the exile prince


After fleeing as a teenager from the rising unrest in Tsarist Russia, Viktor Nikiforov quickly assumes a shining role in the new craze of “moving pictures” that sweeps across the world. A talented dancer, singer, actor and wit, the “Exiled Prince” became a heartthrob and personification of the break from conformity that came in the wake of the Great War. 

One day he hears a familiar voice on the wireless; a stray recording of a young  actor reciting one of his most famous speeches that rekindles an old memory.

Because that 1920s au.  Quick doodle before bed. I just wanted to draw Victor as Valentino tbh.


Lucifer, Franz von Stuck, 1890. Oil on canvas. 63 3/8 x 60 1/16 in.          

The National Gallery for Foreign Art, Sofia, Bulgaria.   

“O you, the wisest and fairest of the Angels,
God betrayed by destiny and deprived of praise,

O Satan, take pity on my long misery!

O Prince of Exile, you who have been wronged
And who vanquished always rise up again more strong,

O Satan, take pity on my long misery!”

-The Litany of Satan, Charles Baudelaire


Team Avatar as  House Stark (or is it House Stark as Team Avatar?)

Eddard Stark and Hakoda: The father
Catelyn Tully and Kya: The mother
Robb Stark and Sokka: The Young Wolf
Theon Greyjoy and Zuko: The exiled prince 
Sansa Stark and Katara: The elder badass daughter
Arya Stark and Toph: The younger badass daughter
Bran Stark and Aang: A boy with wings
Rickon Stark and Suki: The one fandom forgot 
Jon Snow and Zuko: The outcast/dragon prince

Decided to count Zuko twice because reasons.

Imagine pregnant Hawke

In the interlude years between Acts 2 and 3

• Aveline always sticking around as a bodyguard, glaring down anyone who might make trouble.
• Merrill constantly coming up to Hightown with burned cookies (that Hawke loves) and Dalish tricks and stretches and remedies.
• Anders always fussing over how she’s feeling, how she’s eating, how much weight she’s gained.
• Varric and Isabella making bets on when the baby will come (which Aveline ends up winning).
• Fenris lurking at Hawke’s side like an angry cat, showing her love and affection and making every excuse for her to refrain from doing anything even mildly strenuous.
• Gamlen sneaking into the manor when Hawke’s out to help Bodahn and Sandal restore the Amell nursery.
• Carver/Bethany sending a box of those little cream chocolates that Hawke loves every few weeks, not knowing that her stomach now rolls at the thought of them.

Just… Pregnant Hawke!
I Followed Fires - Chapter 8 - EclecticInkling - Haikyuu!! [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter: 8/8
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Additional Tags: exiled Prince Tooru, mysterious ranger Iwaizumi, Dragons, dragons play a pretty important role, birthday fic

“Did I make the right decision, Hajime?” he asked again. “I know this will better for everyone in the end, but I can’t help wondering if the cost was too high. If there maybe wasn’t a better way.”

“What other way could there have been?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, almost in a whisper. “I don’t know.”

anonymous asked:

Get right to the good part, #4. You know what must be done!

asfhdgjlhfjdagfhd that meme wasn’t even on this blog

imma do it anyway though B|

this got way longer than I intended and also sort of sad (IT GETS BETTER I PROMISE) because apparently I can’t help myself

‘Right to the Good Parts’ Meme || 4. We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair

—  || ♜♛

Adolin woke to an unfamiliar warmth in his arms.

The fingertips of one hand prickled with encroaching numbness, but he dared not shift, not when Shallan rested against his bicep like a pillow, her forehead tucked up against his chest. A glance down showed only a shock of bright red hair, tousled and messy from sleep, and a slim, silk-covered shoulder that rose and fell with her slow, even breathing. His other forearm lay over her waist, lax hand very nearly brushing the small of her back. Her own hands were pinned between them, held comfortably against her chest, the curl of her knuckles pressing into his belly through the thin sleep-shirt.

Neither was gloved. He didn’t need to see that to feel it.

Adolin swallowed, his mouth dry. There was only one bed – a decent size for one person alone, but very… intimate for two – and she’d refused to take it when he’d started to lie down on the floor. She’d even climbed down and started dragging the covers off with her as soon as he protested the thought of sharing. Bit her lip, raised her chin, and did it; I should have insisted further, stood my ground, but… Almighty, I was weak.

Am weak.

Slowly, carefully, his hand drifted upwards, hovering a hairsbreadth over her shift and following the curve of her back – as if he could memorize the shape and feel of her, even without touch. The very ends of his fingertips trailed through her hair and up to her shoulder, tracing through the air above it. He lingered there a moment, the size of his hand in stark juxtaposition with the gentle slope of her shoulder. The desire to protect her – this small, porcelain-pale woman who was so much stronger than he’d first realized – flared like a waking ember in his heart. Not for the first time, he quashed it. She didn’t want that. And now, with his exile, it wouldn’t matter even if she did.

Upwards. At this angle, her face was hidden, but he could see the side of her cheek, half-obscured by the haphazard, mussed fall of red. As delicately as he could, Adolin brushed her hair out of the way.

It was too much, or just enough. Shallan stirred against him, her knee bumping into his leg and her hands slowly, unconsciously stretching away the night’s stiffness before she lifted her sleep-hazed gaze to his.  A blink, what might have been a smile, and Shallan made a lazy noise of complaint and snuggled right back against him.

Adolin stifled a laugh, though his answering smile was soft and apologetic. “Sorry I woke you.” His fingertips stroked through her hair, making little paths from her forehead all the way over and down to the nape of her neck. If this was to be the first and last time he ever held Shallan like this, then he’d indulge as much as he could.

“I’m not,” came her reply, slightly muffled against his chest. Shallan breathed in, hands curling in his shirt, and looked back up at him. “Even if it is too early.”

This time he did laugh, a low, soft bark of a chuckle, as she yawned widely. “That’s right; you never were a morning person.” She said nothing of him caressing her hair, and so he did not stop. The silky tresses parted like water around his fingers.

“No. And late nights gathering information don’t exactly help.” Her gaze shifted, slipping away from his and back, not quite avoidant but not steady either. The tip of her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. “…but I’ve managed to get up early on some days, recently.”

He hummed, smiling, but it was tinged with sadness. “War business?”

It shouldn’t be this way. Broken Radiant or not, your hands were not made for war – you should be charting out the wilds, finding new plants and cataloging the habits of some intriguing creature that caught your eye, or continuing your research with Jasnah, doing things that make you happy-

“I see you in the sunrise.”

Adolin’s breath faltered in his chest.

Shallan reached up, nudging his hand where it had frozen in midair. With her bare safehand. “Don’t stop. It’s… it’s nice.”

Words refused to form. His lips parted to speak but his mind was a jumble, uncomprehending. Or rather, knowing - but in too much shock to process. His hand moved again, but this time to cup her cheek, fingertips disappearing into her hair. “Shallan,” was all he managed, a singular, incredulous exhale of disbelief.

She laid her safehand over his, and his heart nearly stopped.

“You speak like a wife, parted and waiting.” His turn to wet dry lips, now. “After everything that happened. After what I did.”

“What if I want to be?” There was a tremble in her voice and in her hand - her safehand, bare, a measure of trust and comfort unparalleled - but her eyes were steady as steel. “Unless the world ends, this Desolation won’t last forever.”

“I’m not- Shallan, I’m exiled. No home, no name, no family-” Adolin choked on the knot of emotion that rose with saying the words, the pain of it all searing like a white-hot lance. “Our betrothal was nullified. I don’t even know how you found me-”

“That is my choice to make. And yours. No other.” Her grip tightened, fingers curling around his. “I’m not going to give up on this. I’m not going to give up you.”

His voice was barely a whisper. “You should.”

She bit her lip, shook her head. “Never.

“And if I told you that I wanted to break it? I thought this- the betrothal ended, so what if I wanted to keep it that way?”

“Then you’d be a liar. And you’re a terrible liar, Adolin.”

He couldn’t help it: he laughed. Mirthless and with a faint glint of tears, he laughed, leaning down and bowing his head to rest his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “Yeah. That’s been pretty well proven, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He felt her hand leave his, only for soft fingertips - one side noticeably more calloused than the other - to trail up his face, moving gently from his jaw to his cheekbones to the corners of his eyes. “Since the first time you took me on a date, and answered a silly question with far too much honesty for your own dignity.”

Adolin blinked his eyes open in surprise, snorted, and shoved her shoulder with just enough strength to roll her onto her back. “You bring that up now?” But her ploy had worked. She was smiling, and… so was he.

“It’ll make for a good story one day.” Shallan tilted her head, the angle almost smug, and there was a twinkle in her eye as she said it that worried him.

Adolin sat up for a moment, shaking the pins and needles from the arm she’d slept on all night. Then he rolled the rest of the way to loom over Shallan, hands braced on either side of her as she looked up at him with that smile, hair fanned bright over the thin pillow. “That sounds like you plan on actually telling someone.”

“Maybe someone or ones in particular.” Shallan’s mischievous smile widened, and she reached up to tangle her fingers in black and gold. “Our children will have the strangest hair.”

His kiss pressed her back into the bed.

My heroes were the usual pair of mismatched adventurers, the melancholy exile prince R’hllor of Raugg and his boisterous, swaggering companion Argilac the Arrogant. […] Argilac got eaten by the titular dark gods. I had been reading Shakespeare at Marist and learning about tragedy, so I gave Argilac the tragic flaw of arrogance, which caused his downfall. R’hllor escaped to tell the tale … and to fight another day, I hoped. […]

I began a second R’hllor story during my freshman year at Northwestern […] In the sequel, my exile prince finds himself in the Dothrak Empire, where he joins Barron of the Bloody Blade to fight the winged demons who slew his grandsire, King Barristan the Bold. I’d written twenty-three pages when some friends found the story on my desk one day, and had so much fun reading the purple prose aloud that I was too chagrined to continue. (I still have the pages, and yes, they’re a bit purple, bordering on indigo.) […]

Keen-eyed readers will notice certain names and motifs that […] I would pick up and use again in later works. In my fiction, as in real life, I never throw anything away. You can never tell when you might find another use for it.
—  George R.R. Martin, Dreamsongs, “The Heirs of Turtle Castle”

Just One Word July BPC
Day 23: Color

Here’s some shades of gray

Emily Deschanel was born to play Snow White and people reading this were just split into two. People who have read Fables are suddenly thinking I’m a genius and people who haven’t think I’m insane. P.S. My fancast for Bigby is Norman Reedus so just imagine Daryl Dixon sarcastically going “woof”. It will immediately make your day better.