#living room hall royal play design

[soullessdianthus]

hi so I saw that you write for tangerine and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing an older tangerine x younger fem reader (age gap) where they're both assassins but have bad blood however spicy smut ensues?

sorry if this is too much!

Author's note: Sorry, this took so long, but I'm currently moving out and it has been a mess. Anyways, here's a piece where you met the citrus brothers on a mission (after competing for a while), but the outcome was something you didn't expect at all. Something that won't be easily forgotten. Bon apetit.

Warnings: swearing, violence (canon typical), age gap?, choking 😳, smutty smut

Word count: 6.5k oops

P.S.: I checked it two times, might fix few grammar/spelling mistakes in next few days.

A cloudless night sky shimmered above your head, when you firmly closed the car doors behind you. Making sure the bottom of the evening dress wasn’t stuck in the vehicle, you carefully turned around and then took a step back onto the pavement. You smiled politely as the Uber driver started a new route, leaving you in front of a grand, neoclassicist building. 

That night a sort of a charity gala was being hosted there, but everyone knew what kind of business was really going on under all that sugar coated image. Unselfish aid - well, not really in the twenty-first century. At least not by the filthy rich people. 

But that evening, they were all there and you had to blend in. That was your role to play. The job, commissioned by your boss, was supposed to be quite easy. An old style theft of some jewelry, a sapphire of sorts. Not the most vulnerable or the biggest jewel in the word, but your commissioner insisted on this specific one. So to speak, your competition was thin. 

In the great hall, a courtroom for a banquet, people were gathered. Young waiters and waitresses sneaking between the guests, dancing on their tiptoes almost. Last summer it was your job to collect an order and bring it as fast as you could to the customer at your local, prestigious restaurant. 

Besides some bizzare and sometimes even brutal contracts, you continued to live a simple, student life. Taking a summer job or tutoring a highschooler, for example. But it began to happen less frequently than ever before, as your life began to change. 

Ever since you met that annoying, British man from a different agency. And his equally odd brother.

Walking up the staircase to the ground floor, you collected the long dress with a cut on the left side, exposing your bare leg to the passers by. If it was an event held by the royal family, you would’ve been kicked out long ago. But happily it wasn’t. 

After leaving your cloak in the foyer of the hotel, you slowly headed towards the room, where the main events were supposed to be held. And people had already gathered there. 

You felt just like an actress (silly of you) - starring in an action movie, with all the thrill of a crime looming in the air. For a moment you forgot about all of the blood on your hands. Metaphorically, of course. You could not erase those sins. It was a path you could not just abandon. 

One of the waiters, almost your peer, tried to persuade you to try some champagne from his silver tray. But you politely declined with a simple gesture of hand. Parents taught you well, not to drink while at work. 

You continued to walk around the patio, carefully examining and remembering the surroundings. Playing a part of this higher society, you nodded a few times to the strangers passing by, exerting a sham of knowing each other. And until now, you hadn’t spotted anyone from your branch. No familiar faces. “Good, very good” you thought.

Your boss told you beforehand there shouldn’t be any competition with the jewel that night. And the boss was always right. 

Almost.

─ Oh Goodness! Such a beautiful dress, my dear ─ exclaimed the elder lady, gripping on her purse through the white gloves. ─ Tell me, sweetheart, who designed it? Where did you get it?

─ That’s very kind of you, ma’am. ─ Your lips curled in a cheerful smile, while approaching the two older ladies, standing near the cocktail table. ─ But I’m afraid I cannot help you. You see, this is my mother’s dress, when she was my age. It's a vintage piece. 

─ Oh, that’s very lovely, keeping the traditions from generation to generation. I wish my son would wear his father’s cufflinks from time to time. ─ The second lady interfered, after finishing her glass of champagne. 

─ Have you been to the rooftop yet? ─ She changed the subject quicker than you could even proceed.

─ No, I haven’t, ma’am. Is there something worth bothering about? ─ You asked her, still keeping that cheerful smile on your young face. 

Your “colleagues” would insult you (or rather joke about you) with many things about your age or experience, but even though you were barely half their age, you knew how to get people to fall under your charm.

─ Of course you should see it! They have lovely gardens there, quite exotic. One of the best ones in the whole of London. 

─ Then, shall we go there then? ─ You proposed to the nice ladies, straightening your knees.

─ Only if we’re not boring you to death, dear. 

─ There is plenty of time until the main event begins, I’d like to see something other than the ground floor.

In the company of two lovely, but strangely intriguing, old women you traveled to the top of the building to see the flowers they were so excited about. And after a short walk with them you had to agree that the garden was quite interesting. Even for such a layman you were about the flowers. 

But the night was cold and you had to excuse your company at the rooftop, as you left your coat at the foyer. The cut of the dress made it even worse - your shoulders were showing, shivering because of the cold air. Besides, you had a job to do. 

You entered the elevator and began to go back down, only to be stopped by someone from the outside on the tenth (or was it eleventh?) floor. 

Something was off. You couldn’t tell why, but you knew someone was coming. Behind those metal doors. The tension was building up, until the gates opened silently to the sides, exposing two well dressed men, now standing in front of you.

─ Well, look who it is. ─ Said the man with a thick mustache above his upper lip, placing his hands inside the pockets of his trousers.

─ See? I told you, mate. Wouldn’t have mistaken her with someone else.

─ Excuse me, gentlemen. ─ Your response was quick. There was no time or need for a confrontation with those guys. Again. So you tried to force your way out of that elevator, but the taller, dark skinned man grabbed you by your arms and pushed back inside the metal box heading down. 

No, you didn’t have a gun. It wasn’t “that” kind of job with the jewel. You didn’t need a gun, because nobody was supposed to die. Besides, it was too loud for a place like that. 

You tried to pass again, by pushing him away, but the damn golem wouldn’t move. So you swiftly hit under the man's ribs and swung to strike again. But he foresaw this and gripped your fist, pushing you inside the box. 

Brothers stepped inside and you found yourself locked without an exit.

─ Gentlemen ─ the brunette repeated mockingly with a little giggle ─ she's sweet. She really is. 

─ Are you looking for trouble? ─ Tightening a grip on your baggie, you slightly narrowed your brows. These two happened to appear in the middle of your last few commissions, putting your plans into ruins, so naturally, you were pissed to see them again. 

“Putting the plan into ruins” was the most subtle description you could give to what they've done. You always fulfilled your contracts, but the way you planned to do so. On your terms. But those two happened to show up in the middle of a plan, make a lot of noise and run off. 

The elevator started to go down again. 

─ Do you, love? ─ He snapped back, taking a step towards you. 

─ What are you doing here? ─ You asked a bit irritated, by the dismissive tone of his voice. 

─ Another day, another contract. ─ Lemon, the portly one, interrupted as you and his brother didn’t mean to end the staring contest.

─ What is your contract, to be exact? So we won’t disturb each other.

─ Whoa, whoa, slow down, girl ─ Tangerine slightly waved with his hand flat, golden rings shimmering around his fingers ─ you think we’re gonna answer to you, after what happened lately in Budapest? Do you recall that, sweetheart?

─ It was Vienna. ─ You corrected him, tension slowly leaving your muscles. There was no sign of an upcoming fight. If they were here to kill specifically you, they would have done that already. There wouldn’t be a time for small talk like such. 

The number on a panel above the buttons changed to the third floor. You were almost there. In a moment you will be able to get away from them and focus on your tonight's mission.

─ Ah, Vienna. Right, right. 

─ Well, that wasn’t my fault, you two ─ your finger pointed at brothers ─ were sloppy and messed up your part. I just finished my own contract. 

Well, it wouldn’t have happened, if you weren’t on plain fuckin’ sight and did not interrupt the adults doing their fuckin’ job. - Lemon gestured with his hands, getting visibly annoyed by your denial. 

Well, you just told them the truth, they fucked up last time. It wasn’t your doing. Well, not that particular time, not in Vienna.

─ I’m sorry, “adults”? That’s what you call yourself? ─ You needed a clarification, did you miss heard? Was he making fun of you somehow?

─ Don’t fuck with us, kid. 

─ Oh, fuck off, Lemon. ─ You answered irritably as the doors opened, welcoming you three to the ground floor. A line of impatient guests waited until you left the cabin. 

Lemon’s choice of words angered you. Yes, you were very young for such a profession, but your age did not determine your abilities. For some time you had a mentor, who taught you well. And your actions were excellent proof of that. 

Finally getting out of the elevator, you took advantage of the situation - happening to be in a crowded place. You swiftly passed them all, leaving brothers behind. While blending in with the other guests on the patio, you took a glimpse over your shoulder. For a brief moment your eyes locked with Tangerine’s blue irises. 

Your heart froze when he traced your path. You had to disappear, quickly.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ 

You found yourself staring through the massive window, viewing the busy street during night time. Heavy raindrops were dripping from a glass wall onto a windowsill. 

Thoughts corrupted you so much that you had to shake your head slightly, trying to get back into your senses. You stood in one place for too long, what clearly angered your inner perfectionism. But why were you distracted? It rarely happened since your very first few missions. 

Happily for you it didn’t last too long and all preparations have been done by that time. Now you just had to wait for the auctions to begin, so you could start the operation. 

The jewel was being kept on a sort of exposition in one of the lobbies - a small room, next to the patio (one of few actually). Two security cameras, which you’ve already plugged to a remote to loop their image when needed and only two bodyguards walking around the area. 

You sneaked to the hotel earlier that week, disguised as a waitress, so you could take a look at the surroundings and disturb some vires in CCTV around that place. 

After all, your boss gave you a few decent tips, but the executive part was on your side. 

Your legs kept the same pace as before - firm, but not fast. Confident, but not attention seeking. Although your ankles began to feel numb after those hours in heels. 

And then, out of bloom, while you were passing the corridor leading to the bathrooms, you felt a strong grip tightening around your arm. Mysterious force dragged you to the resting area (just in front of the toilets), while you stumbled upon your own legs and dropped the little baggie on the floor.

─ Christ! ─ You hissed, when you finally found your balance again. Not a single living soul was around besides you and Tangerine. The British man was still holding your arm, standing between you and the pathway to the patio. ─ Let go.

─ Not so quick, sunshine. We should talk first, you know. 

─ Oh, we’ve already talked, big man. Time is nagging, I have to go. 

Your free hand immediately swung at his right ribs, covered by white, evening chemise and a beautiful jacket from the tailor. There was no intention to start a fight, but he was stubborn and you were afraid of the shortage of time. So the punch was supposed to be a warning. 

As your fist met with his ribcage, the brunette bent a bit in half and loosen the grip on your arm. And as the opportunity occured, you started to walk away.

Only when you turned your back at him, Tangerine took a step forward and entangled his both hands around your waist and throat. The second placement worried you more.

How could you let that happen? Turning your back away? “How stupid!” you scolded yourself.

He pulled you backwards so hard that you bumped your back into his torso and chest. A silent sigh escaped your mouth as he spread his ringed fingers on your windpipe. 

The jewelry was cold just like the air outside the hotel, making your skin twitch.

Tangerine was taller than you. He was also older and more advanced than you. Which really made you uneasy. If he only wanted to, he could be a serious threat. 

─ Tsk, that wasn’t nice. Listen, we really need to know, what the fuck you’re doin’ here tonight, sweetheart. 

─ Why are you so persistent? ─ You asked him, annoyed at the fact he kept his hand tightly not only on your throat, but also your waist, tugging you close to him. You also let your accent slip out, because of it.

Desperate you tried to yank away from the big man. You really wanted to get out of that situation as fast as possible, because it made you blush. The fact you liked the way he held you.

This time your both arms were absolutely free. So gathering some force in one of your elbows, you stabbed him in his stomach. The first one wasn’t fully successful so you continued to hammer his torso until he’d finally free you.

There was a brief moment, when his hands loosen up and you turned around to face him. He swung his right fist near your head, which now was - a serious threat. 

You backed away a few steps - keeping the distance, but he followed your trace, throwing his fists a few more times. His bright eyes had a mysterious and distracting charm in them. 

You continued to back away, but the distance between you two suddenly reduced, so you swung your right knee at his thigh, near the groin. Unfortunately, he was able to block the hit, grasping on your uncovered leg. He tossed it in his hand, almost playfully, locking your thigh between his elbow. 

And then he charged at you, forcing you to back away even faster, until your back met with the stone wall. His other hand found itself on your exposed neck one more time, pinning your body down. 

Being “cornered” and left with little choices, you pulled out a dagger out from the garter. It was the right time to do so.

─ Why are you so feisty, huh? ─ Tangerine said calmly, correcting his grip on your leg. ─ I really don’t want to punch a woman, for fuck sake. 

─ Pardon me, I’ve been taught so.

─ Oh, but you still have a lot to learn, honey. Now tell me, will you ─ his eyes loomed inside yours, searching for sympathy ─ what’s your fuckin’ target.

─ On three, then we both say. Seems fair. 

─ You’re not the one to negotiate, sunshine, considering I have a hand on your pretty neck. And a thigh of yours. ─ He added after looking up and down at you like a piece of goose meat. 

─ But I have a knife pointed at your kidney, so what will it be? Equals?

There was silence for a short moment between you and Tangerine. For a very brief moment, but the escalating tension made it impossible for you to keep looking him straight in the eyes. 

God bless, he lowered his head down, turning it slightly to the sides - meaning Tangerine gave in the further argument. 

─ You never disappoint me, love ─ the man giggled, making his mustache twitch. ─ Fuck it. On three, you ready? 

─ One. ─ You started counting, still being highly alerted of your surroundings. Of him. ─ Two. Three.

─ Birdwhistle. ─ He chanted a surname unknown to you. 

─ Stuart’s Sapphire.

You both exclaimed at the same time, tension instantly leaving your bodies. That evening your paths weren’t crossed. 

─ Jesus Christ ─ brunette man cursed, while releasing the air from his lungs ─ couldn’t you just say that earlier? 

Tangerine let go of your exposed neck and led your leg carefully back to the floor. Now that you stood firm on the ground, you fixed the material of your dress and hid the dagger back under the garter.

─ Well, couldn’t you clarify earlier, that you and your brother are not here to assassinate me or my mission? After violently reminding me about Vienna?

─ Why would I? I kinda enjoy your company, sweetheart. Never fails to entertain. ─ The British man said, handing you the bag you’ve dropped.

─ How splendid. Thanks. 

“I’m not sure if Lemon could say the same about my fellowship” you thought. 

Only when you two wanted to leave the resting area, the bathroom door swung open and the old lady emerged from the inside. Your heart froze for a second.

─ Oh, Miss Caldwell! ─ Exclaimed the short lady, who discussed the matter of flowers with you earlier. The surname was fake of course. ─ Aren’t you going for the main event? It’s about to start. 

─ We’ve been just heading there, but I needed to re-do my hair. You know how it is, ma’am ─ you smiled cheerfully, getting right back into your role. ─ Have you met my fiance August, Mistress Dolores? 

You falsely presented Tangerine, before she could even ask about it. This way, the old lady wouldn’t have much time to overthink his persona.

Without even hesitating, the brunette gently shook her hand. He jumped straight into the fake personality you just gave him. Tangerine got so much into playing his part of a fiance, that he even put his left hand around your waist, resting it on your hip. 

And for a moment you felt the same way as when your bodies were entangled together in a scuffle minutes before. You felt too comfortable around him - he was your competitor for fuck’s sake.

─ Then we shall go back. I wouldn’t want to miss such an opportunity. ─ Tangerine encouraged you to move forward, slowly leading to the great hall. He exposed his free elbow in your direction, inviting you to take it. So you did. 

─ You’ll have to excuse me, I have to go into that crowd and find my husband, first ─ Mr. Dolores explained, as she got visibly worried. ─ Before he gets lost. Again. 

─ Understably, ma’am. 

And just like she appeared out of nowhere, she blended in the colorful and extravagant crowd of guests.

─ So ─ Tangerine cleared his throat ─ we’re playin’ in one team, darlin’? No more scuffles? 

While finishing, he looked at you with his eyes made of ice and a manner you could no longer describe. He still kept his hand on your hip, leading you during your walk together. It irritated you a bit and you wondered - was he always acting this cocky? 

─ You and your brother do what you have to do and I’ll stick to my stuff. Everyone gets what they want. Seems cool, right, Mr. Bond? ─ You jokingly addressed him. Turning your head, you caught him staring at you, which sent some shivers down your spine. 

─ Seems cool. We’ll finally have some pleasant memories together, won’t we, love? 

You sent him a quick, cheeky smile, before leaving him behind. 

Brunette Britishman brought his hands to himself, placing them in his pockets as you walked away from him. It was high time to pursue tonight's commissions. The auctions had started and Mr. Birdwhistle was about to pass out drunk. He had to find Lemon fast, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off of you in that evening dress.

Oh, that fucking dress. It almost made him go insane.

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ 

She patiently waited.

Waited until the bodyguards would get bored with keeping an eye on some blue jewel that nobody came to see. One of them decided to go on a break, leaving only one man on the post. The universe has blessed you. 

Now it was a matter of minutes. You had to remove the other guy from the camera’s lens. So while heading to the lobby with the exhibition, you lit up a cigarette and inhaled it a single time. Then threw it into the nearest bin and waited until the other rubbish caught the flames. 

Only when you saw the smoke coming out of the metal container did you continue the plan. Acting a bit lost and concerned. 

─ Is anyone here, hello? ─ You started asking for help, almost approaching your final destination. And there he was, a bodyguard leaving his post. ─ Oh, God gracious! I think there is a small fire in that bin. Can you help that, sir? 

The man said nothing but regardless, he went to see what caused the smoke. During that time you’ve managed to loop the image, so you wouldn’t be seen on the CCTV. By the time you stepped in, the security was gone - probably went for the fire-extinguisher.

You’ve already put gloves on (not to leave any fingertips) and started to unlock the glass cabinet. When it finally popped open, you grabbed the jewel from the little, red pillow and replaced it with the cheaper replica from your baggie. 

Then you quickly positioned it at the exhibition, locked it up and removed your gloves. Everything was looking fine, so you decided to leave. The security guy was coughing on the white fog that put out the fire you started. Little pyromaniac. 

You stood in one place, waiting for him to finish, so he would think you stayed there all this time. That you hadn’t just got into the lobby, he was supposed to look after. 

─ So we don’t need firefighters after all ─ you giggled, passing by him. ─ Should I inform someone? 

─ That won’t be necessary, ma’am. Thank you.

You proceed to leave the area, to go back to the main hall, where almost everyone gathered. Only when you turned around the corner, you recovered the cameras to its original state.

The commission was almost completed. Now you just had to deliver it within 48 hours to the messenger or something like this. And when it’s done, you’ll finally have some white wine.  

You passed through the whole crowd of excited people and found yourself near the roofed part of the patio, when you turned around to take a look at the scene - at the valuable and collectable items they were selling off. Suddenly you bumped into someone, while continuing to walk and not looking forward. 

─ I’m so sorry. ─ You started to apologize just before realizing who you just bumped into. 

─ Don’t be, love. It’s always nice to see you. ─ Tangerine’s smile was highlighted by the movement of his mustache, when his hand locked you close to him. 

─ Very funny. Is it done? 

There was no time for him to answer as the scream for a far filled the whole room. The lead person of the auctions stopped, while the gathered people began to speculate. 

─ Oh, I see. 

─ Lemon’s already outside and I have to disappear too ─ Tangerine looked around nervously, which was uncommon for him. But by squeezing your arms he brought you closer and placed a short kiss on your cheek. ─ Take care, sunshine. 

You stood there mortified as he merged with the disturbed guests of the hotel. The place he had just kissed pleasantly burned and your cheeks blushed. “What was that? A fucking farewell?” you also wondered if he was toying with you.

And then, out of bloom, something made you check your baggie. Which was slightly opened as it turned out. Not panicking yet (but almost), you started to search for it. But only found out that Britishman in fact stole your sapphire, leaving a piece of paper instead.

─ Bastard! 

༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ ✢ ༝ ༝ ༝ 

You wandered across the sixth floor searching for room number “610”, because a note the Britishman left in your bag suggested you to search exactly here. Your feet hurt more than ever. With every step, the heels dug into the carpet flooring and your chafed heel felt like burning.

But your suffering was awarded the second you’ve noticed silver, a three digit number on the door - 610. 

You stopped upon the frame and knocked a few times, not realizing those knocks put together made a cheerful melody. While waiting for something to happen, you couldn’t decide how to manage the situation - to be mad and feisty or to turn it all into a joke. 

But when he finally appeared in the doorframe, all your anger was gone. There was something else instead. 

─ Lovely, I was wondering if you’d come. ─ Tangerine moved aside. His hand politely pointed to the inside, welcoming you.  An invitation you didn’t reject.

─ You have stolen something from me. 

─ Oh yes ─ brunette closed the door behind your back and proceeded to head to the counter nearby. Then he handed you a small, navy crystal. ─ Here you go, love.

You turned it around with your fingers, searching for any marks or cracks indicating it’s fake. But you hadn’t found any. 

─ That’s all? You just… gave it back to me?

─ Yeah, sorry about that, love. I’ve some ongoing kleptomaniac issues.

Brunette man stood in front of you, in the middle of the hotel room. His jacket was lying folded in half on a seat back. No creases could be seen.  

His chemise, on the other hand, was slightly opened, exposing his collarbone and partially his chest. The new vest fitted him perfectly. 

─ I see. You’re off duty or is your brother waiting outside? 

─ Lemon? Nah, he left. My brother wanted to sleep somewhere else. 

─ Somewhere he hadn’t killed someone, hm? 

─ Exactly.

─ But you don’t mind. 

─ Not really, no ─ Tangerine took a deep breath out. ─ Listen, darlin’, you clearly want to ask me something that is bothering you ─ you opened your lips to intervene, but the Britishman was quicker. ─ You’d leave otherwise. You won back your little jewel, didn’t you?

“Fair point, Mr. Bond” you thought to yourself “then why am I still here?”. You placed the bag on the closest cabinet, tightly securing it before that. 

─ Since we’re both finished tonight ─ you started the sentence, calmly and carefully collecting your thoughts ─ what was that? 

─ What?

─ The patio? After you’ve put your sticky hands in my bag?

Quite suddenly the man cupped your face with both of his hands. Moment later he placed a long kiss on your lips, this time directly on them. You’ve expected his mustache to irritate you, but the outcome was quite the opposite. You’ve never melted like that through the kiss.

You knew you desired more, but afraid to let go, you turned your head away to the side, breaking the kiss.

─ Stop treating me like some… pet or something. Jesus, Tangerine. 

─ A fuckin’ what? ─ An older man could not hold his short laugh back, while his hands lowered onto your shoulders.

─ You’re having a laugh, huh? You all do. 

─ No one’s laughin’ at you, sweetheart. And if they do, I’m gonna smash their fuckin’ noses into bloody mush. Because I like you, darlin’. I really do. ─ The Britishman was dead serious, when he put his whole hand against your chest. Christ’s sake, his hand was so warm. 

─ I thought you despised me. 

─ Despise you? Why would I, eh?

─ I don’t know, I’m being annoying sometimes?

─ Yeah, well, sometimes. Only when you’re teasing me like this, princess.

You gripped both sides of his vest, pulling him closer into a kiss. Both of you hungirly searched for each other's lips, taking only a short breaks in between.

His long fingers traveled across your sides and its curves. Tangerine’s hands grinded on your hips, crumpling the material of your evening dress.

─ Would you mind, stayin’ here for tonight? ─ He asked you, caressing the outline of your jaw with his right hand. 

─ But only for tonight.

You weren’t prepared for him to grab your thighs at their tops, inviting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He held you close and tight, when your shoes fell off your heels onto the carpet floor.  

As the Britishman slowly made his way to the closest cabinet near the wall, you continued to leave a trace of kisses from his cheeks until the earlobe. Few hours ago, you wouldn’t even imagine - that now you were entangled around Tangerine’s body. 

He placed you carefully on the edge of counter’s top. While the brunette stood close between your legs, he swiftly took off his vest and just threw it behind him. With no folding. God, he was desperate. 

Tangerine places his hand on the inner side of your thigh, but before he went further, he locked his blue eyes with yours. Wordlessly he asked you for permission. And you gave him another long, passionate kiss as an answer. 

─ Ladies first, eh? 

His slender fingers slipped through your panties and dipped deeper between the folds. His gentle touch made you slightly twitch. But not in an unpleasant way, more in relief. 

─ Show me, sunshine ─ he said calmly, nibbing on the skin of your neck ─ how to touch you. Show me. 

One of your hands left the cabinet’s edge and you placed it above his palm and knuckles, so you could guide his two fingers. You guided him a few slow motions around the clit that already made you gasp. 

After a while he caught on and continued on his own, while you clutched on his white chemise, poking out the trousers. Brunette’s other hand secured your hip, while he showered you in kisses - his facial hair tickling your skin. 

Even though he caged you with his body, you’ve never felt so safe around anybody. Never. 

─ Like this, y-yes. ─ You encouraged him. 

Few minutes later, you were so close to an edge. Your whole body relaxed and you couldn’t hide the little moans no more. Tangerine guessed you were close to your high. He placed his other hand on the side of your face (covering almost all of it), bringing your head to his forehead. Your hair was now messy, but it didn’t matter.

─ I’ve desired you long before Vienna, love. 

─ I know. ─ You almost stuttered saying that, as you’ve finally reached your beautiful climax. 

You took in a few sharp breaths, when you crossed your sighs again. All this time he kept his hand on your face in a comforting manner. And you acknowledged that he was smiling under that mustache. No more grumpy Britishman.

Both of you waited a moment, giving you the time to come down from the high, as your dingling from the edge legs were shaking. But when you were feeling alright again, he helped you get on the ground. 

You grabbed his hand and led towards the other part of the hotel room. By the way, checking if the curtains were closed. You stopped at the edge of the bed, turning around to face him.

Slowly you unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders, exposing his torso to you. A golden necklace swung between his collarbones and a few tattoos, you didn’t know about, were undiscovered.

He patiently waited there, letting you walk around him and explore his body with your fingertips. But he grew impatient, as a growl escaped his lips. You combed his dark brown hair, before coming back where you initially stood. Then you started to undo his matching trousers.

Tangerine vividly slid them off along his socks and shoes. His already half hardened cock was visible under the boxers’ material.

─ Sweet Jesus, now it’s my turn, love. ─ He said, eagerly looking at you. Brunette turned you around and unzipped the dress that tempted him so much. You let it slide past your ankles. 

Lack of coverage exposed a garter with a dagger still in it. 

─ We won’t need that, won’t we, darlin’? ─ Older man took it out and threw it aside. Tangerine stepped even closer to you, as you tried to take off your underwear. He followed your movements with his boxers. ─ Come ‘ere. 

No more invitations were needed. He welcomed you with open arms. You tucked your hair behind an ear, while you were almost swallowed by his eager kisses. Then, he once again lifted you up, so you just sat on his hips and he made his way to the bed. 

The man placed you gently onto the soft sheets and quickly climbed over you. He placed his hands on both sides of your head, resting on his forearms, so he could lean closer to you. 

─ Fuckin’ hell, you’re so delicious ─ Tangerine asked, right after nibbling on your hardened nipples. ─ You okay, love?

─ Very much. 

Your hand found a way up the base of his neck. Once again you ran through his curly hair with your fingers. He smelled like whiskey and wood’s smoke. 

─ I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart. ─ He positioned himself and with determined, but not violent movement he buried his length within your cunt. 

It wasn’t painful, you were already wet from the foreplay, but the feeling of stretching made you gasp. You clenched on his  arm as he started to thrust his hips against your pelvis. 

─ You’re so beautiful, you know? 

─ Oh God ─ you moaned shamefully, when he shifted his position - I am?

─ Yeah ─ Tangerine’s weight was on top of you (his form perfectly fitting to your body), but you didn’t mind. As long as he was close to you, holding your tight. ─ Especially when you make those lil noises.

The man continued to thrust against you, letting some growls escape his own lips. The sensation of your warm and welcoming womanhood, made him closer to his pleasure. So you squeezed his biceps, letting him know you wanted to change position. 

He was moving freely, following the movements of your body. He comfortably half sat, his back resting on the pillow. While still joined together in an act of pleasure, you straddled him which only pushed his cock deeper inside you.

You made that obvious by tilting a little bit forward. Not mentioning you opened your mouth. 

─ You alright, love? ─ He asked to make sure.

─ Mhm. ─ You muttered, enhancing your position atop of him. 

Your legs felt like jellies, from the overstimulation beforehand and from the things you wanted to do to him. Your hands rested on his broad and bit hairy chest. 

─ Left you speechless, hun? 

─ Now it’s my turn, lover boy ─ you explained, when you’ve finally got used to his length buried inside your walls. ─ Let me make you happy. 

Tangerine placed his hands on your hips, supporting your position. He already knew what you intended. And only after you sat on your heels, you started to ride him. 

His facial expression quickly changed when you moved just the way he needed it. You quite quickly found the pace to go with and started to enjoy yourself too. 

Louder moans escaped your pretty mouth as you continued to ride a “cowboy”.

─ Oh fuck, yes ─ he stuttered loudly, his right hand blindly searching for your bouncing breast. ─ Like this, yes.

You continued to sway your hips against him, as you two grew closer together. He leaned forward, holding you tight. Tangerine’s and your breaths became shorter and shallower. You wished that night could last forever. 

You once again gained your climax thanks to that man, who followed you right after, buckling his hips for more. Your thighs shivered uncontrollably and your wet cunt clenched around his cock milking it dry. Tangerine unintentionally harsly gripped on your hips, leaving little marks indicating - you’re his. 

In the moment of your biggest pleasure you whined his real name, not the alias. And it really moved him. Deeply. 

─ Good girl ─ brunette praised you, while you brushed his now ruined hair back. ─ You alright, love?

─ Quite alright, can’t you see? ─ You jokingly said almost breathlessly.

─ I see quite fuckin’ fine, thanks, hun. Now, come ‘ere. Come.

The Britishman guided you to come back down, supporting your forearms so you could lean onto him. You were gracious for his help as you could barely feel your tired legs. 

He stayed in a half sitting position, while you lied down on your side. His strong arm invited you to different type of affection, so you cuddled up to his side and rested your head on his chest. His heart was still beating uncommonly fast. 

Brunette held you close to him, so your body heat kept you warm. Meanwhile all of this Tangerine pulled the sheets on you both, covering the naked bodies. 

─ I really enjoyed myself tonight ─ you stated, when you finally collected yourself. ─ Thank you. 

─ Oh, you fuckin’ did, yeah ─ Tangerine smiled through his thick mustache, you could tell that. ─ But I did too. Yeah, it’s been a fuckin’ ride with you. 

Britishman continued to caress his soft hand with rings against the skin of your arm that was sticking out from the sheets. 

─ Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry for…

─ Don’t worry about that ─ you interrupted him with a cheerful smile, knowing what he wanted to say. ─ I think I might actually like you after all, Tangerine. 

The confession made you blush immediately. And even more when you looked up at him and realized he was watching you all this time. His other hand cupped your cheek again and his facial expression became a bit more serious than before. 

─ I want you to be mine, darlin’. Mine.

─ I’m already yours, silly bastard.

#tangerine #tangerine x reader #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #reader insert #request

[whump-me]

Conquest, Chapter 2: The Exile

Chapter 2 of Conquest, a novel-length fantasy whump story about a timid royal clerk captured by the disgraced prince who needs their help to rule their newly conquered country. This series is best read in order.

Contains: fantasy setting, male whumper, royal whumper, whumper POV, no onscreen whump (we’re doing a slow build here)

---

Kezul

In a land where the earth was bare of snow for more than half the year, Kezul didn’t know how the palace could feel so damnably cold.

There were no fires, for one thing. Of course there were none—they didn’t need it, not at the dawn of summer, when the sun alone graced this land with enough warmth to make Kezul sweat under his fur cloak. But a home without a hearth fire was nothing more than a ruin. A palace without a fire was worse. It was a home without a family, a body without a soul.

A fitting place, then, for one who had no family anymore—or wouldn’t before long, at any rate. And if he had a soul, it was a withered thing, unworthy of the body in which it resided. Or so his father believed.

No, the palace wasn’t cold at all. The halls were stuffy with heat, and summer hadn’t even come into full bloom yet. The cold lived inside him.

The hallways were tall and cavernous, with practically enough room for an entire squadron of Wolves to march side by side. Columns carved in the shape of beautiful but maddeningly modest women held up the high ceilings. Everywhere, light poured in from high windows to throw intricate latticework patterns across the broken mosaic of the floor tiles—as if this place needed more sunlight. No doubt all the windows were half the reason for the sweat dampening his chest.

The tattered ruins of bloodstained tapestries littered the floor, along with the occasional finger or eye or unidentifiable chunk of rotting flesh no one had bothered to clean up. The stink of blood was everywhere, and it was the most pleasant of the smells that filled the palace. Kezul supposed he should be grateful the Wolves had bothered to drag the bodies away.

The empty halls echoed with the distant shouts of Kezul’s Wolves. A soul without a body, indeed—all the souls had vacated this body at once, leaving a hollow husk full of warm but empty light.

Of course, they hadn’t departed without help.

All the shouting made Kezul’s head hurt. The Wolves sounded as if they thought this was their victory. In reality, the blood was long since cold, the stink of it almost unnoticeable on the air. His Wolves could play conquering warriors if they liked, but Kezul wasn’t in the mood to pretend. He hadn’t won this battle, and neither had the Wolves his father had sent here with him—the dregs of his father’s army, no doubt. They hadn’t been sent to Danelor until word had come to his father that the war was won and there were no more enemies left to fight.

One final humiliation.

He turned away from the raucous voices and strode down the cavernous halls without a destination in mind. He found himself at a set of thick wooden doors that stretched from floor to ceiling. Strips of gold worked into the wood formed an intricate design of flowers and vines. Abstract shapes curled and twined between the vines, patterns within patterns. It made Kezul’s eyes hurt. Why had anyone wasted their time on this? Had their monarch had no better use for them?

He pushed open the doors.

If the door had been unnecessarily fussy, this room was worse. Every inch of space, from the floor to the walls to the ceiling that was curved like a fish’s eye, was taken up with intricate mosaics made of pieces of chipped tile no larger than his thumbnail. A circular skylight filled the room with light and heat, exposing the glints of gold worked through the floor mosaic.

The sticky smears of blood across the floor spoiled the effect somewhat. The bloodstains led to the far corner of the room, where they spread up the wall. Although corner was the wrong word for it, since rather than joining at a right angle, the walls there formed a gentle curve that served as a backdrop to the low dais and the wooden throne that sat atop it.

The throne room. His father’s gift to him.

His footsteps echoed hollowly on the tile as he walked to the throne and sat. It felt fragile under him. As fine as the wood was, as intricately as it had been carved, it was plain compared to his father’s massive stone seat at the center of his fortress. It felt no different from sitting on any other chair. It wasn’t as if he could look down on his country from here. All he could see was an empty room.

His country. He let out a sharp bark of a laugh. An empty palace with floors washed in blood. A little nothing country full of poets and artists, all with smooth hands and stone faces and sticks up their asses. And it was all his. Lucky him.

His father never had been a thoughtful gift-giver. Then again, this wasn’t a gift. Nor was it a test, no matter what his father said. A test designed to be failed was no test at all.

Test was a more pleasant word than exile. But changing the name of a thing didn’t change the thing.

It made sense that his exalted father—the Unmaker, the Midnight Scourge, Commander of Wolves—would have chosen this place for him, so carefully tucked away from anything of real importance. His father had claimed it was a test—a way to prove himself and wash away his shame. If he ruled the conquered land with a firm and steady hand, if he turned this worthless patch of dirt into something worthy of his father’s empire, he would be allowed to keep his birthright.

But more than that, it was a way for Vorhullin the Unmaker to hide away his embarrassment of a third son. The son who hadn’t earned himself a title, unlike Gatalh the Victorious who had inherited his father’s strength, or Szorrol the Cunning who possessed his father’s keen mind. All Kezul had earned himself was failure, and a scar that would never allow him to forget it.

He absently rubbed the thick band of scar tissue halfway down his abdomen. Never mind that he had ridden twenty miles with a wound that should have been fatal. Never mind that he had killed the man who had given it to him. No, all that mattered was that a son of the great Unmaker had lost the first and only battle he had commanded—and had shed his exalted blood where others could see. Of course his father needed a place to hide him away after that. Kezul wouldn’t have been surprised if his father had conquered this useless little country solely for that purpose.

He glanced out the window to his right. The patterned metal across the glass, worked into a design that matched the doors, made him think of prison bars. In the distance, a few slim fruit trees swayed in a light breeze. Kezul wished he could feel that breeze against his skin. He wished he was on his horse, riding nowhere in particular, for the pleasure of feeling the sun on his back and the brisk air against his cheeks. They hadn’t even let him ride here; one of his Wolves had handled his horse, while Kezul rode in the damned carriage.

Maybe he would do just that. Maybe he would climb on his horse and never look back. He was, technically, the ruler here—who was going to stop him? He could leave this mess to someone else. Someone stupid enough to think it was an honor to sit on this throne.

All of Kyollen Naskor would tell the story, of course, from here to his father’s fortress. And that story would not paint him in a flattering light. But considering the stories they already told about his failure, what was a reputation for cowardice on top of that? Only the sauce that rounded out the meal.

Footsteps outside of the throne room made him straighten his shoulders. He shifted on the wooden seat, trying to approximate a posture of command.

A team of five Wolves came into view, their faces creasing in relief when they saw him. Their wolf-head hoods were pushed back, their thick fur cloaks unfastened or abandoned entirely. For such a show of disrespect, his father might have tied them to a pole and slowly unspooled their guts for all to see. But apparently no one expected Kezul to be capable of enforcing that sort of discipline.

That made him want to do it, just to prove them wrong. But after the long and tiring ride here, he couldn’t find it in himself to pretend he cared about a few cloaks and hoods. Besides, in this heat, he could hardly blame them.

The Wolves stopped short at the throne room doors, as if waiting for permission to enter. Kezul recognized them now. His father had assigned them as his Fangs, his personal guard, to go along with the rest of this dubious gift. They had looked about as excited about this supposed privilege as he had been at the thought of taking this throne. Now that the Unmaker wasn’t watching, and Kezul was seated on his throne, they no longer showed their contempt on their faces. They had that much respect for him, at least.

He didn’t want to invite them in. Filling the room with slobbering, panting Wolves wouldn’t do anything to lessen the heat. But they were going to stand there until he did something, and he could hardly hide away from his own army forever.

“One of you may enter,” he said. “But only one. Whatever you have to say, I’m sure you don’t need five voices to do it.” He nodded to the man in the center, who had seemed in charge on the journey here. “Gyoras, was it?”

Gyoras walked in. The others stayed put, watching with wary eyes, like dogs waiting to see whether their new master would toss them a scrap of meat or kick them in the ribs. Or maybe waiting for their chance to catch their weak master off guard.

“Close the door behind you,” Kezul ordered Gyoras. Gyoras did. The heavy wooden doors creaked shut, then slammed into place with a bang.

Gyoras dropped to his knees on the bloodstained, head bowed. He laid his notched sword on the floor in front of him with the point toward him, as if he planned to gut himself with it. “I pledge my service to you, Kezul the… er…” He audibly stumbled at the lack of a suitable title. “Kezul the son of the Unmaker. May the blood of your enemies flow like water under your hands.”

Kezul sighed through his teeth. “What is this?”

“Only the respect you are due. You have taken your throne by force and by right, and my life is yours to command.”

“I have taken my throne as a gift from my father’s hand, and we both know it,” Kezul said irritably. “Get up, and get on with what you came here to say.”

Gyoras dared to look up, uncertainty plain in his face. His eyes avoided Kezul’s.

“Yes, I mean it,” Kezul said, motioning him up. “Stand up. How am I supposed to talk to you when all I can see is the sun reflecting off your scalp through your thinning hair?”

Gyoras’s hand went to his head. He lowered it a second later with a slight flush. “The exalted Unmaker would have his Fangs killed if they dared to stand in his presence.”

“Then it’s a wonder they can fight for him at all, with the ruin they must have made of their knees. Get up.” An edge crept into his voice.

The man stood, casting a nervous glance at Kezul’s sword arm as if he thought Kezul might run him through here and now. He still wouldn’t look Kezul in the eye. Well, Kezul supposed there was only so much he could hope for.

“Well?” asked Kezul. “You came here to tell me something. What is it?”

“We lost track of you in the palace,” he said. “We feared perhaps an enemy had survived to take revenge. We were relieved to see that you had only come to claim your throne.”

“You came to tell me you were glad to have found me,” Kezul repeated. There was a saying: Don’t judge the strength of a dog’s loyalty by the size of its brains. Kezul hoped that adage applied here.

“Well, here I am,” Kezul said, spreading his arms and twisting one side of his lips at the corner. “You can rest easy—my father won’t be taking off your head for letting me die on your watch. Not that you have much to fear in that regard anyway, I suspect. I suspect he wouldn’t be too upset if it happened. Who knows—he might give you a promotion.” He let his hand drift toward his weapon, and watched Gyoras’s eyes grow wide with poorly hidden fear. “But don’t take that as license to take matters into your own hands. You won’t like where that ends.”

Gyoras looked seasick. Kezul couldn’t blame him. In the space of a minute, he’d been forbidden from offering the fawning deference he was accustomed to performing in order to keep himself alive. He had been forced to hear the great Unmaker slandered by someone he couldn’t afford to contradict. And he had been obliquely accused of plotting treason. “What are your orders?” he asked faintly.

“Do what you were sent to do, and guard me, I suppose,” Kezul said with a shrug. “But I’d prefer you do it from outside the door. It isn’t as if there are many threats to worry about here, not if my father’s army did their job clearing this place out. Unless, of course, he’s too impatient to wait for me to fail his tests, and slipped an assassin into the ranks.”

For an agonizing moment, Gyoras opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish as he visibly struggled to figure out how to respond. In the end, he made the best possible choice, and ignored the last sentence entirely. “I don’t mean our personal orders,” he said. “I mean your orders for the rest of your warriors. As the leader of your Fangs, I am your weapon, your shield… and your voice. If you wish to contemplate your new position in solitude, tell me how you would like me to direct your Wolves, and it will be done.”

Kezul’s irritation at the man’s presence fell away as he took in the words. He was beginning to see the advantages of having a team of Fangs assigned to him. Perhaps they would serve as more than his father’s spies after all.

If only he knew what orders to give. Surely there were dozens of things that needed attending to. The ruler of a country had to do more than sit on his throne all day contemplating patterns of light on the floor. But he hadn’t been trained to rule. Which was what made it such an effective test—or rather, an effective way for his father to set him up to fail.

His middle brother, who had been almost grown by the time Kezul had been born, had objected to any attempts to train Kezul in leadership. Afraid of turning the two-way struggle to succeed his father into a three-way struggle, perhaps. His father hadn’t objected, because keeping Szorrol happy gained him more than training a third heir would have. He had two sons well-suited for leadership already. He didn’t need a third fighting for scraps and making things messy.

So instead, he had decided Kezul would take the role of a great military hero, a living example of Naskori strength and military prowess. A fine destiny for any child—as long as the child had a gift for such things. Kezul, unfortunately for both his father and himself, did not.

His early skill at combat obscured the unfortunate truths that he didn’t have a head for military strategy, and that having an army hanging on his orders made his wits fly right out of his head. But his father had tried. Once Vorhullin the Unmaker had made up his mind, there was no changing it. He had squeezed Kezul into his intended role until something broke—that something being Kezul and the Wolves under his command.

“This is my country now,” Kezul said, too emphatically, “and I’d like it to feel like one. Finish cleaning this place up. Light some fires.” He scowled at the thought of more heat in this already stifling place. “No, forget the fires. But make this place feel like more than an empty ruin. I don’t care how.”

Gyoras drew back, curling his lip. “You want me to order your Wolves to clean?”

“Would you rather live in blood and filth?”

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Gyoras showed some sign of developing a backbone. “Wolves do not clean. That kind of work is for slaves and prisoners.”

“Well, find some, then. We’ve just conquered an entire country, haven’t we? There should be no shortage. Make the people who lived here clean it up. They’re the ones who built it to be so big and drafty, with all those cursed tapestries hanging all over the place.”

“They’re dead,” Gyoras said, as if surprised Kezul might think otherwise.

“What, all of them? My father’s army didn’t take any prisoners?”

“Prisoners with a reason to resent you are liable to stick a knife in your back at the first opportunity.” Gyoras’s tone said Kezul should already have known this.

“Then don’t give your prisoners knives.”

“Would you like me to send a few of your Wolves out to gather slaves for you?” Gyoras offered. “A few hours’ ride should bring them to a town that has some survivors left.”

“My father’s army does like to be thorough, don’t they?” Kezul muttered. “No, we can work it out later.” Had it been his father’s intention to humiliate himself further by making him, the son of the Unmaker, concern himself with how to clean his new palace? It would have been petty to expressly forbid the taking of prisoners purely to stick Kezul with the job, but Kezul wouldn’t have put it past him. Or maybe the idea had come from one of his brothers. That was even more believable.

He cast another longing look out the window, and wondered how soon he could make his excuses and saddle his horse.

No. He set his jaw. His father intended him to fail this test. That meant Kezul had the chance to spite the old demon. And for that reason alone, he intended to win. He would bring this miserable country to heel if it killed him.

“Cleaning can wait,” he said, straightening on his throne. “Your first priority is to find me people who understand Danelor’s political situation.”

Gyoras’s thick eyebrows creased. “Its political situation is that we’ve conquered it.”

“I know that,” Kezul said impatiently. “I mean its history. Its trade partners. What it produces. Its people’s strengths and weaknesses.”

Gyoras let out a low chuckle. “They won’t be producing much of anything after what we did to their farms.”

Kezul didn’t return the laugh. Gyoras’s mirth trailed off into nothing. He lowered his eyes to his feet and gave a vaguely apologetic grunt.

“I want that information,” Kezul said, in the best imitation of his father he could manage. It was not a good imitation. His father’s voice was a force of nature, a roll of thunder over mountains. Kezul suspected his own voice just then was more like a hiccup in the clouds after the storm had passed.

Nonetheless, his anger must have been plain, because Gyoras flung himself to the floor again.

“I offer my deepest regrets,” he said, his voice muffled by his posture and the way he insisted on addressing the floor instead of Kezul, “but I wouldn’t know where to begin to find that information. Neither would the rest of your Wolves, I suspect. None of them were chosen because they have a head for politics.”

“Get up,” Kezul ordered. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

With clear reluctance, Gyoras got to his feet. He kept his eyes stubbornly lowered. “We will prepare you a lavish feast to celebrate your conquest,” he said in a conciliatory tone.

So cleaning was unthinkably demeaning for Wolves, but cooking was not. Were these the finer points of leadership that Szorrol had blocked him from learning? If so, maybe he was better off. He could think of many more valuable things to store in those portions of his mind.

Like, for example, the political situation of Danelor.

“A feast,” he repeated flatly. “Didn’t you just say you burned the farms?”

“You can’t begin your rule on an empty stomach.”

“Better to begin on one than to end on one. Forget the feast. I’ll eat like a soldier in the field. If anyone objects, I’ll remind them why it’s not wise to question the orders of the son of the Unmaker.”

“Maybe you’d like to visit the dungeons,” Gyoras offered. “You might find a suitable target for your anger there.” A target other than me, his tone pleaded.

Kezul blinked. “I thought you said there were no prisoners.”

“Only one,” said Gyoras, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’s not fit to scrub our floors. The only thing that one is fit for is the death one would give an animal. When your father’s army invaded his palace, he didn’t fight to defend his home. He hid.” Gyoras spat on the floor at his feet.

“We can hardly afford to be choosy,” Kezul pointed out. “At this point, I would hitch a mop to a goat if it meant getting this place clean. Put him to work. The Wolves can have their fun with him after—”

He stopped.

“A prisoner from the palace,” he said slowly. “What did he do in the palace, exactly?”

---

Tagged: @suspicious-whumping-egg @halloiambored @whump-in-the-closet @whump-cravings @gala1981 @sunshiline-writes

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#whump #whump writing #whump story #whump novel #my writing #my writing: Conquest #fantasy whump #royal whump

[saturrnss]

YOUNG, DUMB, AND RICH (chapter 1)

Shuri x poc!fem!royalty!reader

(please repost)

Summary: It's 1625, Your from the powerful nation of Avalon (ave-a-lawn). Your nation made an alliance with the nation of wakanda, you and one of your brothers need to marry somebody within the wakandan royal court to solidify the alliance, most people think that you will get with prince t’challa, but somebody else keeps your eye

The aesthetic of avalon:

(Basically Marie Antoinette by Sofia Coppola mixed with a bunch of irl p.o.c tribes)

Warnings: swearing, drug use, worrying for a little bit, corny writing

a/n: I was working on my royal dr script and watching that movie and I got an idea, if you see historical inaccuracies, no you don't!

Avalon is 100 percent a poc nation. no white people, no race wars or diaspora fights, just peace between the different people.

.

.

you wake up to the light tapping of one of your servants. "Princess y/n, the queen would like you to join thee rest of the family in breakfast please" "5 more mintues" of say grouchy, putting a pillow over your face

"I don't really think the queen would accept that answer, princess y/n" "but i want to sleeeeep" you groan as you lazily get out of bed. More servants come into the room to help you with your daily routine

Taking a bath, brushing your teeth, doing your hair, over dressing because you can. they assist you down to the dining hall, you could smell the food from a mile away. when you finally get there all you see is the most Delicious, mouth watering, heart bursting food you've ever seen (it was like this every morning but it was always something new)

your mother, Queen Felix- sitting there stone faced, lost in her own thought. and your 2 annoying brothers, prince mali and power were already half-way done with it (mostly your brothers inhaling their food and surprisingly not choking).

All of them were there except your Buba, King Amari. The last time you saw he was going on a trip but he didn't tell you where, you pestered him about it but he was being stubborn, telling you to wait till he gets back to see where he had gone

You sit down on your designated seat with a plate of already prepared food, it has a little coolness to it but that hasn't stopped you before. There was a band of live music playing for entertainment In the back of you all,

It was vibrant, something to wake you up in the morning. Your younger brother Mali tried to steal a bit of your food but you fought him for it back. "Give it back to me it's mine!" "It's literally just food I'll get you more!" Mali says.

You start to pull on his lips as he pulls on your hair which made you even more angry. "Come on now break it up" Power says slightly irritated

and when the both of you don't listen to him, he tries to pull the both of you apart, the people playing the live music look concerned to say the least, Felix tried to ignore it at first, hoping that it wouldn't go further but eventually she just snapped.

"ENOUGH" all you immediately quiet down and quickly look at your mother. she didn't get mad often but when she did--- oh dear.

"We have people who took time out of their day to come here and entertain us, I ask you one simple thing, TO BEHAVE, and YOU CAN'T EVEN DO THAT!?! GO TO YOUR ROOM AND COME BACK AND YOU CAN ACT LIKE YOU WEREN'T RAISED IN A BARN" all of you can't even look at your mother without overwhelming shame

"UNDERSTOOD?" "understood" you all say simultaneously and scurry to your bedroom. on your way back, mali flicks your ear "butthead" "fartface" you say back "don't. even. start you two" power says as he gets to his room and slams the door.

When you get too your room and belly-flop on your bed, you feel angry that you're the one that got in trouble when it should have been only mali, but you also why your mother was a little more harsher that usual.

Your dad had been gone for almost a month and she had to take care of all the political and social issues that were happening, we've only gotten two letters from him, we don't even know if he's still alive of not.

You hear something outside your window, you ignore it at first. you hear it again, and again. you go to your window to see that your two best friends Jennie and Maddy were outside, throwing rocks outside the window.

You open the window to a light spring breeze filling your room, "I thought the both of you were in India what are you doing here?!' you said quietly so no one would hear you. "catch!" Jennie says throwing you a bag a white powder, and a box of cupcakes, you almost drop it on the ground but by grace, it falls into your room

"Help us get up!" Maddy whisper yells. You run to get your unusually long ladder from one of your walk in closets and chuck it out the window for them to get in. First was Maddy and then Jennie, Jennie flops on a one that one random couch on the side, Maddy sits on your bed.

"y'all body guards are scary as hell" She says

"What's this?" you say looking at the strange green stuff. "I got It in western China, This is the most I could get cuz my parents would flip the fuck out if they ever saw." She walks over and takes the bag. "We still got enough to share." she says while smiling.

She walks over to your vanity your grandmother gifted you, and empties the bag. "do you have a cigar wrap?" "I have some" Jennie brings some out of her dress pocket, tosses them to maddy and she rolls up 3 individual blunts for each of you.

"You took one, still a little bit weary because you have never tried it before. "Any side effects?" "Don't know" You took one, still a little bit weary because you have never tried it before. "Any side effects?" "Don't know, guy just said that it would "relax you" or some shit like that" She lit a match and lit her's up

Lit two more matches up and lit you and Jennie's. 20 minutes later it felt like you were in a whole different world. a pleasant sense of relaxation and euphoria over took your body, all you 3 could do was just sit and talk about whatever came to you.

"You know what we should do?" you said to both of them. "what?" Jennie said. "We should go horseback riding" you said. "Do dragons exist??" said Maddy. You hear a knock on your door, turns out that knock is your mothers. "y/n?" you all sit up.

"what was that?" Jennie said as she tries to listen again

"can you open the door for me??" you all get up and both of them look for somewhere to hide. "are there people there?!" "NO MOM I JUST NEED A MINUTE" you open one of your closet doors and signal them to get in.

You run to the door and open it like nothing happened. "Yes mommy?" she looks you up and down to find something wrong but she can't seem to find anything. "I've been thinking, and I decided that you are lifted from punishment, you better not act like that again." "I'm sorry mom."

That was the best thing about your mom, When you actually wronged her you WRONGED her, but she doesn't really hold grudges or punishments for that long

she comes in for a quick hug but gets an overwhelming smell of weed instead "What's that smell?"

"Uhhhh...." you look around for any ideas. "my Cinnamon candle!" you say enthusiastically. "Cinnamon...Candle...?" "Yeah! I got it from....england!" you nod your head while closing your eyes, trying to convince yourself that that's a good alibi. "well if it was just a candle you wouldn't mind me going into the room-"

"Na!" you put your hand firmly at the room door. "I-I. Have an awfully dirty room You would trip." She stops trying to get into the door and takes a good long look at you.

"Why are your eyes red?" She says with suspicion. "I was sleeping until you got here" "sleeping....." she slowly turns around and walks away all while looking at you.

A big sigh of relief escapes your mouth as you close and slide down the door. "Can we come out now??" Jennie says quietly "yeah" they both come out and spray the room with a random perfume they found.

"We should do this more often"

maddy says with an ignorant smile as you look at her with bewilderment.

A/N: I have to write chapter 2 and 3 now 😖 I'm gonna make a wattpad so i could put my stories there too.

#marvel #shuri x fem!reader #shuri x you #shuri #princess shuri #shuri headcanons #black panther 2 #poc!reader #royality #shuri udaku #shuri imagine #black panther #bpwf #black panther wakanda forever #princess!reader #Spotify

[iincantatorum]

The Royal Palace of Atlantis, Apollymi's Childhood Home

The palace was characterized by its ethereal, luminescent design, featuring a harmonious blend of traditional Atlantean motifs and cutting-edge technology. The structure itself was built using a combination of shimmering crystals, translucent materials, and iridescent metals, creating a mesmerizing play of light and color. The palace seemed to emanate a gentle glow, illuminating the surrounding underwater environment.

The entrance to the palace was marked by grand arches adorned with intricate carvings depicting historical events and mythical creatures. As one passed through the entrance, they would enter a sprawling courtyard, lush with vibrant aquatic flora and adorned with elegant water features that added to the serene ambiance.

The interior of the palace was a testament to Atlantean craftsmanship and artistic expression. Vast halls and corridors featured soaring ceilings supported by ornate columns, intricately carved with symbolic motifs representing the elements, celestial bodies, and the history of Atlantis. The walls were adorned with vibrant murals and mosaics depicting scenes from Atlantean mythology and the city's rich history.

Apollymi's living quarters within the palace would have been a blend of comfort, opulence, and functionality. Her chambers would have been spacious and adorned with elegant Atlantean furnishings crafted from rare and exquisite materials. The walls might have been decorated with tapestries and artwork, showcasing the beauty of Atlantis and its cultural heritage.

One of the central features of the palace would be a grand audience hall, where official royal ceremonies and gatherings took place. This hall would have been adorned with majestic thrones, symbolizing the authority and lineage of the royal family. The room would have been designed to accommodate large gatherings, with intricate lighting arrangements that created an enchanting atmosphere.

Surrounding the palace, there were sprawling gardens and courtyards, incorporating aquatic plants, cascading waterfalls, and serene ponds. These outdoor spaces provided a tranquil retreat for contemplation and leisure, reflecting the harmony between nature and the Atlantean civilization.

The palace also housed advanced technological systems that catered to the needs of its inhabitants. Water currents and air circulation were carefully regulated, ensuring a comfortable and sustainable living environment. Subtle lighting systems were integrated throughout the palace, creating an otherworldly ambiance that enhanced the beauty of the surroundings.

#apollymi; headcanon

[alsosprachvelociraptor]

IMPERFECT CREATURES

The kingdom of Larnion, located north of the continent, is famous for being inhabited by elves: creatures of beauty and elegance, with extraordinary abilities, nobility of spirit and pure magic flowing through their veins. And yet, not all elves are perfect. Marquis Timothy Burch of BlackLake carries a generations-long curse, a deformed and weak body and occult magic, and lives a lonely but peaceful life- until an encounter with a bard with a hunched back and pale, misaligned irises turns his entire life upside down - for better or worse, not even Tim knows.

South Park - Stick of Truth AU + Post Covid. The designs will be inspired by SoT, but with the adult PC version. Contains violence and Jimmy's unfunny jokes. Exercise caution.

*

CHAPTER ONE

The orchestra played merrily as human servants darted here and there around the great throne hall of the Royal Castle of Larnion, voices in every elvish dialect of the realm overlapping melodiously like a choir to the music.

It was, that day, the one hundred and twenty-fifth birthday of Prince Roland of Larnion, King Kyle's son, who now sat proudly at his father's side instead of under the throne platform, where his younger sister still sat in her little girl's chair. 

Roland was similar to his father Kyle. Red, curly hair and large golden eyes were a sign of the highest elven nobility, though his curls were softer and longer than his father’s, his eyes larger, his face sprinkled with freckles. He still had to mature that nobility of spirit which, on the other hand, the man at his side unleashed with ease.

King Kyle was a tall, lanky elf with a strong physique and broad shoulders, his short, curly hair of a brilliant fiery red clasped in his usual heavy crown of woven golden branches, a short, elegant beard on his sharp face and his eyes as bright and golden as heliodor gems. Majestic and almost divine, wrapped in his long blood-red robe, Prince Roland paled beside him, but that was normal. Even Kyle, as a young elf, had looked like a lost child beside his father.

The blond Donnely, an earl from the capital province who often stayed at the castle, bowed before the throne, clutching a large gem in his hands. His family, the Donnelys, were owners of a mine taken from the orcs several centuries earlier.

"Donnely gave the prince a jewel, of course," sniggered Douglas Petuski, an elven knight with ash-coloured hair and amber eyes, a vivid orange typical of woodland elves, the ethnic group to which he belonged. Even though he was elegantly dressed, the stench of the wild had stuck to him, and would not slip away from his mud-coloured skin- not that he paid attention to it.

The four elves stood in the furthest corner of the room, in an area where they could talk freely without disturbing the tedious ceremony of welcoming the young heir into adulthood, squeezed into a corner near a black-veined marble fountain in the shape of a cornucopia.

"And what did you bring instead? A dog poo and a couple of sticks?" muttered the tall elf by his side, dressed in purple like the colour of his always slightly sad-looking eyes, and with long midnight-blue hair framing his pale face. The drow and the coppery-haired elf at his side let out a light chuckle, under Petuski's displeased gaze.

"A book and horses are a better gift, perhaps?" retorted Petuski, now almost offended. "Can you perhaps build a house, or build a fire with those?"

The drow, short and stocky, glared at him, her eyes red and evil. "This is no ordinary book. Dark magic of the dark realm, something you surely cannot understand, half-animal."

Petuski made to draw the sword hanging at his hip, and the drow swiped her obsidian-coloured fingers over the magic pendant hanging from her neck, but the strangled cry of the beast at the side of the last elf, who had not yet spoken and usually did not speak at all, silenced them both.

The beast, a cockatrice with blind eyes and a muzzle on its beak, rasped a kind of bellow and stomped on the ground a couple of times with its clawed, deformed paws, before returning to its owner, slipping between his heavy metal stick and his legs.

The elf, with short coppery hair on a head that was strangely large and unshapely for his race, and his very long ears pointing down rather than up, bent to stroke the sparse feathers of his cockatrice.

"Only a madman like Burch would bring a cockatrice to the king's court," Petuski replied, with a smile on his lips now.

Timothy Burch stood up straight, towering over the group of elves with whom he was waiting his turn, smiling at the deformed beast between his legs. "I never leave Gobbles alone," he muttered, slurring the words between his large, pointed teeth, something else he shared with no elf, not even the carnivorous drow at his side.

An embarrassed silence fell over the four, and when the king pronounced Lord Jason White's name, the tall, purple-robed elf with long strides walked towards the throne, showing the king and heir, with his merchant's charm, the splendid swords of dwarven forge he intended to gift to the young prince, whose golden eyes gleamed with the desire to wield those weapons and challenge some dummies in the king's private garden.

Then, the turn to show presents to the spoiled son of the king passed for lord Jason, and it was the turn of the next nobleman to delight the heir with gifts he would never use.

"Sir Timothy Burch, Marquis of BlackLake."

King Kyle's voice was crystal clear, and uncompromising. He wasn't going to wait for Gobbles' tantrums, or the marquis' slowed limp, and so Tim braced himself and walked briskly towards the throne, the cane ticking noisily by his side tapping repeatedly against the beautiful marble that made up the floors of the throne room.

He motioned to his servants, who were watching the proceedings from the door leading to the outer garden of the palace, to bring the horse inside while he tugged Gobbles, who was limping behind him.

Arriving in front of the throne, he lowered his head and bent over as much as he could, pressing hard on the stick and praying to the Gods that it would not slip on the smoothly polished floor. The metal tip of the stick moved, but almost immediately caught in a crack between two tiles, and Timothy felt his own heart skip a beat.

"Sire. Prince Roland, I offer you my warmest wishes."

When he looked up, he met Prince Roland's golden eyes, wide open in an emotion akin to fear. His perfect face was contracted into a grimace of horror, anguish, disgust. He did not respond to Timothy's wishes, and the copper-haired elf knew well why.

It was not the first time he had been treated like that, and it certainly would not be the last.

Elves were renowned for their beauty and elegance, perfect beings in such a dirty world, glints of pristine excellence - but Tim was not like that.

He was a deformed elf, sick and weak, who dared to present himself before the king of those creatures considered superior to every other race on the continent. With his deformed head and ears pointing downwards, long, misshapen legs that lacked the strength to keep him upright, and sparse copper hair on his sickly alabaster skin, Timothy Burch, the Marquis of BlackLake, was not someone looked upon favourably. The younger elves, like Roland and like his sister and like the other children who were present at that party, ran and hid and looked away when he passed by.

But his territories, a border march on a lake full of untamable creatures, were in the primary needs of the kingdom of Larnion, and King Kyle knew it well.

"Say thank you, Roland. Don't you dare disrespect the marquis." Kyle growled in a tone of voice as sharp as the blades the prince held in his hands, and perhaps that hurt even more. Roland nodded, looked away and kept his gaze down. "Excuse me. Thank you, Marquis Burch."

With a twinge of irritation in his soul, Timothy thought that if the boy was behaving in that way,  he really  wasn’t as mature as the evening’s ceremony supposedly suggested. He kept the thought to himself, however, because if there was one thing Tim was truly extraordinary at, it was keeping quiet.

With a snap of his fingers towards his servants, Timothy instead said something else; that little speech he had rehearsed for the occasion.

"For Prince Roland, who will surely be as magnificent a king as his father is, I thought of the best steed."

Accompanied by two servants, a proud and mighty unicorn marched behind Timothy, his frightened cockatrice between his legs as the unicorn trotted along, so weightless that its hooves did not seem to touch the ground.

Roland rose to his feet with such vigour that he almost dropped the swords and jewels he held in his lap. "A unicorn, father!!!" he shouted with his voice full of emotion as never before that evening, as Timothy felt the hate-filled stares of the other elven nobles on his back.

The table was set and the food plentiful, but not excessively so. King Kyle was known not to overindulge in anything, and was renowned indeed for his skill in economy, aided by his genial cousin of the same name, Lord Kyle of the Windy Hills, who sat next to him at that moment. Lord Kyle had a notebook in his hands, and dark ringlets fell over his face, which appeared bluish-hued with how pale he was. Timothy was not close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two royals, but a few words still reached his long ears, including bard, and bad idea.

There had never been a bard at any party hosted by King Kyle, as far as he could remember. Timothy's ears twitched on their own, trying to pick up those words from tables away, as only he could - his condition was not only physical, but also magical, and this was little known in the elven community. Using his abnormal abilities among others was not a good idea, but Timothy did it anyway. He was usually skilled enough to be able to hide what he was doing.

Silence fell over the room all of a sudden like a curtain of smoke, and Timothy felt his blood run cold in his veins. 

Were they watching him? Had they noticed his deformities, or his crooked-born cockatrice Gobbles, both of which all the elves he had known had remarked on so many times? Maybe they had caught him spying on the king with his cursed, secret magic?

Looking around, no, he realised that the attention was not on him, but on someone else.

Dragging his stocky, heavy legs behind him, came limping an elf of peculiar colours.

"Is it a drow?" Jason hissed to the elf seated next to him, whose golden ringlets tumbled over her long robe of red brocade. The warrior elf, Bebe, stood gazing in horror at the figure who was slowly walking down the hall, the same look all the elves wore in that moment, after all.

"No!" whispered Henrietta, the drow. “There are no malformed drow, perfection is in our nature! That thing is not one of us! What if it's a silver elf like you, instead?"

Jason hid a grimace of disgust only because he felt Timothy's neutral - but not quite so, really- gaze upon him.

The skin of the elf who was dangling in front of the royal table was not the pearly skin of silver elves, nor the sun-kissed skin of golden elves, nor the obsidian skin of drow. It was grey, like thunderclouds, and his hair was lead-coloured mottled with white - a disgrace to the elves - and his stocky body was bent in a way that was difficult for the eye to bear, for a creature that should have been synonymous with elegance. His spine curved in on itself, so that his head was nestled between his broad shoulders. His face was ungainly and his ears, which were long and curved with the tip bending down, were studded with different kinds of earrings. 

"I o-offer my greetings to the king of thi-this beautiful land, very much." stammered the elf in an overconfident voice, miming a bow as deep as the crutches that held him up would allow. Removing his right hand from the handleof the crutch that was secured under his strong arm, he grasped the neck of a large lute which was slung over his shoulders. "I am the b-best b-bard in Larnion, my name is Jimmy. Today is a happy day for the ki-kingdom, is it not? I have heard that the heir has reached maturity!"

King Kyle gave a tense smile to his host bard. "Yes, noble James. I called you because my son Roland loves songs. Don't you, Roland?" his father urged him, but the boy instead reserved for him the same look of terror he had given Timothy moments before.

Disgust.

Timothy felt his face boil with anger, but he restrained himself. Living amongst the other nobles, who were all obsessed with the perfect genetics of their race, was so unnerving. He hardly ever left his domains for that exact reason, and his parents had lived a life of seclusion for that exact reason, too.

"Is there any s-song you want to hear, my prince?" the bard asked. Roland kept quiet. At his side, the little princess Ethel sank her face into her arms and burst into a loud cry, which increased the muttering among the nobles. King Kyle's golden eyes widened as he passed his gaze over his sons, then his cousin, and finally to his trusted elf guard behind him, Ser Stanley of the Marshlands, who gaped for a split second before acting. "Er... er what about... starting with the classic stuff? Eh, Roland, do you want to hear some jokes?" the elf warrior, strong of body and quick of intellect, who often and willingly helped his beloved king on difficult occasions like those, urged him.

Roland nodded, lowering his head as the princess was escorted out by her nanny.

"Wow, what a great audience!" chuckled the bard to himself, before leaning on his crutches with his broad arms and forking his lute like a weapon. "No shame, my king, it happens often. Children run away at my arrival, and adults laugh. I usually p-prefer the latter, and that is what I want from you all today! A smile on my audience's lips is sweeter th-than wine on my tongue. Well, certainly sweeter than this wine you offer, my liege. S-somebody spent a little short on these supplies, eh?"

King Kyle turned to Lord Kyle, who had blushed to the tips of his ears, while the king laughed heartily. The other lords also followed him in a general giggle. Timothy remained upright and tense in his chair, with no sign of hilarity on his face.

The crippled elf began to play light accompanying notes on his lute, while he continued joking.

"Wow, what a great audience. The n-nobles drive me crazy, I love them. N-not just because their palaces are a delight to wander around in and be ho-hosted! All their secrets and shady dealings... do you know anything about that, ser, you behind the King, wa-wa-waa-gging your tail like a faithful lapdog?" he turned to Stan of the Marshes, who took a step back as the crowd erupted in laughter. Eventually a smile came to his lips tanned by the strong Larnion sun, as King Kyle clasped his red face between his hands.

"Ah, nothing like being back among the elves." cheered the bard, Jimmy, launching into a lute solo as he continued to speak. "You can't imagine the chaos in Kupa Keep. I-I've just been there. I had to wash myself three times in a row to get the stench of humans off me, and the foul v-voice of their Grand Wizard out of my ears!"

There was another loud roar of laughter all around, so loud that Gobbles squirmed between Timothy's legs, his head barely able to stay up to find Timothy's hand under the table. Tim stroked the long crooked neck, eagerly awaiting the moment when he could return to the room he had been assigned in the King's huge palace.

The bard pretended to sniff the air, then turned his gaze in the direction of Timothy's table, his eyes- the irises almost white, the black pupils pointing in opposite directions- searching for more victims. "Ah, that's where the st- the stench came from. The wild elf who doesn't wash, what an ah-ugly stereotype that isn't so much a stereotype this time, eh?"

Petuski spat out the wine he was drinking, while at his side Henrietta the drow matriarch burst into hysterical laughter.

"Ah, the stench is also of bad wine. Very ba-bad mix for a noble's nostrils. Only a drow would d-dare to be around you,” the bard continued, approaching the table limply. Even Petuski eventually burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, Timothy looked up from Gobbles and at the bard, only to find his eyes on him.

Oh no. Oh no, no no.

"I didn't kn-now even malformed elves could sit at the nobles' table," he said loudly, and everyone turned their eyes towards Timothy, his face growing red and hot and his fists clenching under the tablecloth. He ignored the bard, turning his gaze elsewhere.

He felt the weight of the grey elf on the table, directly in front of him. "Oh, were you offended? But no, g-ginger, I didn't mean to offend you. Can we be two crippled friends? We can s-swap crutches and all that stuff!"

Jason pressed both hands to his lips so that he wouldn't burst out laughing at Tim's side, who instead felt the back of his neck freeze and his forehead burn with rage.

He stood abruptly and, clutching the golden handle of his cane in one hand and Gobbles' leash in the other, moved away from the table. "My heartfelt apologies my King, I must go," growled Timothy through gritted teeth, without turning around.

There was a clatter of metal on the marble floor, faster than he thought possible- or perhaps Tim's movements were simply too slow- the bard stood before him, a crooked, wicked smile on his thin greyish lips.

"Hothead, are we? I mean, come on, I didn't mean to upset you! You're cu-cute, I like you. Why don't we d-do a performance together, you and me?"

The bard, Jimmy, smiled sincerely as he did not let Timothy, who was desperate to get out of the room, pass. He felt the eyes of every elf on his back, studying him - watching those two only vaguely elven-looking beasts bicker, two freaks, less than sentient beings at their mercy.

"I p-promise you will like it. Maybe one day people will like you as much as they like me! Maybe. Maybe with a silly little hat on that b-big head..."

At the sound of the nobles' laughter behind him, and the sight of the satisfied smile of that damn freak in front of him, Timothy felt something in him snap.

He let go of the cockatrice's leash.

Fast as ever, strong and full of rage and hatred, he threw a fist into the bard's face, feeling the man's lip split under his knuckles, his teeth breaking flesh and blood bursting forth.

All the bard could do was shut his eyes, almost falling backwards with the force of the punch, his lute falling to the marble floor with an empty wooden thud and a cacophony of snapping strings. Timothy hit him again - in the face, on one eye, on the temple, until the bard fell to the ground. Still Tim hadn’t had enough, and kicked him again once, maybe twice.

When he realised that the laughter had faded and silence had fallen on the room, Timothy's mind cleared enough for him to grasp the rope that served as a leash to Gobbles from beside the elf on the ground, and to yank the cockatrice out of the hall with long strides, and towards his room.

The only sound throughout the entire castle was his heavy, angry breath.

CHAPTER TWO

Timothy's room was, fortunately, located in one of the most isolated wings of the royal castle, where no one could bother him.

Sitting alone on the large double bed, Tim gazed at the excoriated and bloody knuckles of his right hand.

He had never been a violent man. Violence suited neither his meek and reserved nature nor the race to which he belonged, yet he had just beaten the hell out of that malformed elf without a second thought.

The blood on his hand was both his and the bard's, and it was plain to see. Timothy's was a bright and brilliant red, while the bard's was dark and thicker, sticky against his white skin. Their blood mixed in almost psychedelic ways as it flowed over his knuckles, which had been cut open by the bard's teeth. He watched, transfixed, instead of medicating himself, heedless of a few drops ending up on the dusty rug.

He clenched his fist.

No one had ever dared to address him in that tone, using those words. The other elves certainly had those thoughts, but no one dared to express them in words, let alone address them to his face.

But no, that damn bard, all crooked and limp, had found the courage to express them, and laugh at him, and look at him defiantly.

Timothy was not a violent man, but neither was he someone who would be so easily pushed around.

Served him right, Timothy thought then, waking up from the numbness he had collapsed into after reaching his temporary room, and jumping to his feet, causing Gobbles to flinch in the corner of the room where he had been sleeping on a pile of old blankets. He didn't quite know how Gobbles perceived the world, with his completely white, harmless eyes, which Tim assumed were blind. Maybe they really weren't, and Tim didn't care - Gobbles was his lifelong companion, blind or sighted.

Advancing without a cane, his heavy, unsteady legs moving awkwardly and his feet dragging on the floor, he lay down beside his animal and stroked the sparse but soft feathers between his twisted, useless wings.

"It's ok, Gobbles," he whispered softly.

His only regret about that angry outburst was having done it in front of Gobbles, a meek and mild creature who had never seen his master in that mood. Timothy hoped he hadn't really seen it.

"Can you forgive me?"

The cockatrice's serpentine tail wrapped around his leg as its birdlike beak gently tapped and nibbled at his fingers. Yes, Gobbles was a gentle and docile creature, incapable of feeling anger or hatred or embarrassment, unlike Timothy.

The feathers on Gobbles' neck puffed up all of a sudden, and a few moments later there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Tim froze on the spot, regretting not having brought his cane with him. It was a few metres away, leaning against the bed, but he was closer to the door than to the bed.

Whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again.

"Who is it?" Timmy asked, hoping for an answer, but no reply came to his rescue. Typical among nobles.

What if it was an ambassador of the king, recalling his horrible behaviour of a few hours earlier? Maybe it was Stan of the Marshes, ready to drag him by the arm to bow before the king and apologise for his amoral conduct in front of the whole court.

Feeling as though he was swallowing a boulder, Timothy stood up on his frail legs, and in a few short strides leaned against the door, removed the pin that held it shut, and turned the handle.

He had to lower his gaze at least half a metre to look into the elf's unnaturally pale eyes, with their pitch-black pupils in the middle of ice-coloured irises, one of them seeming to float in the blood-red sclera which was squeezed between swollen purple eyelids.

"Can we talk?" the bard said, a big smile on his bloody, broken lips.

Wow, Tim had really beaten him up. In addition to his disgustingly swollen eye and split lips, his cheekbone was bruised, and dried blood and dust in the shape of Timmy’s boots marked his tight, yellow hose. One of the crutches, little more than crudely inlaid branches held together by ragged metal pieces that split in two under his armpits, looked as if it would break in half at any moment.

"No." replied Timothy, trying to slam the door shut, only to find one of the bard's crutches stopping the door from closing.

"I mean come on, you owe me after wha-what you did to me. Look at m-me now! P-pretty p-please, Tim-Tim?"

"Don't call me that. I'm a marquis." hissed Timothy, glaring at the grey elf in front of - and below - him. He knew what he was doing, Tim was no fool. He wanted to play on Tim’s guilt, he wanted to try to manipulate him. Oh, by the gods, how stupid this bloody cripple was.

Timothy would have liked to slam the door in his face, right in his crooked mug, but perhaps beating him up again was not the best thing for his already poor reputation at King Kyle's court.

He opened the door to make sure no one was passing by, pushing the bard aside. No, no one was walking through these corridors. As far as he knew, the rooms adjacent to his were empty, because no one wanted to stay in that gloomy wing of the castle - no one wanted to stay near the marquis whose deformed body carried such a heavy curse, was the truth.

"Did anyone see you on your way here?" asked Timothy, but the other elf had already passed him, walking limply into the room.

"Why? Are you ashamed of me?"

"Yes."

"You are a b-big meanie, Tim-Tim!" chuckled the bard - Jimmy was his name if he remembered correctly - dropping the large pouch he carried on his shoulders to the ground. It must have contained at least the lute and the green cloak, since he currently wore neither. Timothy closed the door, pushed the metal hinge into the wood so that it could not be opened from the outside, and leaned against it as he studied the slow, trembling movements of the bard who had infiltrated his personal chamber.

If he wanted an apology, he would get it. It wouldn't be sincere, but Tim wasn't the type to carry on such pointless squabbles. He approached him and took a breath, ready to express his most insincere apology.

The bard, on the other hand, had other ideas. As soon as Timothy drew near, Jimmy’s big fist crashed into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. The bard rested his other hand on Tim’s arm as he threw another punch at Tim's stomach, and then another until the taller elf fell to the ground, and then he was on him again.

Tim tried to resume breathing, the shock of the blows seeming to have closed off his lungs, but the bard's weight on his body prevented him from doing so. Jimmy forced a large forearm under Tim's chin, putting pressure on his throat.

There was primal and uncontrolled anger in his pale, disturbing eyes. "You made a f-f-fool out of me in front of the king, m-motherfucker.” snarled Jimmy, like a wild beast with blood between his crooked teeth and his grey face livid with fury and bruises.

Tim panicked. He had never been in a fight in his life. No one had ever dared to lay a hand on the scrawny, deformed elf. What was he supposed to do now? Was he going to die like this?

He brought his hands to the bard's face, pushing his fingers into his eyes, lips, nose, everywhere. He pressed on the open wounds and heard the other cry out as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Jimmy bit his fingers; Timmy felt teeth sink deep into his bones, but pressed his thumb against Jimmy’s swollen eye until he felt the heavier elf roll off him, the air rushing back into his tired lungs.

Tim couldn't allow the bard to resume his  attack, so he pounced, grabbing Jim by the hair and slamming his head repeatedly against the floor, which fortunately-for the bard- was covered by a dusty old rug. Jim screamed, his stubby legs flailing as Timothy sat on his pelvis in an attempt to block his every movement. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the bard's strength, who with a violent thrust of his hips knocked Tim off balance, throwing him to the ground at his side.

From that moment on, chaos ensued. He heard the bard shouting insults, and his own voice shouting obscenities in turn with little control. The two of them rolled on the rug in a riot of hands, fists, slaps and scratches, banging shoulders and backs and knees against furniture, cupboards and walls, shoving elbows into stomachs and fingers into eyes, giving painful headbutts forehead to forehead in a frenzy of sweat and blood and saliva and noise and screams and pain.

When Tim found himself with his back against the brick wall and one of the bard's hands in his hair, he surfaced enough from the fog of rage and heat of the fight to realise that this brawl was going nowhere. Why were they fighting?

"Stop it! STOP!" growled Timothy in a tone that was more animalistic than noble elf, slamming a hand into the face of the other elf, who this time did not bite him. His face was hot under Tim’s fingertips, his skin drenched in sweat. "Enough, this isn't leading to fucking anything!"

The bard's large fist clenched around Tim's slender wrist without squeezing. He pulled Tim’s hand away from his face, collapsing limply to the floor. "Fine." he sighed, voiceless and breathless.

Tim was not in much better shape, barely managing to sit up, his back twitching in excruciating pain as he leaned back against the rough wall with the last of his strength.

The room was half-destroyed. Well, only on the lower level, actually. They had knocked over a couple of chairs and all the clothes Tim had laid on top of them, the marquis' travel trunk was splintered, the bed was vaguely shifted, and the bedside table had been tipped over, the bedside lamp abandoned on the mattress.

Next to it, Gobbles was curled up on the covers, shivering and frightened. Oh no.

"Gobbles. No, Gobbles... come here, it's ok." Tim comforted him, trying to get back on his feet but failing. His back ached so much that every movement caused piercing twinges in his ribcage, and the punches he had received to his abdomen were so severe that even moving and sitting up straighter made him want to scream in pain. "Gobbles, come here, good boy." he called, and the cockatrice raised his heavy head, squaring Tim with his blank white eyes.

He stood up on his paws, jumped with difficulty off the bed and hobbled towards Tim, sitting heavily in the marquis' lap, who barely kept himself from screaming in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose as the creature snuggled up to him. "It's all right, it's all right," he whispered, stroking the feathers now all ruffled in the terror the cockatrice must have felt during the fight.

Poor thing, he had nothing to do with it.

Gobbles flinched when the bard, Jimmy, moved from the supine position in which he had remained until then. He raised his head, looking at Tim and his pet with a smirk, and though it was not one of mockery, it was still unfriendly. "Well, we've let off st-steam now, haven't we? C-can we talk without biting each other’s throat now?"

"The only one who has bitten here is you." Timothy replied, his wounded and bloodied hand held down so as not to soil the cockatrice's feathers. He could not bend his fingers thanks to the bard’s bite, which had been as deep as it was ferocious.

Jimmy stretched out his big, trembling arms, and with difficulty dragged himself like a worm towards the wall, the same wall Tim was leaning against. He ended up at the marquis' side, too close for his liking, so that when he turned and sat down he ended up with his thigh against Timothy's, and his shoulder pushing him to the side.

"G-give me your hand." the bard ordered. Timothy did not react, staring at him resentfully and with distrust. The grey elf grabbed Tim's wrist, and Tim tried to pull back with a violent jerk, startling the cockatrice on his lap.

They both stopped, but Jimmy's big, calloused fingers stayed firmly around his wrist. "You do-do-doon-don't want to scare your turkey again, do you? I s-said, give me your hand."

No, Timothy did not trust him, not after spending that horrible evening in his company. But what could he do? Kick him out of his room, all bruised and bloodied, with his hose ripped and that lost puppy-dog look in those crooked pale eyes?

Timothy turned his gaze from the bard's face and offered his injured hand, looking away at nothing in particular.

Jimmy's fingers were wide, hard, warm and trembling; strong and weak at the same time. He felt the callused fingertips tracing the edges of his bites -made by him, by the way!- a warmth enveloping his hand that Tim knew well. When he turned to look at what Jimmy was doing, he saw a dim light between his fingers.

Magic.

The bard looked up at the taller elf, like a child caught red-handed in the biscuit jar.

"You know how to use magic?" Timothy asked, and Jimmy nodded, still a little confused.

"A little bit. Just the healing kind, you know, you may have no-noticed I have a bit of trouble containing my ah-anger."

Tim's fingers, which had previously been deep red with open flesh bitten to the bone, were now almost completely intact, a vague reddish wound on the middle and ring fingers the only reminder of that nasty bite.

"Would you be able to heal yourself quickly before leaving this room?"

Jimmy replied with another smirk, not letting go of his hand even though it was almost completely healed. He felt Jimmy's wide fingers slip between his own. "You want to send me away, already?"

"You've done enough already."

"Come on, marquis, it was just a t-tussle to settle the sc- the score. We have so much more to talk about. We're friends now, aren't we?"

The bard sighed, leaning his shoulder against Timothy, who was much taller than him even when sitting. "We could talk about our curses, or..."

Timothy sighed heavily, letting the bard at his side lean against him and run his hand gently down his arm in an all too clingy manner as Gobbles fell asleep heavily on his lap. That Jimmy thought he was smarter than he actually was.

Clearly, he had no room to stay in. Surely the king would not have wasted a room on that freak, whom his son did not even appreciate. Tim thought that perhaps it was also his fault. Perhaps, if he had not reacted that way, someone would have accommodated the bard in their room.

He suspected the bard had not performed in the hall for much longer after being beaten to a bloody pulp by Tim, since instead of getting drunk downstairs as all the bards Tim had known usually did, he was there, in Tim’s room, at that not-so-late hour.

Turning to Jimmy, who was looking him straight in the eye with a hopeful expression, Tim smelled the faint odour of smoke, and of alcohol, though not enough for the bard to be drunk. An elf did not get drunk with the same intensity and ease as other inferior species.

"I can even heal you! Those punches I gave you hurt p-pretty bad, huh?" chuckled Jimmy again, hope now mixed with despair in his eyes that pointed this way and that at the same time.

Timothy clenched his fists.

Could he leave that elf, malformed and injured, stranded in the harsh climate of the northern kingdom?

Was this something Tim's strict morals would allow him to do; was it a cruelty he could carry out without feeling guilty for centuries to come?

The answer was easy, unfortunately.

No.

As loud, bossy and annoying as Jimmy was, a ball and chain at Tim’s ankle and a thorn in his side, he was at the same time an imperfect creature just like himself. He was an outcast; an elf who could barely be considered as such and, above all, someone who desperately needed him.

"...all right, you can sleep here for the night. Shortly after dawn I will leave to return to my castle."

Clinging to his arm, Jimmy giggled, like a young girl might when attending her companion's wedding and dreaming of her own Prince Charming. "Oh my b-beautiful lord, you are so generous to let me sleep on your bed!"

"I am a marquis! And I never spoke of-!"

Jimmy broke away from him, beginning to crawl pathetically over the rug, rippling it and pulling portions of it behind him, all the way to the bed onto which he hoisted himself by clinging to its wooden frame, his strong biceps aided in part by his legs, which were not completely unresponsive. “I haven't slept on a bed in uhh... years? About ten or twenty! In Kupa Keep they used to m-make me sleep on the floor, in a stable. Straw is better than hard wood soiled with horse shit, th-that's true, but you can't imagine how many nasty little bugs luh-luh-luuh-... hide in it."

As gently as he could, Tim woke Gobbles, who struggled to raise his head, his long, thin neck turning in Tim’s approximate direction. Timothy lifted him up and leaned against his side as, clinging with difficulty to the bricks that barely protruded from the wall, he rose to his feet. His legs trembled, his knees ached with the strain of keeping the weight of his long, lean body on them, his back sent excruciating stabs of pain and his stomach had turned completely inside out from the punches. Tim tugged his shirt from his trousers, lifting it almost to his bony chest. Large, heavy purple bruises covered the alabaster-white skin of almost his entire abdominal region, from his ribs down to his navel. And they hurt like hell.

Timothy sagged against the wall behind him, sighing and searching for the strength to walk towards his bed. Why had he come here... couldn't he have just stayed at home and sent some servant to deliver that unicorn for the prince?

At his feet, metal clanked. His cane rolled towards him from where he had left it propped against the bed, before... everything happened.

He grabbed it with difficulty and leaned against it, breathing a sigh of relief. It was Jimmy, now lying awkwardly on his stomach on Timothy's bed, who had tossed it to him. He was smiling at him, his broad arms dangling lazily off the mattress.

"You said you de-decided to leave at dawn. You'd b-b-better come to sleep, it's not that many hours until s-sunrise now."

He did not like how the bard was taking so many liberties with him, the Marquis of BlackLake, but at the same time it was a comfort to have someone who spoke so freely to him, who wanted to speak not to someone else but to him, and in such an intimate context.

Timothy regretted a little that it would all be over in a few hours, but at the same time he was relieved. That Jimmy was a bitch.

Tim slumped towards the bed, bracing himself wearily against the mattress, at Jimmy's side. He would have liked to wear his own soft and comfy nightgown, but undressing under the icy-white gaze which would surely be fixed on him the whole time was not really something Tim wanted to do.

He just wanted to sleep, now.

He lay down as far away from Jimmy as possible - difficult to do, since the bard had decided to lie right in the middle of the bed, and despite how short and hunched he was, his shoulders were wide enough to occupy a good portion of the bed - and with a gesture of his fingers extinguished the torches that hung from the ceiling. It was a little magic that had served him well in his childhood, growing up unable to move and confined to a chair in his lonely castle.

"Wow!" he heard Jimmy say. He would rather not hear his voice, in the dark.

With a rustling of blankets, the familiar weight of Gobbles settled by his side, the cockatrice’s head resting on Timmy’s chest, demanding attention and cuddles before sleep as he had done every night for more than a century, his feathers all ruffled and soft under Timmy's tired hand.

And then, similarly, came more blanket shuffling, and a far less familiar weight on the other side of the bed: Jimmy's heavy head on his shoulder and his large hand slamming clumsily just above Timothy's bruised abdomen, causing him to hiss in pain. He did not chase the bard away just because, in the darkness of the room, he felt the warmth and saw the faint light of the healing magic the bard was applying to his aching body.

In the half-light he observed the cockatrice sleeping peacefully against his chest, the twisted and mangled body of a deformed beast who had found a safe haven in someone who could appreciate and love him. And then he passed his gaze over the deformed elf resting limply against his shoulder, his back hunched and his ears curved in an unnatural position, his tousled hair falling softly over his injured face and over Timothy's shoulder, his face relaxed almost into a smile.

Timothy cursed himself under his breath.

CHAPTER THREE

At dawn, as punctual as the bells of the capital city, the sharp gurgling of Gobbles the cockatrice signalled that the new day had begun, and it was time to wake up. It had been so for Timmy every dawn for the last few centuries. What had not been so was the jolting weight that fell suddenly upon his body.

"Shit! What the fah-fuck!? So scary! Fuck!"

Tim opened his eyes, the smile fading from his lips.

Oh, yeah. Right.

Jimmy.

He opened his eyes to find the bard sitting at his side, a frightened expression on his grey face, which was decidedly less swollen and purple than the previous evening. Gobbles was still singing in the dawn, and only stopped his cries to the rising sun when Timmy began lazily scratching the spot behind his eyes.

"G-gh-good morning, my lord." mused the bard once he had recovered from his fright, leaning heavily on one arm, the sun rising behind him and tinting his lead-coloured hair, not blue and not grey, neither black nor purple, with a soft golden halo. In that light, in the gloom, with that gentle smile and broad shoulders and soft, tousled hair, he almost looked like someone Timothy would like to wake up next to every morning.

Sadly, Jimmy also had the gift of speech.

"I slept reeeeally well on this b-bed, my lord, but that hen snores, very much. You duh-don't snore. But you are a little still and cold. It doesn't m-mah-matter, I've kept you warm, scrawny as you are, you d-definitely needed it! Ah, I'm soooooo tired, I've sp-pent a lot of energy healing you... maybe you could let me sleep here a little lo-longer, huh?" he blurted, lazily settling back into the bed, his head on the same pillow Timothy was still lying on. Tim hadn't understood half the words the bard had blurted out. He didn't really care.

The bard shifted and rested his head right on Timmy's long ear, tugging on the earring-studded tip. Timothy had to pull back because Jimmy didn't seem to want to move, his face far too close to Tim's, his breath hot on the marquis' freckled, flushed face.

Timothy sat up, tired of the closeness, and tired in general. "It is time for me to get ready, I must leave for my castle. The journey is long."

He saw the bard's pale pink tongue sticking out from between his greyish lips. "You can undress in front of me if you want. Go right ahead, come on. It's fine with me... m-more than fine!"

Arrogant little grey bastard.

Jimmy pulled his big arms behind his head and arched his back in a motion which was halfway between the languorous stretch of a lazy cat and a disgustingly obscene pose. Nevertheless, Tim kept watching him, unwillingly bewitched.

"Do you want me to undress f-first, so that you might feel less embarrassed...?"

“No!”

The bard sighed, struggling to sit up on the bed. It broke the strange spell Tim had fallen into, and he could finally look away, away from that body, so deformed and yet, and yet so...

"I'm leaving now, d-don't worry. But first I want something."

Timothy grabbed the cane leaning against the side of the bed and clutched it between his fingers, ready to violently kick the bard out of the room if he dared to try blackmailing him, or ask for money. Tim would accept no compromise. What did that bard want from him? Why did he seem so obsessed with him, what on earth had his mind - not particularly brilliant or capable of complex subterfuges and plans, Timothy thought maliciously - found of interest in the deformed marquis of a distant and not particularly rich or famous region?

Yet the bard smiled slyly, his stubby, crooked legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. "A kiss?"

Timothy widened his eyes, which pricked with the sudden sting of wetness. He quickly blinked back the unshed tears. A kiss?

A kiss?

The marquis jumped to his feet, waking up Gobbles, who lazily ruffled his feathers and, with a slowness and calm which was at odds with the tension and embarrassment that had fallen over the room, jumped off the mattress and hobbled over to the corner, on top of the clothes that had fallen to the floor the night before, to continue his morning nap.

Tim did not pay too much attention to this, because his entire focus was on the bard and his proposal.

'I won't t-tell anyone, pinkie swear. I just want to steal a l-l-little kiss, so how about that? I'll disappear afterwards, I promise." continued Jimmy, whose words were certainly reassuring, but whose smirk and vague blush said otherwise.

Tim stood still, pondering the situation.

Physical contact was frowned upon in Elvish society, intimacy seen as something superfluous for creatures who lived nearly a millennium, and reserved for securing a future for their kind. To elves, it was associated with those inferior creatures whose minds and souls were confined to the lowest existential plane.

But... but Tim wanted to kiss Jimmy, and push him onto the mattress, and feel the heat of his body against him again, this time with more force and passion...

Ah, what was the point of abiding by the social norms of his race if he did not even meet its physical requirements?

“Why?” the marquis asked, hiding all those thoughts behind a simple yet difficult question.

Jimmy, arms outstretched behind him, white irises watching the floor and the ceiling at the same time, shrugged his arched shoulders dismissively. "Why not? You're c-cute. I like gingers, very much. And b-besides, you and I are different from all the other elves, aren't we? J-juh-just you and me in this whole castle. Maybe even in the whole kingdom. I've never k-kissed anyone like you... like me."

Timothy lowered his gaze, staring at the sack Jimmy had brought the night before; a medium-sized, filthy heap of fabric into which the entire load of Jimmy’s  lengthy middle-aged life had been condensed. But his mind was elsewhere.

He sounded sincere. He had no reason to lie. If Jimmy wanted to find comfort in someone, who better than a similar soul; who better than Tim? 

Could Tim find comfort in Jimmy, in turn?

"Fine." he replied simply, perhaps not completely lucid, newly awake after a restless night, still with the memory of the knuckles and elbows of that same elf that was now waiting on the bed with open arms.

The marquis made his way over, placing one knee on the mattress beside Jimmy, who was looking at him like a stray dog waiting for a hot meal, fervent and excited, his cross-eyed eyes wide open and his wet, pink tongue dampening his still-wounded lips.

"Will you leave afterwards?"

"I will do anything you want, my lord," whispered Jimmy, in a tone totally different from any he had heard the night before and that very morning.

Tim’s thigh brushed against the bard's, and he rested his hands on his broad, solid shoulders - it was the first time he had touched Jimmy without intending to hurt him, and under Timothy's fingertips the yellow shirt - what a clownish colour without dignity or seriousness! –seemed thinner than it looked. He could feel the warmth of his skin under it, the tense muscle of someone who walked and stood only by the strength of his arms, which were now stretched behind his body.

All right, it was about time. It wasn't the first time Timothy had kissed someone, of course, but... how many centuries had passed since he had refused to take a wife and continue his family, trying to break the curse that had haunted his family tree for who knows how many generations, so many that he had lost count of the millennia of elven history?

Timothy bent over the other elf, shorter than him by quite a bit, who did not seem to move in anticipation. He couldn't tell if he was looking at him, due to his eyes pointing in every direction except at Tim himself, but from his smile he really seemed incredibly amused.

Tim moved closer until he felt the tip of his nose against Jimmy's, and still the bard didn't move. His breath warmed Timothy's lips, and the instinct to pull back was as strong as it was to jump on him and shove his tongue down his throat.

"D-do it, what are you waiting for?" whispered Jimmy, close enough that Timmy could feel his lips moving, and for a moment Timothy just listened, unable to react. "I know you want it. You want it even m-more than I do. You hypocrite."

How he would have loved to hit him again-

He slammed his lips against Jimmy’s in a burst of anger, with his mouth closed and no more thought; he pushed forward with such fury that he tipped the bard back onto the mattress, Tim on top of him.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, He felt Jimmy's hot tongue against his lips, and his teeth against his tongue, and his breath like steam on his face.

One of the bard's big arms looped around his shoulders, the other around his waist, his thighs tightening around Tim's hips; Jimmy clung to him as though his very life depended on it.

The kiss was little more than a frenzied mess of spit and teeth, more painful than it was pleasant. Jim's teeth kept unintentionally clenching on Timothy's tongue and lips - or maybe it was all on purpose? - and Timmy in turn paid no attention to it,  instead pushing, licking, and clinging to the body beneath him, which was soft and hard at the same time and hot, so hot.

Timothy only snapped back to reality when, beneath him, Jimmy struggled to break away from the kiss that was lasting far too long, tipping his head back and taking a loud breath at the top of his lungs. Only then did Tim remember to breathe too, his face hot and his lips aching.

Jimmy was chuckling, but this laugh was a lighthearted giggle of hilarity; the bard seemed genuinely happy. His face was now more pink than grey and his dark and silver hair clung to his sweat-drenched forehead. His lips were red and swollen.

Without thinking, pushing aside the moral rules and the animosity he felt for that profiteer bastard, Tim reached out his hand and brushed the wet hair from his face. Jimmy responded with an almost innocent smile.

Ah, damn, he was adorable...

"S-se-second round?" whispered Jimmy, his face still close to Tim's, too close to say no. So Tim said nothing; unhurriedly closed his eyes and slowly leaned into  Jimmy again, relaxing into the pressure of his soft lips and the tickling warmth of his breath.

The tension in both of them seemed to have dissolved completely. Jimmy's large hands were gentle as he stroked the bony expanse of the marquis' gaunt back. Tim's hands roamed across the hard muscle of Jimmy's shoulders and down his broad chest, and at Timothy's light touch on his large pecs, the bard responded with a soft giggle against his lips, shifting slightly beneath him.

The tips of their noses bumped a couple of times as they tried to find the right angle for a better kiss, and Jimmy replied with another whispered giggle, and Tim with a smile.

Gobbles started to sing.

And a few moments later, knock-knock.

The handle of the chamber door rattled noisily a couple of times, its hinges loosened by wear and tear and old age, with an annoying metallic clang.

"Marquis Burch?" came the voice of one of Timothy's servants, a distant, dissonant echo from outside the door. "The door is locked- Marquis? Marquis!"

Tim lifted himself up on his elbows with an angry snarl, but Jimmy was of a different mind, still clinging to him, his hands clawing at Tim’s back as he pulled him down, towards himself.

"What do you want?" Timothy growled at the servant beyond the door.

"Marquis, it is almost time to go, I didn't see you among the other nobles at breakfast in the..."

Timothy was barely listening, truth be told. Jimmy was still kissing him, leaving little kisses at the corner of his mouth, along his jawline, up to his ear, a dangerous game that Tim was not avoiding in any way. On the contrary. It tasted like adolescence, a boyish game in which Timothy, in his lonely youth, had never participated.

"Yes, I'm coming. Give me-"

That damned bard chose that exact moment to press his tongue behind Tim’s ear. Tim bit his lower lip to prevent himself from letting a loud moan escape, and the bard snickered quietly as he moved off the spot, leaving a cooling streak of spit between the marquis' ear and hairline.

Little arrogant bastard.

"Marquis, are you alright…?"

"I'm fine!" Timothy replied hurriedly, glaring at the bard below him, who was grinning with mischievous glee.

He wanted to play? Well then they would play.

"I'll get ready now, I just overslept," Tim said with confidence and pressed his hand to the bard's chest, under his crooked, pale, and now very curious gaze.

He caressed Jimmy’s chest through his shirt, barely touching the bard's nipples and feeling the telltale hardness of metal under his fingers. The bastard wore a nipple ring. Really, it was no surprise. Timmy should have expected it from him. He gripped the ring between his forefinger and thumb and, without warning, tugged it through the fabric. Jimmy hissed through clenched teeth, the tone of his voice high with pain - and probably something else.

"Is there someone with you?!" the servant's voice was all too surprised at the thought of Timothy with someone, and that annoyed the marquis quite a bit.

Was the thought of Timothy being intimate with someone so extraordinary? After all, who would ever lie with an ugly and deformed being, a cursed creature, if not obliged by the very marriage bond that Timothy had decided not to contract? This was what he thought, this was what everyone thought, even his own servants?

For just half a morning he had stopped thinking about the awful world he was forced to live in and the rules he was forced to abide by, but that society seemed to nag and follow him with even more relentless intensity than that bard did.

"No. It's just Gobbles," lied the marquis, letting go of the bard underneath him, whose hand immediately went to soothe the pain at his chest. "Now go away, what are you still doing here?" Tim finished, and the sound of the servant's receding footsteps indicated that he was indeed gone.

And now what?

Timothy should have shouted those words at the bard who had slipped into his room the previous night and dared to hit him, but instead that bard was in Tim’s bed, his calloused fingers on Tim’s face and, as soon as the servant's footsteps were so far away that they were indistinguishable, his lips on Tim’s again.

"You have to go." Tim's words were half-hearted and addressed to no one really. To Jimmy, or to himself?

Jimmy nodded, his eyes half-closed and his eyelids heavy and purplish, one swollen and darker than the other, though definitely less than the night before. He brought his hand to Tim's reddened lower lip- sore after so many kisses and bites, swollen and warm and delicate to Jimmy’s touch- and wiped away a streak of saliva which  probably belonged to both of them, gently, almost sweetly.

"I know." he replied, with a disarming simplicity to which Tim could not respond. Too many feelings were coursing through him, all at the same time. He was intimidated by them, and confused.

Timothy slid to the side, over blankets cooled by the cold winter morning of the northern kingdom, limply abandoning himself to the mattress whose chill contrasted so sharply with the warmth of the bard who was struggling to sit up in the middle of the bed.

The bard’s crutches were lying on the floor, not far from the bed, close enough that Jimmy could grab one and, with its help, bring the other close.

Putting pressure on his large forearms, the bard stood, slipping the wooden and metal crutches under his armpits to hold up his heavy and massive - and warm and attractive and very comfortable - body.

The marquis lay tiredly on the bed and watched that enemy, stranger, lover, slip into the heavy green cloak which he kept in the tattered sack, covering his body once more. He watched him, sack slung over his shoulder, fight against the lock of the door with his clumsy fingers. And Timothy simply could not move, this time not because of the pain in his weak joints.

Jimmy turned one last time, a wide, crooked grin on his half swollen, half flushed face. "See you, my lord."

Without elegance, the elf drew himself slowly through the doorway and from the sight of Timothy, who still did not know whether to feel relief or bitterness at knowing Jimmy was now, once and for all, out of his life.

In the bed in the corner of the room, where he had been comfily curled up, Gobbles awoke, and tried to climb onto the bed, and failed the first time. His crooked little legs clung to the covers in vain, and he fell backwards onto the carpet with an almost comical thud. Timothy sighed, rolling onto the bed just to grab Gobbles and lift him up, helping him with  his efforts. The cockatrice jumped awkwardly onto the bed, flapping his useless, crooked basilisk wings, and dropped right where Jimmy had been lying just before, taking advantage of the warmth left on the blankets by the elf.

More footsteps sounded, announcing the return of his servant, who this time found the door ajar. The servant opened it wide and looked to where the marquis lay on the bed, still dressed in the previous evening's clothes, rumpled and bruised, gaze lost in the void.

"Marquis...?" he asked again, and Timothy lifted his head to stare at him with hatred and anger, irises now green, now blue, infused with pure magic, iridescent and never the same colour.

"I know, by the Gods! Fine, whatever! Is my bath ready?!" barked Timothy, more nervous than usual, rising to his feet with snappy movements.

"Well, it was ready almost an hour ago..." the servant muttered as his lord retrieved his own walking cane. The marquis’ grip on the cane was strong and angry, his knuckles poking out from ivory-coloured skin.

"...but now the water will be cold!" the servant complained. Timothy walked past him, unconcerned.

“That's better." growled Tim, adjusting himself in the trousers that were fortunately large enough to hide the painful erection which had remained untouched until that moment- and hoping that a cold bath would take away the heavy feeling of guilt in his chest, and frustration from his crotch.

#South Park #Jimmy Valmer #Timmy Burch #i do things

[newcrestroyalfamily]

NewCrest Royal Palace

The NewCrest Royal Palace is truly a sight to behold. Its stunning architectural design is a testament to the wealth and power of the monarchy, and it serves as a symbol of NewCrest's rich history and culture.

The palace's grand halls and opulent staircases are adorned with intricate carvings and beautiful works of art. The gardens surrounding the palace are meticulously maintained and feature a variety of exotic plants and flowers. Visitors can spend hours wandering through the palace's many rooms, marveling at its grandeur and beauty.

But the NewCrest Royal Palace is more than just a tourist attraction. It is a working residence for the monarch and his heirs, and it plays an important role in the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom. The palace's many rooms and offices are staffed by a team of dedicated professionals who work tirelessly to ensure that everything runs smoothly.

The palace has also played an important role in the personal lives of the royal family. It is where they celebrate birthdays, weddings, and other important family events. The palace is steeped in tradition and history, and its grand halls have witnessed countless important moments in NewCrest's history.

But perhaps most importantly, the NewCrest Royal Palace is a symbol of the monarchy's strength and power. It is a reminder to the people of NewCrest of the important role that the monarchy plays in their daily lives. The palace is a living, breathing embodiment of the values and ideals that the monarchy represents.

Overall, the NewCrest Royal Palace is a must-see destination for anyone visiting the city. Its stunning architecture, rich history, and cultural significance make it one of the most impressive buildings in the entire kingdom.

Learn more about us on our webpage or on our instagram at @newcrestroyals

#royal family sims #royal simblr #royal sims #royalty simblr #simblr #newcrestoryalfamily

[psalm22-6]

[1] The artificial city constructed near Antibes  [2] The same city, view from behind [3] Extras sitting around the coat boxes [4] Destined to illuminate the artificial city  [5] Tractors transporting electric machinery 

Long post incoming but this is a fun article on the set design for 1934 LM

Source: L’Image, October 1933

Paris, a Neighborhood in Antibes

“All of Paris is on the French Riviera”...that is trite. But this piece of Paris between Nice and Cannes, it is something rare. And two or three districts of Paris as they were a hundred years ago? That is a miracle. 

No. It’s cinema. 

Antibes…on the flourishing Riviera in the joy of springtime, you’d image that it is one of those towns, big or small, where everyday feels like you’re on vacation, where architects with joyful spirits planted multicolored villas among the pines, the eucalyptus, and the palms, and where, transfigured, the bars and restaurants familiar to Parisians or, for example, 1933’s Mome Crevette, could discover a modern version of Maxim’s.  

You may believe, based on a faith in tour guides, that Antibes is an old city whose port retains memories of Roman, Greek and Phoenician sails and which prides itself in a glorious history. You may even be tempted to consider as sufficient attraction the narrow streets where only the sun and the southern wind find enough room to pass, streets where laundry is hung out the windows, where the eye is suddenly surprised by the intimacy of the courtyards and the roads that slide beneath the archways of another time. And you could end your stroll by the sea front or dreaming of Algeria which is just across the way. . . 

But the boy who will serve you your aperitif while you sit in a shaded square, will ask you (because you truly have the look of a “Franchiman,” a man from the north): “So our Paris, have you seen it?” 

And you’ll go out in search of that Paris, which has become a neighborhood of Antibes. You’ll have been told - because everyone here is courageous - “It’s on the Biot road.”

Suddenly, after a walk through the gardens - if fate is favorable, if someone tells you the “open sesame” to the magic district - you will be able to read on the street corner this sign, which your eyes will reread in astonishment: “Faubourg Saint-Antoine.”

A dream?... Keep going on your walk. There is no doubt: You are really in Paris. Here is a morsel of the les Halles district, here is the rue Mondétour and another whose name you ignore, rue de la Chanvrerie and here is the rue Saint-Honoré…

The hallucination continues. Walk. Walk on the large paving stones of days gone by where a motley group brushes past, where students in the royal blue velvet jackets go by, students such as those who saluted the king Louis-Phillippe and his umbrella [apparently his carried an umbrella as a substitute for an scepter], where you pass by workers in tall hats [casquette a pont] and convoys of misbehaving boys with tormented faces. 

In the windows, the blinds conceal the lives of this strange world’s inhabitants and the naïve signs creak under the awnings of the shops. A cabaret opens to welcome you in your fatigue: It is under the sign “the Grapes of Corinthe.” Come in… 

It is no longer a café, it is a guardhouse, a camp. Men are watching, the older ones are preparing bandages, others are playing, smoking, or dreaming, a gun held between the legs. On the wall is a poster that requires your attention: “Republic or Death.” Suddenly the door opens in a fracas: disheveled, fiery, cheeks blackened, eyes burning, gun in hand, a young man shouts: “Gavroche! That’s the signal!...There they are!” A few instants later, gunfire rings out…

…The dream is illuminated, is dissipated: the light of a projector, an encounter with an electrician in a blue coat brings you back to the present. You have aged a hundred years and come back again, reliving the days of 1832.  You took yourself to be an anonymous character from the epic Les Misérables, a creation of Victor Hugo’s. 

But here is Raymond Bernard coming up to you, straightforward, pleasant, and thoughtful, as strong people are. Raymond Bernard, not happy to only have accomplished making Le Miracle des Loups, has promoted himself by virtue of his talent to director of epic French film adaptations: Les Croix de Bois yesterday and Les Misérables today. Near to him is Andre Lang, the writer who is in the service of the cinema a most certain, most fine, most cultured man and M. Perrier, the architect and decorator who gave life to the setting known to Victor Hugo.

“The whole old district of Les Halles, which is like a city within a city…an obscure lake….a monstrous cavern…a wild shadow….” has spring up here again because the great directors have decided it should be so. 

To judge the evocative quality of their work, a single phrase will suffice: “It must have cost a damn lot of money to rent all the houses and bring them here!...” Because of its innocence, this homage is most beautiful:  no one can say it better than this good old mother who, ignorant of the power of cinema, uttered this authentic remark. 

But us, we know better, right? We want to know everything, and first we want to go behind the scenes. We see that the streets are nothing but facades, that beneath the clash of a fist the stones resonate like plaster, like cardboard...and these are the secrets we are told. 

In seven weeks this old Paris spring from the earth, where a meadow was going to be made new by spring time. 70 houses, around 20 roads, where all of them, all of them conform to the image of Paris in 1832 left by the drawings of Victor Hugo and the lithographs of Daumier. Raymond Bernard, M. Perrier, and Andre Lang consulted engravings and plans from long ago and omitted nothing, not even the most humble detail, which will avoid anachronisms…

Of course, the challenge was to condense the sets, to bend to the requirements of the camera and those of the lights. Of course, it was a necessity because one cannot reconstruct Paris…all the same! The rue de la Chanvrerie had to be knocked down (in the district of Les Halles) in the faubourg Saint-Antoine. But Victor Hugo himself took great liberties with history and topography. And the staff of carpenters and masons, ingenious as the distant and Provençal grandsons of the late Ulysses [?], constructed this town, made of 25 kilometers of parchment and pine, with 8 tones of nails and which covers almost a hectare. 

Even if it isn’t real, even if it is a dead city, it is a city that lights up. Another magician, M. Charlier dreamed it up. In less than a month he build a vast platform, a central electric, an authentic factory. He brought a ten thousand volt currant, two transformers, two rotary converters, and two equalizers - in short, one hundred and four tons of machines which power a hundred floodlights and which, over five kilometers of cables, distributes seven hundred kilowatts, all with two thousand five hundred horsepower. 

To light the gestures of Jean Valjean, Marius, Cosette, Grantaire, and Enjolras and to show how Gavroche knew how to die, with a song on his lips… electricity and more electricity were required - enough to power a city with 20 thousand inhabitants…

The miracle continues: two steps from the faubourg Saint-Antoine, a prison rises up; not far from there is a replica of the city hall of Toulon adored with the noble statues of Cariatides de Puget rebuilt…

In a corner of the meadow, a model of this entire false city - a model where the roofs of the houses reaches to the height of a table - makes us prideful: it is a Lilliputian scene, even smaller still than what would have made Gulliver think “I am too big for myself…”

And the visitor, if a fairy had brought a visitor here on a moonless night, he would be incapable of understanding that this old Paris was nothing but a set where Les Misérables is being reborn. A victim of so much truth, he would take himself for his own great-grandfather. 

Those were the impressions that I brought back from my sojourn in Antibes, in the second Paris, so much so that I found myself singing “I have two loves, Paris and Antibes.”

#LM 1934 #les miserables #my translation

[regalfairytaleacademy]

Welcome to Dragonroyal !!

Information

Dragonroyal was founded on the Bravery of the Fairy Guardian of Dragon Fire. It is well known around Regal Fairytale Academy for its courageous and confidence of students. But some of them are warm-hearted and caring.

It is has many ancient stories and things collected in this dorm, no one would know as students always kept its secret for make sure no case of stealing.

Building

The architecture is a reference to the castle where Fairy Guardian of Dragon Fire and her birth family lived. There's a legend said, it is found by the ancestors of Dragon Fire Fairy who had been searching for the a spark of the dragon fire at the unknown valley.

Dining Room - The place where allowing students to dine comfortably. the large windows reflex fairly warm light to tables and chairs.

Ballroom - It is prepare for school ceremonies and celebrations. Still, it's also set up for dance class trainings.

Training Ground - The place where students trains their magic and sword fight skills. It locates to on the left side of the outdoor of the dorm.

Garden - It is on the middle which is connect to the gate of the dorm. It is where they can walking around on the street. Between of it has flower bushes. It is the place oftens to set up tea parties and mini drama plays.

Sweet Crumbs Bakery - It's a bakery for entire students and visitors can go there to have relax with tea and pastries. It was founded by Seraphine along with Lizzie's best idea.

Fire Chamber - It is where legend has it that the Guardian Fairy attacks the five-headed dragon with her dragon soul. And just when she fainted, she appeared there unknowingly.

People have been warned to stay away from the place as it has been described as the most dangerous place and if you fall you could be burned to death.

Currently, it become a place to test students on the leader renewal ceremony.

Ancient Treasure Room - It locates to the basement of the dorm, and has a passway that only dorm leader know how to go.

Entering the room, you can see royal portraits, weapons, etc., which were collected by all the archaeologists of Dragon Empire.

Besides the people has been stunned by some historical objects display in the glass, and knowing the stories of those.

Crown of Dreams, the Sword of Domino and the most precious Pendant of Eraklyon.

Celebrations

For dorm celebrations, they often have tea parties with various themes. It is only allowed with the permission of the residence hall leadership. It is celebrated in the courtyard or garden.

Knight Fight Competition - The dorm has been open on November. Students will decide by vote for who is the most courage lady knight.

Dragon Light Ball - It's celebrate on September, where present as the grand victory for the Guardian Fairies.

Dorm Wear

The dressing style of the dormitory can be any aesthetic that your OC likes, or you can refer to Bloom and Sky's formal clothes for a little design. The fabric colors followed the palette.

Note: You can also change red to kinds of pink if your OC is not prefers.

#twst #twisted wonderland #regal fairytale academy #rfa #dragonroyal

[copperleafhotels2023]

Royal Retreats: Unveiling the Finest Accommodations in Tirunelveli

Embark on a journey fit for royalty as we unveil “Royal Retreats: Unveiling the Finest Accommodations in Tirunelveli.” In the heart of this culturally rich city, a collection of accommodations awaits, each promising a regal experience that transcends the ordinary. Prepare to be transported into a world where opulence meets tradition, creating an unforgettable stay that mirrors the grandeur of Tirunelveli’s heritage.

The finest Hotels near Tirunelveli redefine luxury from the moment you set foot inside their majestic premises. Architectural marvels, these establishments seamlessly blend modern comfort with timeless elegance, creating an ambiance that befits royalty. These are not merely hotels; they are palatial retreats designed to cater to the desires of the most discerning guests.

Accommodations within these royal retreats are opulent sanctuaries, with each room and suite adorned with regal furnishings and rich textiles. The attention to detail is impeccable, ensuring that every element contributes to an atmosphere of indulgence. Guests are treated to an experience that goes beyond comfort, evoking a sense of being part of a grand narrative.

Dining within the finest accommodations in Tirunelveli is a culinary journey fit for kings and queens. Renowned chefs curate menus that showcase a fusion of local flavors and international gastronomy, served in dining halls that exude sophistication. Every meal becomes a royal feast, a celebration of the rich culinary heritage of the region.

The regularity extends beyond the accommodations and dining. Royal retreats in Tirunelveli often boast exclusive amenities, from private spas to personalized concierge services, ensuring that every aspect of the stay is marked by opulence. Lavish gardens, sparkling pools, and grand ballrooms contribute to an overall experience of royal living.

Moreover, these accommodations often play a role in preserving the city’s heritage. By collaborating with local artisans, showcasing regional art, and hosting cultural events, they become integral to the cultural tapestry of Tirunelveli.

In conclusion, “Royal Retreats: Unveiling the Finest Accommodations in Tirunelveli” invites travelers to immerse themselves in a world where luxury is redefined. These establishments promise not just a stay but a regal experience, where every moment is a celebration of opulence and tradition. The finest Hotels near Tirunelveli Beckon you to indulge in a royal retreat, where history and hospitality converge in a harmonious symphony of grandeur.

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#24-hourroomservice #conciergeservices #accommodation #freewifi #copperleafhotels #greathotel #friendlyhotelstaff #lowestprice #luxuryhotels

[paramedicabroad]

Aranjuez Cultural Landscape

Embark with me on a virtual escapade to the UNESCO World Heritage site of Aranjuez Cultural Landscape in Spain. Let's unravel the tapestry of lush gardens, regal palaces, and historic waterways that define this enchanting destination where nature and royalty come together in a dance of harmonious beauty.

In 2001, the Aranjuez Cultural Landscape was honored with UNESCO World Heritage status. This recognition celebrates the exceptional blend of natural and cultural elements that make Aranjuez a unique and significant site in the world's heritage.

Step into the Royal Palace of Aranjuez, a majestic residence that served Spanish monarchs as a retreat from the bustling life of the capital. Marvel at the opulent rooms, grand halls, and splendid gardens that epitomize the architectural elegance of the Spanish Bourbon dynasty.

Wander through the immaculate gardens surrounding the Royal Palace, where meticulously landscaped greenery, vibrant flowers, and serene water features create a living canvas. The Jardín del Príncipe and the Parterre de Coches showcase the artistry of landscape design, inviting visitors to stroll through a world of botanical enchantment.

Visit La Isabela, an island in the Tagus River that embodies the spirit of Romanticism. The tranquil surroundings and charming buildings on the island offer a picturesque retreat that captivates the imagination, making it a favorite destination for artists and writers.

Discover the Royal Barge Museum, where ornate boats once used by Spanish monarchs are displayed with regal splendor. These beautifully crafted vessels provide a glimpse into the royal maritime traditions of Aranjuez.

Follow the course of the Tagus River as it meanders through the cultural landscape of Aranjuez. Experience the historical significance of this waterway, which once served as a vital transportation route for the monarchy and played a central role in the shaping of the landscape.

Embark on a digital exploration of Aranjuez Cultural Landscape through virtual tours, online exhibits, and interactive maps. Immerse yourself in the historical and botanical wonders of this UNESCO World Heritage site without leaving the comfort of your digital realm.

In conclusion, Aranjuez Cultural Landscape invites us to witness the seamless integration of human creativity with the beauty of the natural world. When you're ready for a digital journey through a landscape where nature and royalty waltz in harmony, Aranjuez promises to be a captivating destination that transcends time and transports you to a realm of cultural and botanical wonders. 🌳🏰✨🇪🇸

#aranjuez #cultural #landscape #unesco #world heritage #royal #retreat #spanish #spain #europe #travel #culture #royalty #architecture #palace

[sobharoyalcrest1]

Sobha Royal Crest - Best Amenities and Facilities Flats

If you're in the market for a luxurious 2 BHK apartment in Bangalore, Sobha Royal Crest is a project that deserves your attention. Located in the heart of the city, this residential development by Sobha Limited offers a blend of modern design, world-class amenities, and a prime location that makes it an excellent choice for urban dwellers.

Location Advantage Sobha Royal Crest is strategically situated in the prestigious neighborhood of Jakkur, North Bangalore. This location offers numerous advantages for residents. Firstly, it is in close proximity to Manyata Tech Park, which is one of the largest tech parks in the city and home to several multinational companies.

This makes it an excellent choice for IT professionals looking for a home nearby. Additionally, the Kempegowda International Airport is just a short drive away, making travel easy and convenient. The project also enjoys excellent connectivity to major arterial roads such as Bellary Road, Outer Ring Road, and the upcoming Namma Metro Phase 2, ensuring easy access to other parts of the city.

The presence of renowned schools, hospitals, shopping malls, and entertainment hubs in the vicinity further adds to the appeal of this location. Sobha Royal Crest is a testament to Sobha Limited's commitment to quality and excellence in design and construction. The project features a contemporary architectural design that seamlessly blends with the urban landscape.

The thoughtfully designed 2 BHK apartments are spacious and well-ventilated, ensuring a comfortable and inviting living space for residents. High-quality materials and finishes add a touch of luxury to every corner of the apartment. Each aspect of the interior design has been carefully crafted to meet the needs and aspirations of the discerning homeowner, from the well-planned living spaces to the elegant bedrooms and modern kitchens.

Amenities and Facilities One of the standout features of Sobha Royal Crest is its wide range of amenities and facilities that cater to the diverse needs and preferences of residents. Some of the key amenities include:

1. Swimming Pool: A beautifully landscaped swimming pool offers a refreshing escape from the hustle and bustle of city life.

2. Clubhouse: The clubhouse provides a space for socializing, fitness, and relaxation, with facilities like a gym, indoor games room, and party hall.

3. Landscaped Gardens: Lush greenery and well-maintained gardens provide a serene environment for residents to unwind and connect with nature.

4. Children's Play Area: A dedicated play area ensures that children have a safe and fun place to play and make new friends.

5. 24/7 Security: The project is equipped with round-the-clock security measures, including CCTV surveillance and trained security personnel, to ensure the safety of residents.

6. Parking: Ample-covered parking spaces are available for residents and guests.

7. Rainwater Harvesting: Sobha Royal Crest is eco-friendly, with rainwater harvesting systems in place to conserve water. 8. Power Backup: Residents can enjoy an uninterrupted power supply, even during outages.

Quality and Trust of Sobha Limited Sobha Limited is one of India's most respected real estate developers known for its commitment to quality, transparency, and customer satisfaction. With a rich history of delivering premium residential and commercial projects across India, Sobha Limited has earned the trust of homebuyers. Investing in a 2 BHK apartment in Sobha Royal Crest not only ensures a comfortable lifestyle but also has excellent investment potential.

The strategic location, coupled with the brand value of Sobha Limited, makes it a sought-after choice for investors looking for long-term capital appreciation and rental income. In conclusion, Sobha Royal Crest is a prestigious 2 BHK project for sale in Bangalore that offers a unique blend of luxury, convenience, and investment potential.

With its prime location, top-notch amenities, and the trust of Sobha Limited, it presents an opportunity for homebuyers to elevate their lifestyle and secure their future in one of India's most dynamic cities. Don't miss the chance to own a piece of luxury in the heart of Bangalore – Sobha Royal Crest awaits your presence. Related Keywords: Sobha Town Park Manhattan Towers Sobha Neopolis

#sobha royal crest #sobha royal crest locations #sobha royal crest prices #sobha royal crest reviews #sobha apartments

[sarah947]

Wall Painting Services

Wall painting services - Textured Painting

Elevate your space and bring your decor to life with Aapka Painter s wall painting services . From modern to rustic, we have a style to suit every taste. Say goodbye to boring walls and hello to our eye-catching design.

Probably the most effortless approaches to refresh your house is by swiping on a new layer of paint . Regardless of which room you're in the room, kitchen, or family room. Adding a New paint combinations for walls and responsibility free approach to make an eye-getting change.

Carry some drama to the walls with textural fantasy. Introducing texture to space gives it a great deal more profundity, and even shading loath decorators can receive the rewards. It is an extraordinary method to implant a warm and agreeable vibe to the general stylistic layout.

Colourwash - Asian Paints Royale Play Texture Design

Introducing royale play wall texture paint design to a room gives it so much more intensity, and even color-averse decorators can get in its benefits. Asian Paints wall texture ideas don’t stop at throws, rugs, or fabrics.

Brushing- Asian Paints Royale Play Texture Design

This Asian paints wall texture contains Soft Petals and Royal Robes. Exterior wall texture gives Soft Petals and Royal Robes color gives the impact finish. We rejuvenate your walls by revamping them with enhancements paint or exchanging them up with textured walls.

Spatula - Asian Paints Royale Play Texture Design

This texture contains Pleasant Blue and Blue Glory color. It gives the impact finish and with more than a few easily implemented wall texture ideas, you can change your living room into a beautiful paradise.

Delta - Asian Paints Royale Play Texture Design

This texture contains Pebble Moss and Copper color and it gives Endless wall texture design. Asian Paints Royale Play Texture Design is a water-based enhancements textured wall finish paint that makes an assortment of embellishments on the interior walls.

Fizz - Asian Paints Royale Play Texture Design

This texture paint designs for hall Sunset Orange and Moody Maroon color gives the impact finish. Make a refined and modern ambiance with our Interior Textured Paint and Coating.

Trellis - Asian Paints Royale Play Texture Design

This wall texture paint contains Rose Bouquet and Fresh Mint color and it gives the impact to Each and every edge of your home or business space shows up of your interiors not simply the furniture chose.

#Wall painting services #wall painting designs

[sobhaprojects]

Luxurious Living at Sobha's Finest Projects in Bangalore

Welcome to a world of unparalleled luxury and exquisite craftsmanship. Discover Sobha's finest projects in Bangalore, where opulence meets functionality, and every detail is meticulously crafted to redefine your living experience.

Sobha Royal Pavilion: Experience regal living at Sobha Royal Pavilion, where the grandeur of the past seamlessly blends with modern conveniences. Inspired by the architectural brilliance of the Mysore era, this majestic residential enclave offers spacious 1, 2, 3, and 4 BHK apartments adorned with intricate detailing and adorned with world-class amenities. Immerse yourself in a lifestyle fit for royalty with sprawling gardens, a fully-equipped clubhouse, swimming pools, sports facilities, and much more. Indulge in the elegance and sophistication that defines Sobha Royal Pavilion.

Sobha Dream Acres: Welcome to Sobha Dream Acres, where dreams come alive and aspirations are nurtured. This iconic township project offers intelligently designed 1 and 2-BHK apartments, perfect for modern families. Nestled amidst lush greenery and serene landscapes, Sobha Dream Acres provides a peaceful retreat away from the hustle and bustle of the city, while still being well-connected to major IT hubs, schools, and healthcare facilities. Enjoy a host of amenities such as a clubhouse, swimming pools, sports facilities, and beautifully landscaped gardens, all within the comfort of your own home.

Sobha Silicon Oasis: Step into a world of futuristic living at Sobha Silicon Oasis, where technology and comfort merge seamlessly. This avant-garde residential complex offers spacious 2 and 3-BHK apartments with smart home automation features, allowing you to control your living spaces with just a touch. With its contemporary design and state-of-the-art amenities like a fully-equipped gym, swimming pool, jogging track, and indoor games room, Sobha Silicon Oasis is the epitome of modern living. Experience a lifestyle that redefines convenience and sophistication.

Sobha Avenue: Embrace the serenity of nature at Sobha Avenue, a premium residential project nestled amidst lush greenery and landscaped gardens. Designed to offer a harmonious blend of aesthetics and functionality, Sobha Avenue presents spacious 3 and 4-BHK apartments with large windows that bring in abundant natural light and offer panoramic views of the surroundings. Immerse yourself in a host of amenities including a clubhouse, swimming pool, children's play area, and a multi-purpose hall. Discover the true meaning of tranquility and elegance at Sobha Avenue.

Immerse yourself in the world of Sobha's finest projects in Bangalore, where every home is a masterpiece and every day is an extraordinary experience. Experience the epitome of luxury living with Sobha's impeccable craftsmanship and unwavering commitment to excellence.

#Sobha projects #Sobha projects bangalore #sobha group #sobha plots #sobha developers #sobha apartments #tumblr blog #tumblr trends #tumblrpost #tumblr pics #tumblr updates #viral news #viral images #viral trends #viral photo #viral online #viral on social media #real estate #real estate tips #real estate now

[the-hindu-times]

Razorlight - Hammaermith Apollo - 12/5/23

***a review about not writing a review***

Nic Bennett

I probably shouldn't have started replying to an email this late at night:

Razorlight were on top form and the high energy performance was brilliantly attended by a happy and enthusiastic near-capacity-crowd, considering the train strikes. Of course, the venue itself can affect the experience of a gig. As a room, for sound and atmosphere, the Hammersmith Apollo is generally better than Brixton Academy so, the forced change of location wasn't a bad thing in that regard.

Before the show, my girlfriend and I had dinner at the vegan restuarant in the church at the side of the Apollo, where Björn and Carl from Razorlight were also dining so, the idea that they care about animals and the planet put us in high spirits ready for the show. We all left the restuarant at the same time to get inside the gig for opener, ELLiS*D, who I'd been chatting to briefly leading up to this show; to let him know we were coming down after seeing him play drums with Johnny Borrell in Jealous Nostril at the brilliant St Alban's pub, The Horn.

Going to a live event most nights of the week, we know what all the different venues can be like and we were mostly prepared for the airport-style security that always seem to undo all the good work for the planet that restaurants like that do so well at; by having us surrender bottles of water to be wasted and thrown into landfill. It's also not good, from a business side, for the bar takings inside as I, for one, don't like to have (buy) alcohol unless I have water with me to also drink (the tap water there is undrinkable, and if you buy a small bottle of water, you have to take the cap off and hold it the whole time). To be fair, O2 venues have a worse bag policy but the Eventim Apollo security (who's bright yellow uniforms and loud walkie talkies [which are just as present, and even more distracting, when they're constantly walking around the stalls at a seated comedy show or a quieter, acoustic performance there] all seem very uncessary; completely ruining the show for the audience) treat everyone as if they are a terrorist or drug carrier; putting anyone in a bad mood before it's even started.

It's assumed and accepted that this is for our ([mostly] the paying public's) own safety due to the size of the venue and the type of character the band's music will attract.

To put that into perspective, The Royal Albert Hall holds 1,931 more people than the Hammermith Apollo and hosts similar bands to Razorlight, yet concet goers there are greeted in a warm way and are allowed to bring in bags of any size with their own water (+ lids intact!), with nobody using it as a missile (which is apparently the reason why you can't even be sold bottled water with lids in the Apollo). There's less chance of passing out from dehydration and they can still keep the bottle of water with them for the journey home, when shops are closed. Everyone leaves happy and the staff say goodbye to you with a smile there.

After the support acts, we bump into a few different friends from other bands, who, like us, have wristbands to stay behind for the aftershow bar. We agree to catch up with them then for a water and a beer/gin, after Razorlight's performance, whilst we'll be simultaneously waiting for the price of Uber to go down after the quick exit of fans leaving the venue.  

We are about to launch our brand new website with the help of my girlfriend's brother, who designs posters and merchandise for huge films, such as the Marvel franchise so, it's going to be bigger and better than ever before! It's getting a new name to, as we say goodbye to The Lost Review. Our new online magazine, The Hindu Times, will be  named after the Oasis song (due to our large amount of features on guitar bands that came along after the Britpop movement) and my girlfriend's religion.

I mention this because at the aftershow, everything was fine and chilled, but the security insisted on walking through, interrupting conversations to check everything was in order. People began to feel uneasy as more and more security began to appear. We had only just bought our drinks before security approached the only person in the room of Indian descent (my girlfriend); telling her she had to leave. My girlfriend is a wonderful and caring person, whose full time job is working at children's hospice. The balance of giving children the best end of life care she can in the day, whilst enjoying the arts (from from more than one culture) in the evening is as an important diet as a vegan one is to us. She also writes all the reviews for the theatre shows we go to, with true passion.

I asked the security guard why we had to leave and he replied by saying that she had to go but I (the white guy [like majority of the room]) could stay, with no explanation. I explain that we live together and will be leaving together. I know how things can escalate with security guards so, I didn't want to question why + we were only going to stay for 5 or 10 minutes anyway, just to catch up with a few people and wait for an Uber so, I tell him we'll quickly finish our drinks and leave.

I mention our descriptions in this email because I'm unsure if it has any relevance. And from my description, that explains why I don't/wouldn't understand if it has any relevance or not.

The security guard immediately called for backup and put his hand on my arm with a firm grip where we were sitting. More security came, and they agreed to let us stay for 5 minutes, so we could have some of our drinks and not have to wait outside on the street for too long, before 5 security guards came to escort us down the stairs and out of the building, with one threatening violence.

The experience of the gig unfortunately overshadowed the performance of the band's classic line up still at the top of their game so, I've held off writing a review for now, as I'm not sure how I feel about it all and what to make of it.

Razorlight will play 'Smoked & Uncut' in Bridge, between Canterbury and Folkestone, on Sat 12th Aug.

[travelbunny-co]

Top luxury hotels in India

India is a country known for its vibrant culture, rich history, and diverse cuisine. But for those who seek luxurious travel, India also offers some of the finest and most luxurious hotels in the world. These hotels not only provide luxurious accommodations, but also offer a range of amenities and services that cater to the needs of the discerning traveler. In this article, we will take a look at the top ten luxury hotels in India, along with their service details.

The Taj Mahal Palace, Mumbai

The Taj Mahal Palace is a luxurious five-star hotel located in the bustling city of Mumbai. This iconic hotel was first opened in 1903 and has since been a symbol of grandeur and opulence. It is one of the most well-known landmarks in the city and has played host to a number of dignitaries, celebrities, and heads of state over the years.

The hotel has 560 rooms and suites that are designed with a perfect blend of traditional Indian décor and modern amenities. The Palace Rooms and Palace Suites offer a stunning view of the Gateway of India and the Arabian Sea. The Taj Mahal Palace also boasts of 44 luxurious suites that are known for their intricate designs, opulent furnishings, and state-of-the-art amenities.

The Oberoi Udaivilas, Udaipur

The Oberoi Udaivilas in Udaipur is a luxurious hotel located on the banks of Lake Pichola. It is one of the most beautiful hotels in India, known for its stunning architecture and unparalleled service. The hotel features 87 rooms and suites, each of which is elegantly designed with traditional Indian motifs and modern amenities.

The Oberoi Udaivilas has several dining options that serve a variety of cuisines. The most popular restaurant is Udaimahal, which serves authentic Rajasthani cuisine in a grand dining hall with a domed ceiling. Suryamahal is another restaurant that serves international cuisine and offers beautiful views of the lake.

The Leela Palace, New Delhi

The Leela Palace in New Delhi is a luxurious hotel located in the heart of the capital city. The hotel is an epitome of grandeur and elegance with its beautiful architecture and world-class amenities. The Leela Palace is known for its luxurious rooms and suites, fine dining options, and excellent service.

Accommodation: The Leela Palace offers 254 luxurious rooms and suites, each one designed with the utmost attention to detail. The rooms and suites are well-appointed and equipped with modern amenities like flat-screen TVs, mini-bars, and high-speed internet. The rooms are spacious and offer stunning views of the city or the hotel’s gardens. The suites are even more spacious and come with separate living areas, dining areas, and private balconies.

The Taj Falaknuma Palace, Hyderabad

The Taj Falaknuma Palace, located in Hyderabad, is a stunning palace-turned-hotel that offers guests a truly royal experience. The palace was built in 1894 and was the residence of the Nizam of Hyderabad. Today, it is a luxurious hotel that has retained its grandeur and charm.

The Taj Falaknuma Palace boasts 60 luxurious apartments and suites, each with a stunning view of the city and the palace’s gardens.. The rooms are designed to be spacious and luxurious, with ornate furniture, rich fabrics, and modern amenities. The suites are particularly grand, with features such as private pools, Jacuzzis, and balconies.

The Oberoi Rajvilas, Jaipur

The Oberoi Rajvilas in Jaipur is a luxurious oasis located amidst 32 acres of landscaped gardens, pools, and fountains.The hotel is a wonderful spot for a romantic retreat because it is a perfect blend of traditional Rajasthani architecture and modern conveniences. Here are some of the features of the hotel that make it one of the top luxury hotels in India:

The hotel has two restaurants and a bar. Surya Mahal provides all-day eating with a choice of Indian and international cuisine. The Raj Mahal is a fine-dining restaurant that specializes in authentic Rajasthani cuisine. The bar, Rajwada Library Bar, is a perfect spot for an evening drink. image of infoYour Personal Information is 100% secured with us. We do not save/share your data with any third party.

The Rambagh Palace, Jaipur

The Rambagh Palace in Jaipur is a former royal palace that has been converted into a luxury hotel. It is located in the heart of Jaipur, the capital city of Rajasthan and is known for its opulent interiors, sprawling gardens, and world-class amenities. Here is a detailed look at what makes the Rambagh Palace one of the top ten luxury hotels in India.

The Rambagh Palace has 78 opulent rooms, including 33 suites. Each room and suite is individually designed and decorated, with a mix of traditional Indian and contemporary decor. The rooms are equipped with modern amenities such as flat-screen TVs, iPod docks, and minibars. The suites offer additional amenities such as separate living areas and private terraces.

The Taj Lake Palace, Udaipur

The Taj Lake Palace is a luxurious heritage hotel situated on the serene Lake Pichola in Udaipur, Rajasthan. This magnificent palace was built in 1746 by Maharana Jagat Singh II as a summer retreat and later converted into a hotel in the 1960s. It is considered to be one of the most romantic hotels in the world and has been featured in numerous movies and TV shows.

The Taj Lake Palace has 65 luxurious rooms and suites, all of which offer breathtaking views of the lake and the surrounding Aravalli hills. Each room is decorated in traditional Rajasthani style and is equipped with modern amenities such as air conditioning, Wi-Fi, a flat-screen TV, and a minibar. The suites are more spacious and offer additional features such as a private balcony or terrace, a Jacuzzi, and a separate living room.

The Imperial, New Delhi

The Imperial is a luxury hotel located in the heart of New Delhi, India. It was built in 1931 and has since been an iconic landmark of the city. The hotel has 235 guest rooms and suites, each designed with a blend of modern amenities and traditional decor to provide guests with a unique experience.

The Imperial boasts of several fine dining restaurants and bars, including The Spice Route, which has been voted as the best restaurant in Asia. The restaurant offers authentic South-East Asian cuisine, with dishes from Thailand, Vietnam, Sri Lanka and more. San Gimignano is another popular restaurant at the hotel, which serves contemporary Italian cuisine.

The Taj Mahal Hotel, New Delhi

The Taj Mahal Hotel in New Delhi is a luxurious five-star hotel that is known for its opulence, comfort, and exceptional service. Located in the heart of the city, the hotel is a perfect blend of old-world charm and contemporary amenities. The hotel is also known for its warm hospitality and has been a favorite of celebrities, dignitaries, and business travelers.

The hotel has a total of 292 rooms and suites that are elegantly designed and equipped with modern amenities such as flat-screen TVs, mini-bars, and free Wi-Fi. The rooms are spacious and offer a comfortable stay to the guests. The hotel also has a 24-hour butler service, which ensures that guests are attended to promptly and efficiently.

#luxury hotels #luxury living #luxury house #travel blog

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Shapoorji Pallonji The Minerva Mahalaxmi Mumbai - Luxury Residences With A Spacious Open Deck

In Mahalaxmi, Shapoorji Pallonji The Minerva Mumbai offers 3.5 and 4 BHK apartments. designed especially for people who want to lead a life of royalty and absolute luxury. Apartments have been transformed into royal palaces fit for kings and queens thanks to their royal design. Exquisitely planned homes highlight a warm, regular range with custom subtleties and consolidate unique perspectives with the most elevated level of extravagance plan.

It is inseparable from imperial class and style. The elites live an exquisitely designed lifestyle. The Shapoorji Pallonji The Minerva is a majestic tower with opulent apartments that can be found within Mahalaxmi's expansive precincts. These apartments are designed to be royal residences suitable for contemporary royalty. They include a warm, regular range with custom subtleties to offer standout extravagance and stunning perspectives.

Marble flooring covers the living and dining areas of these apartments; laminate flooring in the bedroom together; ac in the living room, dining area, and bedrooms; large deck with sliding balcony doors in the living and dining areas; french windows in the parlor; windows with double glazing; well-built, high-end toilet with marble counters and bathroom fixtures; tiles in the kitchen and toilets; fully furnished designer kitchen with white appliances and a platform made of quartz stone; a dry and wet kitchen provision; space in the apartments for a walk-in closet; plumbing that withstands corrosion; back up for a few light points in every flat; separate access to the room used by the servant. It likewise has a very much enlivened building entry and a terrific entry hall; direct access to the garden at the podium; elegant and tastefully furnished floor lobbies; large elevators with high speeds and no gears; complete alarm and fire fighting system; visitor parking facility and sheltered parking;

These extravagant apartments offer a plethora of exclusive amenities for an extravagant lifestyle. The landscaped garden, jogging track, swimming pool, meditation area, spa and yoga center, gymnasium, table tennis room, tennis courts, carom and chess corners, squash courts, children's play area, snooker and billiards room, and badminton courts provide ample opportunities for recreation and relaxation.

Shapoorji Pallonji The Minerva Mahalaxmi is additionally effectively available to drive shopping centers, educational establishments, medical clinics, markets, multiplexes, restaurants, and sporting offices. An excellent selection of specialized shops, delightful cafeterias, gourmet restaurants, cultural activities and events by performance artists, and display art make it a high-end, international high-street shopping experience.

Live like royalty by moving into a lifestyle that is awash in super-luxury.

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Visit- Shapoorji Pallonji The Minerva

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