#pleasureprince

[vvitchlings]

ophaleia asked: and who is this lovely creature? / @pleasureprince ✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄.

eyes raise to find the stranger impassively. " a whisper in the wind. " she was eager for a bit of fun and it always did seem to fall in her lap. " your scent . . . it's intoxicating. " only then does a devilish smirk exist.

[archaeval]

@pleasureprince gets song #79: Pale White Horse ;;

Neither plague or famine tempered my courage Nor did raids make me cower But his translucent skin made me shiver deep within my bones

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑷𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑲 𝑶𝑭 𝑷𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹 when it bared its gleaming teeth at her through the dark. The man before her seemed mortal enough, but the scent of ancient magic hung on him like a perfectly tailored coat. Yet despite the suspicion roiling in her throat, it is habit, not fear, that sees her bow her head in a brief show of respect. After all, is she not mannerful to her guests? Does she not greet those who come to her without iron singing, chainmail ringing, ready to cut her down?

"You have come a long way," she crooned. A door to her realm had opened up near Baldur's Gate, but it still took some time to make it from the city walls to her grand foyer. "Have you sought me out yourself, then, or is this yet another accident of fate?" Too many of those had occurred recently, travelers stumbling into her forest and up her stairs in search of shelter for the night, as if she was a waypoint, and not the destination.

[saintsdawn-a]

↬ @pleasureprince sends, 005. in a dimly lit library, hidden amongst the books.

if there is something to covet, it is an impressive collection of the written word. they could spend hours here. fingers trailing over spines, the scent of parchment and wood filling the air – it is equal parts comforting and overwhelming.

it could be the abbey. the dim atmosphere and heavy silence are reminders of home. they know that if they closed their eyes, the walls would transform to old stone. a maze of aging scrolls and books to explore. . .

a sound to the right. florence turns. a book is in their hand, and they feel like a caught deer.

“ sorry, ” they say, but even they can hear the lie. “ it isn’t often that my work brings me to places such as this. i had to indulge. ”

but there is work to do.

“ am i meant to be helping you ? roah was vague with the details, and i doubt i’m of much use unless you wish to burn these shelves to the ground. ”

[starlyht]

❛ you must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing. ❜ / @pleasureprince for Kyran.

𝒜 𝒟𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝒪𝐅 𝐵𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐬.𝐭. 𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐧

how achingly he found himself by the thought seduced;   how with blooded nails he thrashed against the walls of his own far softer sensibilities.  “think that's the last thing i want to hear right now,”   he responded,  sharper than intended.  he was rather woefully,  pitifully,  terrible for a vampire   ---   or whatever he even was,  because not even he was so certain of anything save for that wretchedly vampiric desire (no,   need) to quench himself on lifesblood.  

kyran ran a hand over his face,  fingertips rubbing at blood dried around his mouth and dripped down his chin.  a droplet visibly trailed down further still, crimson congealing to a shade nearly dark as ink and stark against pale flesh,  before pooling down at his collar.  

it was the last thing he wanted to hear right now,  but he had no reason to suspect such a dazzling creature would lead him astray.  no creature so radiant as if touched by lathander's rays could.  “i try not to enjoy it,   actually,  even if  they deserved it.”  even if the taste was divine.  even if he was achingly,  wretchedly exhausted of starving himself until his insides clawed for relief. / @pleasureprince

[sluaghter]

@pleasureprince asked: “ how should we celebrate? ” MORBID CURIOSITY (accepting)

The church hums with tinfoil silence. If he looks out the winking eye of his stained window, through the peppermint candy red, he might see young men strumming lutes. Ribboned ladies will fawn. There will be beds of roses in shades of ghost pepper creamy liqueur.

He doesn’t. Instead, Nicholas stamps this man’s face into his crawlspace memory. He’s at a tabernacle shelving wine.

“With someone you love,” he tells him, opening the door, “who will admire you, and care for you, and lie to you in all the ways that you want.”

This is wine from a lowest bidder vineyard, not Gentleman’s Reserve. The man may have an air of debauchery, and his mouth ticks.

“Is that what you want.”

[foulprey]

"I have eyesight which far outstrips your own. I am built to watch." / @pleasureprince for Raphael.

It makes his skin crawl. He makes his skin crawl, with the assured nature of his voice breaching the depths of Raphael's guts like a swarm of maggots. A reminder of precisely how powerless he is, how petulant he must seem, a child clinging to only the semblance of power and control. Worse, in his own home.

To his credit, Raphael doesn't seethe, even when his expression contorts with distaste. Pursed lips and narrowed eyes, fingers curled into tight, intertwined fists on his own lap over crossed legs. What he hates most is to be made small, to be made insignificant. But he is a self-preserving creature, above all.

When his eyes flicker to the board, he sees all the ways this game of chess could end. Yet not enough for victory. Not enough to escape his insight.

This is his loss, proverbially.

"Pray tell, then. Illuminate me. What have you been so watchful over that you've decided to grace me with your presence," he asks, biting through the words, "here, in the House of Hope?"

Uninvited.

[insearchofstories]

❝ what’s better than a devil you don’t know? a devil you do. ❞ / @pleasureprince for Mivea

@pleasureprince

Mivea's head snaps, looking up suddenly. A stranger. Usually people who request her services are the same bunch, with the occasional new face who will dip their toes into the whole miracles and saint ordeal.

Seems like she has to face the second option today. She smiles, polite, charming, and moves her hand to grip the veil cascading over her shoulders, holding it steady to her chest, "Indeed. Knowing is always the preferable option."

Strange way to start a conversation she thinks. She slowly turns her head towards Jarit, sitting right at her side as she was busy opening up the window to her shop. He doesn't seem nervous for now, but there is a light difference in how he poses himself in front of this particular stranger.

She has to be careful? Perhaps they know each other? Her head turns again, smile still stretching her lips, "Do you wish to know something?"

[foulprey]

"If you live long enough, time can be a weapon." / @pleasureprince for Adonai.

Between the pages of tomes older than even she is lie traces of the countless lives that came before her. These marks left behind by desperate hands, or hopeful ones, wanting to be remembered in some form by leaving pieces of themselves behind. The few that are lucky to have survived the ages. How many more out there? And how many lost to time?

If not to fire. To the elements. If not to other, jealous hands.

But some stand out more than others. A craftsmanship that catches the eye. Or a presence, carved out of onyx and into the space of this study hall itself. Her pale eyes catch his reflection on the brass candlestick, flames flickering when the air around them stirs as he approaches.

"...Yes, that maybe so." The charming, well-spoken gentleman had been in discussion with some of the other patrons. And Adonai is here only in passing, always in the wake of death. A stranger. Her head turns to look at him. "But I imagine not all weapons must be wielded."