to love you without being afraid;

(multimuse for hqmetia)

[saltcrowns]

Those compulsive and anxious thoughts had a tendency to consume Atticus, the fear of what would come next and his need to find out a possible solution for every single scenario his mind made... it felt like his head was going to explode and although normally Bron wouldn't be the person he needed, it seemed to be the exact thing Atticus needed in that moment. Someone to make him feel good and to muffle those thoughts that were so loud and all consuming.

Laying on the bed, he didn't realize just how much he needed the Lord Commander. He lived up to the reputation everyone around the capital knew for Lord Redwyne, incredible good in bed and with a great thrust game. The taste of the mans lips against his own, that thick red beard tickling his face as he tasted that Redwyne wine on the others lips.. craving more of the man who seemed to get under his skin.

The sound of flesh slapping against one another filled the room along with their moans, neither of them were too concerned about being caught in the moment. Atticus was too drunk and his mind too overwhelmed to worry about the optics if someone found them, that would be dealt with later. "I-I love your cock, Bron..." he moaned out as he felt the other slam inside him once more. "It feels so good in me, it fits just right inside me..." Words Atticus would likely regret when the man rubbed it in his face later, that smug look on his face that Atticus just wanted to sit on.

"Please breed me, daddy." The words escaped his lips before he could realize what it was that he said, his neck shot back as he felt his prostate getting hit time and time again. "I need it, I've needed it for so long... Your cock feels so incredible stretching me out and hitting me right where I need it." he looked up to kiss Bron once more.

"Claim me tonight, show me how much you've wanted me Ser Bronson..."

[dutyvsdesire]

Hearing Atticus affirm just how much he loves being taken by him sends fire coursing through Bronson's veins, makes his cock throb where it's pressed inside him. He groans, nibbling at Atticus' earlobe, wanting to taste every part of him he can. He wants to commit this feeling, of having Atticus unravel beneath him, to memory.

He moans loudly, his grip on Atticus tightening when he calls him daddy, when he begs him to breed him. Who knew the prim and proper hand of the king could be so filthy? It drives Ser Bronson practically insane with lust, his thrusts quickening, the growl in his chest getting louder as he loses himself in the feeling. "Yea, I'm going to breed you, baby. As sharp as that mind of yours-" his gravelly voice cuts off with a particularly loud moan, "As sharp as that mind of yours is, a beauty like yours deserves to be kept. Taken care of. You need a real man to take care of you."

Bronson releases Atticus' neck and sits up straight, pushing Atticus further down into the bed with one hand on his back as the other grips his hip hard enough to bruise. He wants Atticus to feel this afterward, to remember just how good he made him feel. "I can tell how neglected you've been, needing the touch of a real man."

He smacks his ass hard, and continues to thrust deeply into Atticus' delicious warm embrace, sweat dripping down his brow. "Gods above, Atticus. I never want to pull out. Fuck, you take it so well. You're making daddy feel so fucking good."

"We're going to have to make this a regular thing, I'm going to want this ass again, beautiful."

[saulxs]

the colosseum where: tavern? someone's chambers? brothel?

Despite being a knight, he wasn't a violent person, so it was all a little foreign to him. He came, he followed the royal family around, and he watched the fights, from afar, unsure of what to make of it. Despite that, he liked the event, because it brought many people together. Different people. And who could blame him for wanting to branch out?

He had been invited for a couple of beers and accepting it was the only polite thing to do. "That's my last one," he said, looking down at the third mug of beer, knowing that it was his last. He had work to do and people were still celebrating, although he wasn't really sure what. "I'm not fighting in the arena but I still need to yield a sword."

[dutyvsdesire]

Truth be told, Ilya isn't entirely sure how he ended up in this situation. The night hasn't gone terribly, he's in decent enough company at a...brothel? Tavern? They're hard to distinguish once you've had enough pints in you, and Ilya has had his fair share. Usually he tries to keep to himself at these kinds of events, preferring to keep the company of those he's familiar with, but he met a rowdy group of knights and got swept up in their cheer and merriment.

It's a good distraction.

He gulps down the rest of his pint, and he can practically hear his father's voice berating him for getting sloppy. No. He can hear his father's voice. Clear as day. He turns his head, fear lighting up his eyes as he searches for his father's ghost. Only to find the rest of the patrons cheering loudly behind him.

The man next to him, who seemingly was also swept up by the group of knights speaks up and momentarily snaps him out of his thoughts.

"Ah, yes," Ilya responds softly, nodding, "That's responsible. I should probably follow suit. Gods willing I will not come to regret this much ale tomorrow morning." He groans, rubbing his temples, knowing that the likelihood of him suffering in the morning is very high. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

[goldenbals]

where: astere, argonia when: the earliest fashionable time to arrive who: attendees, host

finally seen in a light that felt like himself, and not like he was formed into a reflection of some previous ruler's husband, baltasar was out in force at the next event to occur. logically, he should be concerned; no news came from the investigation of the attempted murder. but he felt too free to not make a showing.

with the title of queen, went the long robes and hanging sleeves. working (and paying) his tailors overtime, baltasar stood regally in some slightly more rakish attire, inspired by his golden days as a man leaving his mark upon numerous noble necks and backsides. a vest that swung low down his chest, enough chains and necklaces to create a chorus as he moved to fill that gap, and fitted pants tucked into strong boots. let none look at baltasar sollia and see the queen -- only the prince-consort.

even the way he moved seemed with renewed confidence; lifting something to inspect it, returning it to its (assumed) place.

"--you've been staring." whether or not the person he addressed was, baltasar found it more fun to assume, and put said person on the back-foot. "were you waiting for a question, or simply basking in my presence?"

[dutyvsdesire]

Yet another event in a foreign kingdom where he is expected to mingle and charm countless royals and nobles. This one, however, is a little more interesting than any of the others Amrit has attended. Argonia made itself known, and caused quite the commotion, the thrum of excitement and apprehension could be felt in every interaction he's had.

He's dressed in something expensive, and ostentatious, but easy to move in. Amrit had requested as such, needing to be able to run should he have to.

Unfortunately, he isn't prepared for a battle of any kind. He's relegated to spectating, his role in life chosen for him.

Amrit finds himself yet again in Baltasar's company, drawn to the man for the comfort and familiarity. Camaraderie. That's the word he thinks as he regards the Sollian queen-No, prince consort. Prince consort, he reminds himself, shaking his head.

"Have I been?" He responds, unable to suppress the smile that overtakes his features. He laughs softly, crossing his arms across his chest, biting his lip as he approaches Baltasar slowly. "Can you blame a man for wanting to bask in golden sunlight?"

He quirks a brow, taking in his appearance, letting his eyes drink in the splendor of expensive jewelry and exposed skin. "So, how's my favorite prince consort finding the festivities?"

[saltcrowns]

House Dayne and House Baliss had a rivalry that went back for generations, nobody truly knew where the mutual hatred came from but Regulus had always been told to avoid the Daynes, who had fallen out of favor with the Sollian royal family. The Hellfire heir didn't care about those sorts of things, not nearly as much as he probably should have but he knew Dorian was one to keep an eye on. The Master of Whisperers had those golden locks and a silver tongue as a weapon.

"Oh, you just happened to be going to the same place as me?" Regulus cocked a brow, curiously. He didn't believe the man, not entirely at least. "How convenient." He folded his arms, looking the other over. Dorian had plenty of spies who kept tabs on people, was he one of them? Or was he giving himself too much credit? Still, what would Dorian need to follow him for? "Well, I suppose it's better to have a drink with someone you know." Regulus continued walking towards the tavern, assuming Dorian was following behind him.

[dutyvsdesire]

Dorian smiles widely, all teeth, not unlike a predator flashing its pointy fangs at cornered prey. He cocks his head and rolls his eyes playfully, waving off Regulus' comment, scoffing softly. "Oh, Lord Baliss, you are easy on the eyes, but not enough to compel me to stalk you like some shadowy figure."

"I'm sure you're accustomed to having some of the other lords fawn over you," he continues, stepping closer, smirking a bit, "But you'll have to get a couple pints in me before I start batting my eyelashes and hanging off your arm, or following you around like some puppy." That should sell it. Usually a bit of flirting, and a twirl of the hair did the trick. Dorian knows how to use his assets to his advantage.

Once it seems that Regulus gives in, Dorian sighs softly, walking up to him to enter side by side. "Well, of course, my darling Regulus. And I'm not just someone you know, I'm the best company in all of the kingdoms."

He chuckles and bumps his shoulder against Regulus' own, "I kid, I kid. Such an ego is unbecoming. Now, is it a frequent occurrence for you to wear such garb when you're out for a drink on the town? Or is tonight a special occasion? I'm not intruding on anything, am I?"

[saltcrowns]

@dutyvsdesire asked: 9e [ atticus x bronson ]

When the Lord Commander found Atticus, he wasn't in a great headspace— the stress of the assassination attempt while trying to find answers and deal with the agitated guests, it'd started to eat him alive. At first the Hightower Lord picked at his own skin when he felt overwhelmed but that was becoming numb and after another long day, he decided to drown himself in some Redwyne wine. He'd already finished a bottle when Bronson found him, slurring his words when trying to tell the knight to fuck off. Instead, Bron grabbed two more bottles and the pair drank the night away.

That's how Atticus ended up here, feeling that red hair tickle his face as Bron kissed him... and piece after piece of garment falling off the two men before he was carried off to the nearest bed. He didn't want to think about how smug Bron might be about this tomorrow, Atticus just knew he needed a good fucking to relieve some of this stress.

"Oh fuck..." he said in a low voice, the Hand had been pinned down into the bed as Bron slammed into him time and time again. "Bron..." he said in a low voice, muffled by the sheets that he clung to. Despite what he thought of the Lord Commander, Ser Bron certainly lived up to his reputation in the bedroom. "Keep going, just like that..."

[dutyvsdesire]

As much as Ser Bronson loves to poke fun at Atticus and see him pout, he also considers him a friend...Somewhat. A friend who is a bit of a pain in his backside, and who needs to lighten up, and who's a little too handsome for his own good...

Especially when he's on his stomach underneath him, taking his cock like he's made for it. The two have been going at it for a little while, ending up entangled after a few too many bottles of wine from his house. They're in one of the guest quarters, having sneaked into the nearest chambers they could find when Bron had pulled Atticus in for a searing kiss and refused to let go.

Gods in heaven, Bron could kiss Atticus for hours.

Feeling the sweet drag of Atticus rim against his aching cock as it impales him over and over has Bron panting against his shoulder. One of his hands clutches to his lower back, holding him down so he can properly fuck into him, his other arm wrapped around Atticus neck to pull him back so their heads are pressed close enough for him to hear every sound that comes out of Bron's lips, and every dirty little thing he groans out as he uses that hole for all its worth, delighting in how Atticus squeezes onto his cock.

"Yea?" He growls out breathily, continuing his onslaught, the sound of skin slapping against skin growing louder as his balls repeatedly crash into Atticus' plump backside. "You take it so well, Attic-oh fuckin' hell-so well, Atticus. It's like you want to swallow my cock whole, your hole loves it, doesn't it, my lord?"

Bron bites down onto Atticus heated skin, leaving marks on his shoulder before soothing them with an open mouth kiss. "Tell me how much you love my cock. I want to hear you scream my name. Beg me to breed that sweet ass of yours," his voice is so gravelly, gone with lust. "I've been wanting to breed you for so long-ohmygod, yes-Atticus. You have no idea how good you feel wrapped around me. Soft. Warm. Tight."

He hits a particularly good thrust and his eyes threaten to roll back, a moan roaring out of him as his cock throbs in Atticus heated grip. "So fuckin' good for me, beautiful."

[saltcrowns]

open to anyone setting outside a random tavern in the valtolia's capital

The trip back home had been delayed after the failed assassination, there were still questions to be answered and they wanted to know where every single guest had been there that evening. Regulus had no stake in it, he didn't care about the Valtolian crown or any of the political squabbles that seemed to never die down. While he may have been itching to return home, Regulus thought this was the perfect opportunity to try something.

It was the middle of the night and he covered himself in a black coat, unlike back home he was just another face in the crowd of Metia's aristocracy who would go by unnoticed for a few hours. Slipping out of the castle, the Hellfire lord made his way into the capital city's hub with bustling life. It wasn't until he found a tavern with his name on it that he was stopped.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a low voice, looks like he wasn't nearly as stealthy as he thought he had been. "I didn't know I had my own personal stalker." Though Regulus was more amused by that than annoyed.

[dutyvsdesire]

Dorian is guided by pride, and bitterness, and spite, and a need for approval. A recipe for disaster, in most cases, but Dorian has managed to convince his peers in the Sollian court that he's worthy of being among the best of them. He'd been offered the seat of the Master of Whisperers, and he took it gleefully, knowing that he was that much closer to bringing true glory to house Dayne.

For that to happen he needs all of the ammunition he can gather, anything that will aid in taking down the enemies of Starfall.

That's why he's following one, Lord Regulus Baliss of Hellfire, a mortal enemy of house Dayne, a bitter rivalry that has gone on for decades now. Most of it is underhanded, meant to be kept respectable, to uphold the facade that time has cured all ills.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Dorian has something to prove.

He'd been in Valtolia (the sister kingdom became a frequent destination for him ever since the treaty was signed), when one of his many allies alerted him of Regulus whereabouts.

When Dorian is easily caught, he pretends to be surprised for a second, running a hand through his golden locks. "Oh! Gods above, you've startled me, Lord Baliss!"

He tilts his head, feigning innocence, his hair falling to the side slightly as he bites his lip to keep from grinning. Dorian sighs softly, as if relenting, "I'm not stalking you, I was going to have a drink at this tavern, I heard they have good ale. Apparently sometimes for the really good brews you have to get your hands dirty and mingle with the commonfolk." He crosses his arms, eyebrow quirking as his eyes rake down Regulus' form covered in the cloak. "I'm assuming you're doing the same? There's no need to be ashamed and don a disguise, handsome. They are people too, you know."

[saltcrowns]

open to anyone location the garden maze when at the end of the night, during the fireworks

Although drunk, Rohan was aware he had too much to drink and probably made an ass out of himself in front of the other nations. Did that stop him from carrying a flask with him as he made his way out of the ballroom to the gardens where a beautiful garden maze waited for the guests. Rohan was just thankful to be away from the pressure of dancing and socializing with former enemies. He could find a corner somewhere and drink 'till he dozed off in the gardens.

That was the plan, until he bumped into someone who found the corner in the maze. One thing led to another until Rohan had a fistful of the man's clothes in his hands as he held them against the hedge wall, their lips meeting for a drunken kiss he may or may not remember in the morning.

[dutyvsdesire]

Amrit knows better, should be on his best behavior, but his judgment is clouded by the free flowing Valtolian wine, and the relative privacy of the hedge maze.

Relative being the operative word here, in more ways than one. Despite being alone at the moment, there is no guarantee someone won't stumble across this scene. Amrit is pushed into the hedge like he isn't wearing some of the most expensive garb available in Casther, desperately clinging to his husband, the king's, brother.

Armit has always held a flame of desire for Rohan, a Toyne who actually knows how to touch him, and throw him around. His years of training go out the window, replaced by a haze of lust that he can feel throughout his entire body.

He needs this, and he tells Rohan as much, pleading for him as he kisses him back hungrily.

Amrit's own hands cling fiercely to the man's face, pulling him in as close as possible like he needs him to breathe. The risk of this is making it that much more enticing.

"Please," he breathes out against his mouth, his dark hair falling loosely onto his forehead, ripped out of its neat style. "Take me right here out in the open. I need you."

[edgeofval-deactivated20250406]

for: bronson @dutyvsdesire location: courtyard, a safe distance from the scene of the crime

Kellen liked to say Valtolia's Lord Commander dealt with their people problems while the Witcher dealt with their monster problems. Unfortunately, what happened this night was everyone's problem. Unrepentant and rather mouthy, no one needed a reminder of how much Kellen enjoyed his job. That made him a suspect, no matter what he might say to deflect that blame. So he stayed in public view, though not for the reasons he usually enjoyed.

Hopefully being next to Bronson would give him back some credibility.

"If you've got any questions, ask them." Whether it about anyone the witcher would immediately suspect, what his senses were currently picking up, or where he might've been at the time of all this: everything was game. He'd rather keep his life than keep any secrets.

[dutyvsdesire]

Well, things took quite an interesting turn to say the least. Ser Bronson finds himself keeping an eye on the royals, vigilant for any imminent threats, hand poised to readily pull out his sword at any moment.

Still, despite how prepared he is for a fight, you wouldn't be able to tell by just looking at him, an easy smile on his face. Bron looks like he's having a nice chat with a friend he ran into at a shop, not like he's discussing a potential threat.

"What makes ye think I got any hard pressing questions, mate?" Bron chuckles lowly, shaking his head softly as he cuts his gaze to Kellen, grinning at him easily.

"Actually, I 'spose I could ask what you think this all is. Some kind of shitty attempt to paint us as tricksters, or a random attack? I gotta say this whole ordeal sobered me up real quick. By the gods..."

[saltcrowns]

There was one thorn within the Valtolian Small Council that seemed to always be in Atticus' side, a pesky Brimble wasp that got enjoyment from buzzing around him when he was at work, none other than Ser Bronson Redwyne. The man was brash and lacked the class needed to be in the Small Council. The two were constantly at odds with one another, Atticus was cautious and analytical in approach while Bron was a military man who acted in the moment. During the height of the war, the two of them were constantly at bickering over the best course of action.

The worst part about all of it was how easy it was for Bron to annoy Atticus. It was no secret how tightly wound up the Hightower lord was and the Redwyne lord seemed to know exactly what buttons to press, he should just ignore the man but Atticus had a need to correct Bron at every turn. The two seemed to just feed into one another in this endless dance they seemed to be entangled in.

The lords body tensed up when Bron wrapped those strong arms around his shoulders, rigid as always. "Do you lack tact, Bronson?" his scowl only seemed to sour more with each word that came out of the redheads mouth.

"Oh, you really know how to charm a man with your words. Lunan himself must be weeping that you didn't become a poet in this lifetime." Atticus' words were drenched in sarcasm and contempt for Bron as he looked back down at his notes.

[dutyvsdesire]

Seeing Atticus scowl fills Bronson with a giddy joy that can barely be contained, the man practically bouncing on his feet next to him. He can't help but chuckle, not being able to suppress the crooked smile that takes over his features. They've known each other almost their whole lives, thanks to the Hightower school, but they've had to be in much closer proximity because of their positions on the small council. That has given Ser Bronson Redwyne more than enough time to learn just how to truly ruffle Atticus' feathers.

He's quite adorable, Atticus is, when he gets all pouty, is something that Bron's drunken mind supplies him. He would shake the thought off, but looking at Atticus, he can't find it in him to argue.

Atticus next words catch him slightly off guard, stinging his ego a little bit. Bronson might be a bit of a brute, but he has a romantic side, certainly one that fancies poetry.

He bites his lip, grin turning into an easy smirk. "Lunan himself handed me my sword so that I needn't become a poet," he eyes Atticus carefully, raking his eyes down his form. "Words are just that, I'm a man of action, Atti."

"Poetry is for wimps who need to go out and breathe fresh air some more, maybe roll around in it. You look like you could do with a good roll around in the hay, my lord. What's it been? Years since you were last touched?" Bronson is just talking shit to get a rise out of Atticus, watching him with a raise of his brow.

[dutyvsdesire]

. battle for your life, babylon .

. gossip, babble on .

( ADAM SENN, GAY, MALE & HE/HIM ) — by the grace of the gods, old and new, i present to you MASTER OF WHISPERERS, LORD DORIAN DAYNE of STARFALL within the lands of  SOLLIA. the gods have blessed us with their presence for THIRTY-TWO years. many know them to be CHARMING, SUAVE, POPULAR, and while it is not always shown, it is said they can also be MANIPULATIVE, CALCULATING, AND VENGEFUL. what will their tale in the story of metia be? only they can write it, so let’s see how their legend unfolds. —

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 / lord dorian dayne, master of whisperers. 𝐀𝐆𝐄 / thirty-two years old. 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 / dor, dori 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 / sollia.

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 / 6.2 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 / 180 lbs. 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 / right handed. 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 / blue. 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 / blond and expertly coifed. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 / handsome face, bright smile, always put together, golden blond hair.

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 / charming, suave, popular, clever, resourceful, careful. 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 / manipulative, calculating, vengeful, vain, arrogant, sensitive. 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 / gossiping, the downfall of his enemies, causing strife for fun, scheming, gardens, cats 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 / losing, being ignored, being kept out of the loop, his enemies, children.

𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 / homosexual 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 / versatile. 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 / marking, breeding, restraints, praise and degradation, frotting. 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈-𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 / scat, feet, watersports, infantilization, sensory deprivation, restraints.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 / house dayne of starfall is a house that has experienced many ups and downs within the court of sollia. their recent downfall, about a generation or two ago was one for the books though, quite literally, it's storied within the books of their library. the dayne name lost almost all its value thanks to the workings of an enemy house.

now a generation later, dorian, with something to prove and a house to avenge has worked his entire life to restore glory to his family name. this has culminated in taking over the queen's prior duties as master of whisperers. he's in the perfect position to see that his house's enemies fall, and even possibly find himself in the perfect place to be considered for a lucrative marriage. the world is at his fingertips, all he has to do is flash that big smile, and bat his eyelashes.

[dutyvsdesire]

. it fills my head up and gets louder and louder .

( KIT HARINGTON, PANSEXUAL, MALE & HE/HIM ) — by the grace of the gods, old and new, i present to you MASTER OF SHIPS, LORD ILYA MULCIBER of THE LABYRINTH within the lands of BERGIA. the gods have blessed us with their presence for THIRTY-FIVE years. many know them to be  INTELLIGENT, ANALYTICAL, PERCEPTIVE, and while it is not always shown, it is said they can also be PARANOID, FEARFUL, AND HAUNTED. what will their tale in the story of metia be? only they can write it, so let’s see how their legend unfolds. —

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 / lord ilya mulciber, master of ships. 𝐀𝐆𝐄 / thirty-five years old. 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 / captain 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 / bergia.

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 / 5.5 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 / 129 lbs. 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 / left handed. 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 / brown, tired, weary. 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 / black, curly and kept short. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 / small stature, fearful look to his eyes, curly hair and neatly kept beard.

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 / intelligent, analytical, perceptive, dutiful, resilient, loyal. 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 / paranoid, fearful, haunted, guarded, stubborn, conflicted. 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 / a nice warm bed, the sea, planning and organizing, drawing schematics. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 / being trapped, or cornered, dark and cold spaces, the stillness of night, being surprised, people paying too much attention to him.

𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 / pansexual 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 / versatile. 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 / being dominated, praise kink, breeding, marking, snowballing. 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈-𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 / scat, feet, watersports, infantilization, sensory deprivation, restraints.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 / the labyrinth of the northwestern part of bergia is an architectural and engineering marvel, brought forth and maintained by some of the best minds in bergian history. the mulciber family is known for their intelligence, as well as their...eccentricity. there is something regarded as a mulciber curse, where that same brilliant mind turns against itself, spiraling into insanity.

ilya has been master of ships and lord of his house for a few years, his father before him tragically succumbing to his fleeting grasp on reality. ilya himself has had difficulties with the hardships of war, the sea, and the labyrinth itself. difficulties that he fears are manifesting in the dreaded mulciber curse of insanity. he won't voice this, of course, because he has to keep his house running, and keep his family's legacy going. he has work to do. just don't sneak up on him.

[courtiings]

@dutyvsdesire

Ram hated lots of aspects about being king, but chief among them were these stupid balls. Inane gatherings of very little substance, wherein he —and his lovely queen— were expected to show their faces to the Metian elite. The pomp and circumstance of it all sickened him. Sure, peace could be a lovely thing, but did he need to travel all the way here to celebrate it?

(Assuming it even lasted to begin with...)

But if these events had any merit to them, they served as opportunities for himself and his spouse to find potential new sexual partners. So, not nothing.

"I would ask if you've had your eyes on the prowl for men of interest," Ram begins, speaking to his low, usual growl in Amrit's ear as they moved together on the dance floor, his hands firmly —not but quite possessively— settled at the his spouse's hips. As much as it annoyed him to perform these little gestures when he would much, much rather be the one they were performed on, people expected a king to lavish over his queen. They all had roles to play.

"—but I know you well enough to figure that is a useless question. Your hunger for cock is only matched by my own..."

[dutyvsdesire]

Despite being raised for this, Amrit finds himself loathing these grand events. Sure, at first they were exciting, but that luster wore off pretty quickly. The constricting pressure of having to play the part of the perfectly poised, elegant Castherian queen made most of these social events quite draining.

He's like...a lovely ornament. Meant to be placed upon his king Ram's arm. Amrit must charm everyone he comes across so that they may leave the events with a good impression of what Castherian grace truly is. That, and he has to make sure his moody husband gets through the entire thing in one piece.

During times like this his role becomes too much of a cage, and he finds himself needing something to really take the edge off.

That's just one of the reasons why he currently finds himself eyeing the other men on the dance floor, trying to see if he can pick out someone who would be suitable for him and his king.

His king who currently has his hands reluctantly pressed to his hips, Amrit's own arms delicately wrapped around his shoulders, tips of his fingers softly teasing the skin of Ram's neck ever so. Despite his complicated feelings about this arrangement, and about Ram himself, Amrit finds himself doing these little things that are just for them. He wants to help soothe Ram, even if he knows the man would much rather be off with some brute, probably bent over a chaise lounge.

He tries desperately to temper the urge to roll his eyes at his husband's bitchy remark, biting his cheek. His fingers cease their movement, no longer tracing little patterns on the nape of his neck. "Yea, it's the one thing we have in common," he replies in a low tone, confident that none of the other men around can hear. Then he leans in closer, bringing his lips right to Ram's ear, his whisper turning into a growl, "Princess."

"Maybe I'll leave the bending over all to you, my darling. As a gift. See if that greedy hole of yours can handle two men at once. I'm sure you'd love that."

[myownutopia2]

[goldenbals]

who: baltasar sollia, queen of sollia where: a room or loft above a crowded ballroom; space to think, but still see the figures below when: first or second day, in the evening/night

in another life, baltasar wouldn't be a voice of reason, trying to aid the event in flowing more smoothly. he'd be a (rather large) bump in the road. he'd be one of those stones that needed to be kicked off the trodden path, he'd be a mount that needed to be flattened, he'd be a river that had to be bridged or dammed.

he didn't lean over the railing -- his hands were behind him as he stood up straight, looming over the crowd below. his red coat with a tail that skimmed the floor behind him, his fitted pants, his army of golden rings and ear cuffs and bangles, the queen ever so much tried to present himself as at least half a king.

upon noting an approach, either heard himself or by the signal of one of his guards, baltasar didn't look over. he just cleared his throat, shifted his weight slightly in his stance of vigil.

"business, or pleasure?"

[dutyvsdesire]

there has been a lot of mingling with royals, and nobility of all kinds thanks to the current peacetime, lots of hands to shake and cheeks to kiss. names to remember.

at first it was exciting, but as time goes on, like most things, it gets monotonous. stale. boring.

that's why queen amrit tries to keep things as interesting as possible, and seeks out those who might offer a bit of fun, some spontaneity. or at the very least, a moment for amrit to take a deep breath and relax some.

that's how he finds himself sneaking off once he realized that one of the other queens, queen baltasar of sollia, had wandered off alone. baltasar is one of amrit's favorite people to spend time with during these events. he finds him to be something of a kindred spirit, someone placed in his path by terran to show him that he's not alone. someone understands. sometimes that's all you can ask for.

"well," amrit begins, answering baltasar's question as he saunters closer, hands crossed delicately across his strong chest. "that depends who's asking, doesn't it, baltasar?"

he makes his way over, tilting his head with a smile once he finally reaches the railing. amrit makes himself comfortable, leaning over and looking down at the other guests, mingling in little groups.

"for some...i'd tell them i'm here for business," he says softly, "as for others...well, they'd know i'm here for pleasure."

"what about you, my dear friend? what do you find yourself in the mood for tonight?"

[justaholesir]

JOSHUA SASSE as Sir Gary Galavant Galavant (TV Series 2015–2016)

[saltcrowns]

closed for @dutyvsdesire location the dove concord festivities

On top of being the Hand of the King who was supposed to keep track of every influential person during these festivities, Atticus was also needing to find suitors for his younger brothers. With his father gone, it was up to Atticus to take care of his household. The Hightowers were one of the most powerful houses in all of Metia and with the influx of so many great houses from their neighbors, he should surely be able to find someone for each of them.

The Hightower lord was sipping tea with a few Castherian lords whose estates were near the Valtolian border when that boisterous, smug smile tucked away behind vibrant red facial hair came into the room. Bronson wanted his attention, so Atticus excused himself from the table. "What do you want, Lord Redwyne?" Atticus' voice was drenched in annoyance. "I hope you didn't make another mess that I need to clean up."

[dutyvsdesire]

The festivities are not Ser Bronson's cup of tea...to put it lightly. Sure, he's glad he has the privilege of living during times of peace, something many men have not known. Men whom he was close to, to varying degrees. Family, friends, fellow brothers in arms. Bron had led countless men to their deaths all to secure the great kingdom of Valtolia's success and the safety of the royal Remes family.

He wouldn't take it back. Bronson is devoted to the Remes, to Valtolia, but he can't shake the lead weight of guilt dragging him down. A feeling that it was all such a waste gnaws at him until he numbs it with alcohol, or sex, or more violence.

Always something.

Right now he could do with a distraction from all of this...posturing and fake laughter. His clothes itch, too buttoned up for his liking.

That's when he spots a familiar face, and he beams immediately, relief flooding through him. There's playful smirk on Bron's face as he saunters closer to Atticus, the tightly wound Hand of the King, prepared to bother him a little bit. His booze soaked brain thinks getting to annoy Atticus is the most fun he'll have all night.

The tone of Atticus' voice just makes Bronson bite his lip to keep from smiling wider, a chuckle threatening to escape despite his efforts. "Now, Atti laddy," the silly nickname rolls off his tongue so easily, "I thought you and I were closer than that. Are we not at the point where you feel comfortable skipping the formalities? Call me Bron. C'mon I know you can do it!"

Bronson steps right up to him, and puts a strong arm around Atticus' shoulders, tugging him close. "As for messes, well, none yet, but that can be changed. Although, ideally, that mess would be all over that pretty face of yours, Atti. And I wouldn't want you to clean that."

"Which reminds me," he says, and boops Atticus on the nose with a low laugh. "Stop frowning, I'd hate to see that pretty face get all wrinkled. Then how would we find you a suitable husband, hmm? We're already asking a lot what with your...demeanor."

[kwistowee]

JOSHUA SASSE | GALAVANT (2015) (We watch it for the music and the plot..)