#blueballed

[kunikidas-cock-sucker]

I need it NEOW!! (please)

Ok...but that cliffhanger they left us on with these seasons? I've been edged by both Chucky AND Wednesday in one week! I need a season 2 of Wednesday, and a season 3 of Chucky neow! These shows are too good!!

[m0nst33]

TEAM RIDE AND DIE!!!! I headcannon that Gf is a succubus. Additionally Pico and her would along really well.

+(Bonus) When ya homie and girl 😤👀

[mwagneto]

DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT THIS PIC JUST TO SUFFER BECAUSE I DO. EVERY DAY. WHERE'S THE SCENE DEXTER WHERE'S THE FUCKING SCENE-

[cheezezcrustpizzas]

[askdragonbladetalon]

[closed RP] blueballed

@bloodforvlad:

Everything is different in the morning light. He gleams, resplendent, and the eyes that follow him mark well the beauty mingled with danger. Vladimir is wearing a particularly striking cravat today, emblazoned with a pattern of a very particular flower. A flower that, to the seasoned gaze of the youth who so eagerly attend Vladimir’s sporadic balls, is a clear and unmissable signal.

Vladimir laps up the gazes, the glances, the whispers, as he strides through the market district. And, sure enough, he is intercepted. Nazaire Écuyer, bless his ambition and hunger, is the first to approach. Ah, Vlad has missed this morsel most keenly. He makes polite smalltalk, his smugness growing as he watches Nazaire’s eyes flicking to the cravat, over and over, and sees the way the young man so nervously and eagerly licks his lips.

“… since my sister and I were last in your estate. A marvellous party, sir, she talks about it often. And yet, it seems this season you’ve not yet made any invitation to Noxus. She is quite… distracted with concern.”

“Indeed, we are overdue for another soirée.” Vladimir fixes a loose strand of hair with a slow flex of a silver claw, preening, idly sashaying a step closer to the captivated nobleman. “Perhaps your sister might be able to help me decide on a theme…”

There’s suddenly a third heartbeat, the pup. The gods-damned pup.

Nazaire, flustered and frightened, immediately retreats without even a farewell, leaving Vlad entirely unsatisfied, in the worst possible way. The mage’s eyes blaze with anger, a fury dampened by the fact that he is in public, he cannot cause a scene, not today, not when he was in such a good fucking mood. His teeth grit, and he swallows back a vile curse on Talon for interrupting him.

“What.”

Whoops. It’s far too clear to Talon, once he arrives, that Vladimir had been inviting the other’s attention. He’s not the savior here but the interloper, just as he was in the brothel. A better man might have apologized and stepped back, allowing Vladimir to attract some other hapless noble with his poisoned nectar, but Talon has never pretended to be anything even close to a good man. “Is that any way to greet one of Noxus’ premiere assassins, Vlad?” Instead of sloping off with his tail between his legs, he lets his lips curve into a smirk as he looks Vladimir up and down slowly, gaze resting on the cravat that the other man had kept glancing at as if unable to look away. “Of course, it’s better than just running away like your... friend... did but I’m assuming that your courage comes at least partly from the fact that I promised not to hurt you.” It’s a lovely spring day and the morning sunshine makes Talon’s armor gleam, his top and dragonblade gleaming like a promise of death. His scarf is loose around his shoulders, not quite concealing his throat, and bruises show in deep purple blotches just under the edge of the crimson cloth. Vladimir’s as pale as milk but Talon’s sand-golden, tanning a little more with every hour he spends out in the sunshine. As a child, he grew up in darkness and squalor. Now Talon naps in the sunshine like a cat in a sunbeam, letting his skin darken and his body store up as much heat as possible. His easy self-confidence and the swagger with which he moves speaks to his status; he is not noble-born, but he is one of the top assassins in Noxus and he will be respected. There are very few who would dare to come interrupt a conversation he is holding with Vladimir and Talon knows it.

[bloodforvlad]

It's absolutely none of Talon's business if someone decides to hit on Vladimir. Despite Vladimir's panic around him, he's still a hemomancer and capable of taking care of himself - presumably. The memory of Vladimir's frightened face when he woke from the nightmare, the obscenity of those /tears/, is enough to make Talon pause and change his path through the square. He stealths and blinks, appearing right next to the noble - and ignores him, instead fixing his eyes on the mage. "Vladimir."

Everything is different in the morning light. He gleams, resplendent, and the eyes that follow him mark well the beauty mingled with danger. Vladimir is wearing a particularly striking cravat today, emblazoned with a pattern of a very particular flower. A flower that, to the seasoned gaze of the youth who so eagerly attend Vladimir’s sporadic balls, is a clear and unmissable signal.

Vladimir laps up the gazes, the glances, the whispers, as he strides through the market district. And, sure enough, he is intercepted. Nazaire Écuyer, bless his ambition and hunger, is the first to approach. Ah, Vlad has missed this morsel most keenly. He makes polite smalltalk, his smugness growing as he watches Nazaire’s eyes flicking to the cravat, over and over, and sees the way the young man so nervously and eagerly licks his lips.

“… since my sister and I were last in your estate. A marvellous party, sir, she talks about it often. And yet, it seems this season you’ve not yet made any invitation to Noxus. She is quite… distracted with concern.”

“Indeed, we are overdue for another soirée.” Vladimir fixes a loose strand of hair with a slow flex of a silver claw, preening, idly sashaying a step closer to the captivated nobleman. “Perhaps your sister might be able to help me decide on a theme…”

There’s suddenly a third heartbeat, the pup. The gods-damned pup.

Nazaire, flustered and frightened, immediately retreats without even a farewell, leaving Vlad entirely unsatisfied, in the worst possible way. The mage’s eyes blaze with anger, a fury dampened by the fact that he is in public, he cannot cause a scene, not today, not when he was in such a good fucking mood. His teeth grit, and he swallows back a vile curse on Talon for interrupting him.

“What.”