I walk down the stairs and along the pavement as is routine, but I fail to shake the feeling that something is different tonight.

I look up at the moon, seeking answers. Is it his looks? No, Orpheus has always looked the same; confident and bright, as is his right as one of Altima's protégé. Is it his smile? No, it is always gentle and sincere; a smile just for me, he'd said once, and I could not find the lie in those words.

I crane my ears back towards him when it hits me: Orpheus's melody has a different lilt, imperceptible perhaps to those who have not listened to it near nightly, but it is there—half a note deeper and half a breath slower, as if it is waiting for something to happen, something to rouse it back to its usual tempo.

The book against my chest feels inadequate to contain the sudden swell of heat that blooms within. It's an absurd proposition, that someone like Orpheus could be waiting for someone like me; Eurydice; a plain-faced clerk with far too serious a furrow between my brows and minuscule talent for nothing else except recording history.

And yet...

I stop at the far end of the path, where the pavement's patterns meld to a different design. He is still leaning against the pillar; playing, waiting. The wind takes that exact moment to change, and with it, so do I.

"Your melody is different tonight, perchance you can explain its intricacies as I walk home?" I ask, before blushing several shades deep. By the Star, that sounded far too bold—

Orpheus's melody suddenly shifts, this time rising up to a trill, akin to a flight of birds looping through the air. He near jogs to catch up, not breaking even a single note, then stops next to me.

"I've one better. Let me play you a new composition, and you may tell me your opinion of it."

"You know I'm no good critique. I know little and less about techniques," I confess. Instead of chastisement, Orpheus just grins.

"Pah, I've no shortage of people raring to tell me that I ought to use a different scale for more sophistication or some such; no, I'd like you to describe to me what you feel when you hear it, just as you have always done."

I colour even more. It is such a simple ask, and I've always opined on his songs—often unprompted—when he barges into my resting spot at lunch; yet tonight it feels like my answer will forever change the course of... of...

Orpheus waits, still with that handsome grin on his face. His beautiful turquoise eyes shine from behind the mask, and I am drawn ever closer as if pulled by an invisible string. The heat returns to my chest and before I can make a fool of myself, I nod.

His grin bursts into stars. "Come then, let us begin," he says as he lifts his harp and starts walking, in sync with his new melody.

I fall into step with him and listen to this new song, to Orpheus's voice, to the plucking of strings against his fingertips and I let myself feel. The melody tugs at the corner of my lips and before I realise it, I am grinning wide, heart light and aflutter.

I look up at the sky again and send up a wish—to the Star and the Moon, may this feeling never, ever fade.

Continued in Invitation.

#ahhhhhhhhhhhh #screaming incoherently #I just had to write this one down #orpheus x eurydice #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #guydesan #bard boys #ancient bard boys #ffxiv #my gposes #my fic writing

28 notes · View notes