#I am never drawing crystal again

[kingabezka]

Uh oh, someone's going into torpor...

At last, my part of the trade between @kiwira-art , @renem-art and me

[hollowsart]

the only real errors and problems/bugs I've faced playing Pokemon Scarlet is the distance objects and world parts flickering sometimes with loading, my Azumarill's textures going a bit weird in spots on its body (only in Kitakami near the crystal pool), Koraidon being caught in a perma-fall once or twice in weird places that made no sense and the game needing to fade to black and put me back on the ground.

as well as the.. 3? times that it kinda froze up and I had to restart it. the first time was when I was playing it for the first time and was trying to enter the Lavincia gym. another time was when I was trying to exit out of a raid den.

and also the picnic table not loading in once or twice. plus the occasional halt while it buffers and loads something for a sec.

that's really about it for what I've experienced. all those other bugs people have been experiencing about falling through the world or having the eyes and teeth of their trainers bulge out horrifically, or whatever else that's been game breaking n stuff.. I have never once experienced that.

My theory is it's perhaps due to the online multiplayer, however.. I've only played with 1 person max less than 5 times and still haven't experienced anything crazy.

I'm not complaining or anything, I just find this interesting how varied everyone's experiences are with these games, for both the main game and the DLC's, too.

[leftoverpages]

Loyalty’s embrace

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood x betrothed!reader

Tags 𓅪 jealous and protective Benjicot, small fight scene (no gore), fluff at the end, romance, reader uses she/her but no physical description

Notes: i have been writing for years without posting anything so i have a insane number of fics to post, enjoy lol

Wordcount 𓅪 1.3k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The grand ballroom of Blackwood Manor was awash with warm candlelight and the soft hum of conversation. The air was filled with the scent of roses and the clinking of crystal glasses. Lady Y/N stood at the edge of the room, a vision in her resplendent gown. Her dress, a masterpiece of crimson silk and midnight velvet, flowed around her like a river of fire and shadow. The bodice, embroidered with intricate patterns of gold thread, clung to her form, highlighting her grace and strength. Across her chest and shoulders, the Blackwood sigil was proudly displayed, a symbol of her new allegiance and her own fierce spirit.

The fabric shimmered in the candlelight, every movement sending ripples of light and shadow cascading over her. The skirt, full and layered, swirled around her feet like a tempest, the deep red contrasting beautifully with the inky black. A delicate gold chain rested at her throat, drawing attention to the elegant curve of her neck.

She stood there as her betrothed, Benjicot Blackwood, engaged in conversation with several lords and ladies. She found herself alone for the moment, sipping a glass of champagne and watching the festivities from afar.

Despite the grandeur, there was a nervous flutter in her stomach. Being betrothed to Benjicot, the fierce and enigmatic heir of House Blackwood, was both an honor and a daunting reality. Their engagement was more strategic than romantic, a union meant to strengthen alliances and secure power. Still, she had hoped to find some genuine connection with him, something to hold onto amidst the political machinations.

"Lady Y/N, you look ravishing tonight," a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see Lord Cedric, a notorious flirt and known for his less-than-honorable intentions, standing far too close for comfort.

"Thank you, Lord Cedric," she replied, forcing a polite smile and taking a small step back.

He didn’t seem to notice—or care. "It's a shame you're tied down to Blackwood. A beauty like you deserves better," he said, his eyes raking all over her in a way that made her skin crawl.

"I am perfectly content with my betrothal, Lord Cedric," she replied firmly, trying to edge away. But Cedric persisted, moving closer, his hand reaching to touch her arm.

"Come now, Y/N, you can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like to be with someone else," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Before she could respond, a strong hand gripped Cedric's wrist, pulling him away from her. "I believe the lady has made herself clear," Benjicot’s voice was low and dangerous, his dark eyes blazing with anger.

Cedric paled but tried to maintain his bravado. "I meant no harm, Blackwood. Just a bit of fun," he stammered, taking a step back.

Benjicot stepped between Cedric and Y/N, his posture tense and protective. "Your idea of fun is clearly misguided," he said coldly. "If I ever see you bothering her again, I will not be so forgiving."

Cedric sneered, his fear giving way to indignation. "And what will you do, Blackwood, uh? Throw me out of your pretty little ball?"

A dangerous glint appeared in Benjicot’s eyes. "No, Cedric. I’ll do much worse."

Before Cedric could react, Benjicot’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. The ballroom fell silent, guests suddenly turning to witness the confrontation. Cedric, recovering from the initial shock, lunged at Benjicot with a roar, swinging wildly.

Benjicot dodged, his movements controlled and precise. He landed another punch to Cedric's midsection, doubling him over. "You don’t know to quit, do you?" Benjicot muttered, grabbing Cedric by the collar and lifting him to his feet.

"Enough!" Cedric spat, struggling against Benjicot’s grip. "You think you can control everything? Even her?"

Benjicot’s eyes darkened further. "I don’t need to control her, Cedric. I trust her. Something you clearly don’t understand."

With that, Benjicot shoved Cedric away, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. Cedric, breathing heavily and bruised, glared up at him. "This isn’t over, Blackwood."

"It is," Benjicot replied coldly. "And if you value your life, you’ll stay away from her."

Guards approached then, at Benjicot’s silent command, hauling Cedric to his feet and escorting him out of the ballroom. The guests slowly resumed their conversations, the tension dissipating, but whispers of the altercation lingered.

Benjicot turned to Y/N, his expression softening as he reached out to her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, but her composure faltered, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank you, Ben. I didn’t know what to do..."

He stepped closer, his hand tenderly cupping her cheek. "You never have to face such things alone. Not while I'm here."

Y/N looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity. Instead, she found a depth of concern and protectiveness that took her by surprise. She had always seen him as distant, a warrior hardened by duty, but now she glimpsed the man beneath the armor.

"Why do you care?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

Benjicot sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know our betrothal was arranged, but that doesn't mean I don't care for your well-being. I've come to admire your strength and grace, Y/N. I want us to be more than just a political alliance."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She had longed for some indication that he felt more than obligation towards her. "I want that too, Ben," she whispered.

He smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made her heart flutter. "Then let's make it so," he said, taking her hand in his. "Together."

As they stood there, hand in hand amidst the glittering ballroom, Y/N felt a warmth spread through her.

Benjicot glanced around the room, the tension in his shoulders easing. He looked back at Y/N, his eyes filled with a tender resolve. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice soft and inviting.

Y/N felt her breath catch. She nodded, unable to speak, and he led her to the center of the ballroom. The musicians, sensing the moment, began to play a slow, melodic waltz.

As they took their positions, Benjicot's arm encircled her waist, his hand warm and steady. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he guided her with a grace that belied his warrior's demeanor. They began to move, their steps perfectly in sync, the world around them fading into a blur of light and sound.

The music swirled around them, a symphony of emotions. They glided across the floor, each step a silent conversation. Y/N felt as if they were floating, the dance a magical respite from the political intrigue and uncertainty that had shadowed their engagement.

Benjicot's eyes never left hers, their dark depths reflecting a myriad of emotions. In that moment, she felt a warmth spread through her chest, a burgeoning hope that perhaps their union could be more than just a strategic alliance.

The music swelled, and Benjicot spun her gracefully, her dress flaring out like a crimson and black flower. When they came back together, he held her a little closer, his gaze softening even further.

"I meant what I said," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want us to be more than a political alliance. I want to know you, Y/N. To truly understand you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering with a mixture of nerves and excitement. "And I want to know you, Ben."

As the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, they came to a gentle stop. The guests around them erupted into applause, but Y/N and Benjicot remained in their own world, their gazes locked.

"Thank you for the dance," Y/N said softly.

Benjicot brought her hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. "The pleasure was mine," he replied.

In that moment, surrounded by the approving smiles of their peers, Y/N felt something shift. The alliance they had been forced into was beginning to transform into something real, something hopeful.

The future was uncertain, but for the first time, she felt truly seen and protected. And perhaps, just perhaps, they could find love in each other’s arms.

[nincompoopydoo]

hi i have a req for your vday celebration for this line 'have you no compassion for my poor nerves? ’ for theseus scamander!! going on a trip with newt looking for some new mythical creature to draw and you somehow get injured and theseus gets worried so like angst + fluff pls

IN SEARCH OF A GRECIAN BEAST

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x Reader WORD COUNT: 1.1k SUMMARY: As you, Theseus, and Newt find yourselves on a secluded Grecian beach along the Aegean Sea, an endeavor unfolds to seek out a Hippocampus. However, plans don't turn out as expected. A/N: An angsty yet light-hearted fic in a way. Hope you guys love this lil Theseus one-shot~ WARNINGS: near drowning. angst. Newt literally has no compassion when he’s excited about his beasts lol. PROMPT: “Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?” [from this prompt list] MASTERLIST

“Pray, Theseus, allow yourself a respite! Quit moaning and come with us,” you whine with an exaggerated, sarcastic tone as you trudge down the rocky slope that leads to a stretch of golden sand. Newt is way ahead, feet already on the sand as he scuttles across the rugged coastline that looks upon the Aegean Sea.

Theseus huffs at your words, watching the way your linen top billows in the sea breeze, gleaming under the scorching summer sun. He decides he has no other choice than to follow begrudgingly. He stumbles on his feet, shells crunching at contact, and sees you looking back at him, eyes bright. The curve of your smile goes unnoticeable.

“I thought we were meant to be on holiday,” he calls out to you and his brother.

You merely laugh, and Newt responds without turning back, “Nobody mentioned a holiday, Theseus.”

Theseus scoffs, “Well, I presumed it was, considering you invited me to Greece. Of all places!”

Without warning, you abruptly halt, swiftly turning to face him.

“We find ourselves on this beautiful, secluded Grecian beach, and you're complaining?” You gesture to your surroundings in big movements, arms moving in sweeping motions.

You’re right, he’s being dramatic. Perhaps he finds himself a little sceptical towards your shenanigans with Newt. How you were always closer to his brother than him, even though he never dared admit it to himself that he wished it was the other way around.

Theseus is silent when you fix him with a stern gaze, nearing him. “All I’m saying is, you should loosen up a little.”

There it is. That glint in your stare. It’s hopeful.

Theseus realised long ago that he would do anything for you and be anything you wanted him to be.

“I am loose. I can be loose.”

Your laugh comes off more like a scoff. You don’t believe him one bit. “Right.”

Then, your fist connects with his arm. It’s playful, just like old times. Theseus winces, his palm instinctively rubbing his bicep as he shoots you a maddened look. Despite the irritation etched on his face, the subtle curve on his lips betrays it.

You laugh again. It’s light and sends his heart thrumming faster than ever. 

“Come on –”

"Look!" newt exclaims, his voice ringing out excitedly. “Over there.” He points toward the shore with the widest grin Theseus has ever seen.

You immediately grip Theseus’ wrist, pulling him along as you dash towards Newt.

“Hippocamps,” you breathe out, merely a whisper, eyes trained on the clear waters beyond.

Theseus turns to you and clocks on your wide-eyed gaze. Your mouth hangs slightly agape in utter awe as you take in the scene unravelling before you. Glints of deep blue swirl under the crystal waters, their scales glistening like scattered glitter under the Grecian sun.

Then, you release your hold on his hand. 

“I’m going in.”

The brothers snap their heads to you, “What?”

You turn to Theseus, “I know these creatures better than anyone. You know that.” Then, your gaze shifts to Newt, “Even more than you, Newt.”

A beat. He sees that you’re now looking at him expectantly as if you need his assurance. That he trusts you. He really doesn’t know why you need it.

“Just… be careful.”

You purse your lips and nod. “I will.”

The waves lap rhythmically as you approach the waters cautiously, gentling wading through and towards the Hippocampi. The water rises to your waist. You catch a hint of a tail under the sunlight, iridescent and reflecting the ocean's blue and green hues.

You take a deep breath – the key is to be calm. Extremely calm. You extend your palm, luminous kelp in your grasp, hoping to lure the creature.

Then, its head emerges from the waters, a horse for a head. The creature curiously eyes the kelp in your hand as you watch in controlled excitement as the others drift closer. You cannot help but smile.

Yet, something beneath you rumbles. It’s so slight that you almost miss it. But it sends a rippling uneasiness to your surroundings that it alarms the creatures. The air shifts, and before you know it, the Hippocampi sense an unseen threat and quickly disappear into the ocean.

Your smile drops.

You see it, a sleek form of green drifting in the depths beneath you. It glides through the water with stealth.

Ashore, Theseus senses your concern. “Something’s wrong.”

Then, he sees you turn to them with panicked eyes.

Abruptly, the water erupts with a powerful surge, and a beast rises from the depths and leaps into the air. Its mane of waterweed cascades with its movement.

It’s a Kelpie.

Newt and Theseus watch in stunned silence.

As the Kelpie vanishes beneath the waves, you’re gone.

Theseus’ heart drops.

Instinctively, Theseus calls your name, charging towards the place you stood moments before. In his sprint, he throws a quick, urgent glance over his shoulder at Newt, who scrambles closely behind, his expression etched with mirrored exasperation.

“Why in Godric’s name is a Kelpie doing here?!”

“That’s a good question –”

Theseus isn’t listening anymore. He can’t think right now, his heart pounding fiercely. Each step intensifies the knot in his stomach.

He finds himself slicing through the waves and propelled beneath the surface. His vision goes blur momentarily; elusive silhouettes move around him like drifting shadows. But as his eyes begin to take focus, he sees Newt, a feet away, seemingly going after the Kelpie.

Theseus whirls around, eyes scanning his surroundings.

He sees you, conscious. You’re looking at him with wide eyes, struggling to stay afloat.

Theseus closes in, and he reaches out, arms enveloping you. With a forceful pull, you are brought to the surface, head heavy against his chest. Your sharp gasp pierces the air, it resonates loudly, but it settles a sense of relief in Theseus.

As you’re pulled to shore, you’re induced into a coughing fit, water forcefully expelling from your lips. Theseus hovers above you, his hand on the back of your head, lifting it from the ground in an attempt to ease your choking. His other palm rests against your cheek firmly.

He says your name, his voice laced with reassurance, yet his gaze lingers with a perpetual panic as he hovers above you, the sunlight casting a halo through his tousled hair. Theseus looks truly distressed.

“Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?!” he exclaims, exasperated in all his dramatic and uptight glory.

“Just… trying to keep you on your… toes, that’s all,” you manage to croak out.

Theseus's laugh passes off as an exhale and grins, shaking his head. Quickly, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You instantly feel your cheeks start to burn.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

You just smile. “No promises.”

Then, laughter echoes in the distance. Both of you turn to find Newt emerging from the shore, eyes bright.

"That was incredible!"

[daisyswift3]

A Summary of the 🎃 Messages--The Overarching Story

So I just realized sth abt the 🎃 messages while listening to ttpd—they’re in chronological order!! I am going to try to give a summary of these messages and explain why I believe this. This album has made 99% of her songs, mvs, metaphors, and symbols make perfect sense. There were always some things like getaway car, cruel summer, and the palm trees in rep era that I could never quite figure out but now it's all crystal clear. It's like ttpd is the last piece of the puzzle needed to make everything fall right into place and to see the whole messy complicated story. One thing I want you to take note of as you read this summary is how incredibly consistent Taylor is w her use of metaphors and symbols. This makes solving the puzzle that is her music more like solving a cypher that you can know you solved correctly bc all the symbols will fit together perfectly just like a secret code. Once you understand what one symbol represents you now know what it means every time you see it. Every word or phrase she uses is intentional and there's not a single easter egg that's out of place. You'll notice in ttpd there are several words and phrases that are repeated bc she wants us to know that certain songs are related. 🎃 anon said there would be many connections and foretellings in the messages that we could find if we held them to the light in the coming unfoldings, and boy they were not wrong. So w/out further ado let's get into it (just a warning though this will be pretty lengthy so grab your favorite drink, some snacks, and get comfy).

1st message: The first one starts right before rep era when her rep started going down and she started feuding w her record label. These are the obstacles she didn’t see coming that made her slam on the (getaway bike) brakes (which were cut so she had to use her foot to slow down) and not come out. The "heel damaged" could be a reference to Achilles' heel since this was a weak spot she didn't see or it could be a reference to Jesus' heel being bruised in the 1st ever biblical prophecy (see this post for more on that). This was her first big pivot and change of plans. Many ppl have theorized that TS6 was originally going to be a different album--perhaps lover/daylight--but kimye and BMR got in the way of that. This would explain why she wears an outfit w palm trees on it while cutting the wings off her TS6 jet. She spray paints "reputation" on it which seems to indicate it was a haphazard last minute change of plans (x). Plus the endgame mv has palm trees and shows Miami, Florida (which I think is related to Florida!!! but I'll have to get to that another time) connecting it to "Island breeze and lights down low, no one has to know...In the middle of the night in my dreams I know I'm gonna be with you so I take my time." Miami is the paradise where her endgame happens. This all seems to indicate she was ready for "daylight" or "paradise" during rep era but had to pivot.

The Prophecy: “Hand on the throttle, thought I caught lightning in a bottle, Oh but it’s gone again"

2nd message: This is abt the lover rollout that started in spring of 2019 -> "The time draws near, springtime sunshine causing small drips and fractures." The ice castle likely represents the lover house (her music empire, past eras, and closet) since she burns it down w a match just like she does in the eras tour visuals and midnights -> "You strike a match and blow the smoke toward the structure that shelters and protects you. Suddenly, you hear a crack, a crunch, a whoosh. There is a sudden give beneath you, and you tumble through the broken, melting hole in your palace." The ivy reference (spring breaks loose, the time is near) just solidifies my theory that ivy is a song abt an eventual kaylor reunion that will happen before she burns all the files and deserts all her past lives (eras).

Lover era was her second big pivot. I believe she knew there was a very good chance Scott B would sell her masters all the way back in rep era hence why she says "I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone, devils roll the dice" (see this post for more on that). "However, in this suddenness you find yourself still somehow underprepared, kicking yourself for the time you squandered by wallowing in the seeming endlessness of your predicament" -> Her being unprepared to come out along w the mastersheist is what caused her to miss her 2nd opportunity to come out. She was so caught off guard that it made her indecisive. And so she played it safe and stayed in the closet -> "Our coming of age has come and gone, suddenly this summer it's clear I never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near." Remember how I said Taylor is very consistent w her use of metaphors? Well I made a post a while back explaining how folkmore represents the seasons bc summer = daylight and winter = closeting and folkmore was Taylor trying to come to terms w her 2nd failed coming out hence the grey and beige ("I'm just a paperweight in shades of greige"); so that means the ice castle = winter = closeting and springtime sunshine = almost daylight = almost being out of the closet (and spring was also the time when the lover rollout started so it has a more literal 2nd meaning to it as well).

The Albatross: "So I crossed my thoughtless heart spread my wings like a parachute, I'm the albatross, I swept in at the rescue." [I think there's a good chance this song is abt Scoots so it makes sense the parachute metaphor, which relates to her masters and failed coming out, would be used in this song]

The Bolter: "By all accounts, she almost drowned when she was 6 in frigid water...It feels like the time she fell through the ice then came out alive." ['Long story short I survived']

3rd message: This is abt the mastersheist (diamond heist) during the summer of 2019. It parallels the I Can See You mv exactly (see this post). In hindsight it now makes perfect sense why 1989 tv didn't have any mvs--bc the Fortnight mv is a direct continuation of the ICSY mv! Before the Fortnight mv, the ICSY mv was the most recent one. She didn't want anything between those 2 mvs so that it was obvious they were directly related. Her losing her masters and her 2nd opportunity at daylight is what drove her to insanity and caused her to end up in the asylum -> "I find the artifacts, cried over a hat...I trace the evidence" // "And so I enter into evidence my tarnished coat of arms, etc" | "Is it okay? Is it you? Or have they come to take me away?"

"Mere feet away from the light of freedom...Your getaway bike begins to leave without you, sparks flying as the tires try and fail to slow down for you. You have frozen in this moment of indecision" // "It was the great escape, the prison break, the light of freedom on my face...he was runnin' after us, I was screamin', 'Go, go, go!'" -> There are 2 getaway car mentions in this message which emphasizes its importance. This is likely for a few reasons: 1) To explain what the song getaway car was actually abt--her feud w BMR, not the beards 2) To show that message 1 and 3 are related; the getaway bike is mentioned in both since both are abt her masters 3) To show that the lover era pivot was actually just history repeating itself; this is what Cassandra and the Prophecy are abt.

Cassandra (notice the piano melody from mad woman): “So they set my life in flames, I regret to say do you believe me now? ['If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too']…They knew, they knew, they knew the whole time that I was onto somethin', [She knew there was a good chance her masters would be sold as shown in cruel summer] The family, the pure greed, the Christian chorus line" ['Now he sits on his thrown in his palace of bones praying to his greed']

Fortnight: "I was supposed to be sent away But they forgot to come and get me I was a functioning alcoholic 'Til nobody noticed my new aesthetic [Her fans didn't notice the shift from rainbows and pastels to black mourning clothes during the lover era] All of this to say I hope you're okay But you're the reason [The you in the song is Taylor; she's the reason she decided to stay in the closet] And no one here's to blame But what about your quiet treason?" [Taylor's indecisiveness is what led her to not come out the 2nd time]

loml (This is from Karlie's pov): "Mr. Steal Your Girl, then make her cry...You shit-talked me under the table talking rings [Paper Rings] and talking cradles, [Lover mv] I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all, [They were so close to daylight]...It was legendary, It was momentary ['I touch you (daylight/sunshine) for only a fortnight']...Our field of dreams engulfed in fire" ['So they set my life in flames']

Florida!!!: "Little did you know your home's really only a town you're just a guest in, ['I touch you (daylight/sunshine) for only a fortnight'; 'And so a touch that was my birthright became foreign'] So you work your life away just to pay for a timeshare down in Destin" [Taylor did all this masterminding and planning just to end up still stuck in the closet and bearding and only being able to see her lover in stolen private moments]

Fresh Out the Slammer: "Another [cruel] summer, taking cover, rolling thunder, he don't understand me"

The Bolter: "But it always ends up with a town car speeding" [getaway car]

Peter: "Forgive me Peter, my lost fearless leader, in closets like cedar preserved from when we were just kids, Is it something I did?" [Peter is herself; 'I'd be a fearless leader' and the fearless album; 'closets' is obvious]

How Did It End?: "We were blind to unforeseen circumstances, We learned the right steps to different dances, and fell victim to interlopers' glances, Lost the game of chance, what are the chances?...It's happening again" [This is the 2nd time she's lost the opportunity to come out]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart: "I'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague" [They're in love w each other but can't be together in public; 'Break my soul in 2 looking for you but you're right here']

Down Bad: "For a moment [a fortnight] I knew cosmic love, now I'm down bad crying at the gym...'Fuck it if I can't have him I might just die it would make no difference'" ['You (Taylor) told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I (Karlie) ever leave']

5th message: Out of all the messages this is the one I'm the most uncertain abt. But I think it is possibly about JA leaving before his contract was up. "You are in a kitchen. Not your kitchen, of course. Your kitchen is soft and cozy and sacred. THIS kitchen is hard and cold and purely functional" -> This is not the sacred kitchen from Cornelia Street that she shares w her lover, this is a PR stunting kitchen that's a false imitation of the real domestic bliss she has. A few yrs ago kaylors were talking abt how Karlie has a kitchen that she only uses for PR/social media purposes so pumpkin anon could've been trying to remind us of that. These 3 messages from flag 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 anon make me think the breakup happened sooner than planned.

The July 29 message wasn’t meant to be posted until Oct 8 since it was hinting at the Toe breakup happening 5 months later in mid March, 2023.

The Nov 23 message mentions a “shift of footing” which we all agreed meant Toe 🦶 was over. The Dec 5 message w “the need to flex is sometimes necessary” directly following the Toe breakup message is what really makes me think it wasn’t planned. They had to pivot/flex but “other milestones are resolute” meaning the endgame is still the same—K and T will still reunite and both will be out of the closet at a certain time. Plus there’s the “…” at the end of the Nov 23 message which also indicates the Dec 5 one is a direct continuation of that message.

To add more credibility to this theory, RFI and SIG also have ellipses. RFI always seemed like it was supposed to be a direct continuation of SIG bc SIG sets up the “chess game” w her and her lover doing magic and pulling the wool over everyone's eyes, and RFI is when this chess game officially begins, "baby let the games begin."

Some other kaylors said they thought “the need to flex” meant that she wanted to give anti hero more time on the charts so she was flexing or showing off. But I think it makes more sense for it to be related to London Boy himself and not having him as a beard since that’s the whole purpose of having the 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 flag. I could be wrong though.

So Long, London: “Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away…Holding tight to your quiet resentment…Every breath feels like rarest air when you’re not sure if he wants to be there” [This may mean that JA kept trying to break free from the contract and Taylor kept trying to convince him to stay but it didn’t work]. "My spine split from carrying us up the hill, Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill" ['They are bowing out, leaving you with double the workload, now half burnt and smoking. Their duties weren’t finished, and yet there is nothing you can do to make them stay. Shaken by this loss, chaos descends upon the team. Most roll up their sleeves to work harder']. "And my friends said it isn't right to be scared, every day of a love affair" [There were several blind items talking abt how JA was hooking up w men in a very unsubtle way; this could be what the 'cheating husband' mentions in ttpd are abt]. “Two graves, one gun” [Makes me think of a smoking gun which could be what the 'smell of smoke' in the message was alluding to. Maybe JA threatened to reveal her secrets if she didn't let him go and he had the smoking gun evidence to do so which was the recipe card. 'This time is different. Because you know this person actually has the means to share the secret menu, and that they have enough proof to make the waiting guests believe them.' -> I mean if anyone could convince the general public it would be the man who was supposed to be her boyfriend for 6 yrs]. “And you say I abandoned the ship but I was going down w it, my white knuckle dying grip” ['But you have never been one to lay your armor down. When you fail, you fail gloriously. When you go, you go kicking and screaming']. "I didn't opt in to be your odd man out" [She didn't want to be his beard just like he didn't want to be hers; and odd man out is a game that's played w 3 ppl where the odd man is the loser who's eliminated bc he didn't have a match]. "I founded the club she's heard great things about" [The Tortured Man Club -> The Tortured Poets Department that she's chairman of]

7th message: This message is all abt the domestic bliss she has away from the public eye. She has worked so hard to make sure her secrets are safe by building a tall impenetrable fence. However, she chooses to intentionally blow a dandelion full of secrets--perhaps ttpd is the dandelion w all the songs being the florets or secrets. There is one floret in particular that she’s worried abt—my guess is it’s Robin since it’s so damning if you know what to look for. Plus the song Robin parallels this message perfectly and evokes the same imagery. And to add even more credibility to this theory, the lyric vid for Robin has dandelion florets in the background. See these posts: (x)(x)(x)(x)(x)(x). "You are walking through your yard. It's one of your favorite places, all sprawling garden rows" -> Betty's garden; "your wife waters flowers," etc. "There are daisies - so many daisies - in every shade of your rainbow"--I don't think I even need to explain this. "Your lover and your fresh baked buns are safe. (The buns, of course, are in the oven turning golden as you speak. It's an old family recipe, jotted lovingly on a recipe card.)" -> The recipe card is perhaps a picture or some other sort of smoking gun evidence of Taylor's family and it connects the 5th and 7th messages together. And the meaning of "buns in the oven" is pretty obvious. "Golden" refers to Karlie.

Robin: "Higher and higher, wilder and lighter" [This may be a double entendre--not only is she encouraging this child to bounce higher on his trampoline or swing higher, she is also encouraging the dandelion floret (the song Robin) to fly higher and go out into the world after she blows on it]

The Albatross: "Wild winds are death to the candle...One bad seed kills the garden" [This may be connected to the dandelion metaphor and I believe there are many layers to these lyrics; wild winds can carry the dandelion seeds into other ppl's yards; if Taylor's secret gets out this can destroy the domestic bliss she has i.e. kill her metaphorical garden or candle; 'love's a fragile little flame it can burn out']

I Hate It Here: "I hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind people need a key to get to, the only one is mine" [There is only one way to get into this garden since a tall impenetrable fence surrounds it; there are other layers in these lyrics as well like the escapism aspect of it]

But Daddy I Love Him: "I'm having his baby, no I'm not but you should see your faces" [Bc it's Karlie that had the babies]

8th message: This entire message parallels the Bolter. I believe this is abt Taylor finally choosing her lover over her reputation and choosing to intentionally destroy it in order to meet her lover down at the bottom like 🌋 anon mentioned. This may be the purpose of the whole Ratty debacle—to tarnish her image (by jumping into shark infested waters) so that when kaylor are together in public again her fans won’t be able to hate on KK w/out being hypocrites bc Taylor has already done all the things she knows they’ll accuse KK of, like being connected to someone who’s quite problematic. I believe this takes place from May 2023-now since this is when MH and her started “dating.” The use of all lowercase in the 🌋 messages may be a reference to the reputation album title to indicate that this is going to be a repeat of rep era but this time the damage to her rep will be intentional. I find it very interesting that the Feb 20th 🌋 message is the only one that has a word capitalized and the word that's capitalized is "Gold." This is in contrast to "fools gold" which is not capitalized or colored.

The self-loathing is palpable in Taylor's music (x) and it is displayed heavily in this message as well. I think it's possible the "enemy" is actually just Taylor herself or her public persona to be more exact. She is her own worst enemy; the Anti Hero mv illustrates this. She's the one that spreads the dandelions in message 7 which is what the enemy does in this message; she's the bear, and in the Bolter she (real Taylor) tames the bear (Taylor the brand). I believe TSMWEL could possibly be abt herself as well. I mean TSMWEL literally has "TS" in the track title. The clean version of the Bolter has the line "Then she'll call him a bore" which parallels TSMWEL, "You said normal girls were boring." It's as if real Taylor is doing an UNO reverse on Taylor the brand by treating her public persona the same way she treated real Taylor for years. This is very reminiscent of the Archer, "I've been the archer I've been the prey." I think TSMWEL, while it is abt herself, is simultaneously abt Scott B. And the reason for this relates back to what I said abt the 2nd and 3rd 🎃 messages--she blames both Scott AND herself for her failed coming out. The mastersheist threw her for a loop, yes, but she could've still come out anyway were it not for her indecisiveness. And I haven't have time to fully analyze MBOBHFT yet but I think it's similar where it can either be read from Karlie's perspective to Taylor after the 2019 failed coming out or from Taylor's perspective to Scott B/the industry.

The Bolter: "But as she was leaving, it felt like breathing, ['When I was drowning that's when I could finally breathe'] All her fuckin' lives flashed before her eyes...He [the 'enemy'] was a cad, wanted her bad just like any good trophy hunter and she liked the way it tastes taming a bear, making him care watching him jump then pulling him under" [This connects to the 10th message: 'You limp over uneven ground, smiling at the pain of the shark bite with each excruciating step - replaying the satisfying splash as you finally chose her over the world. As you grabbed the enemy and dove into the infested waters']

loml: "The coward claimed he was a lion" ['You’re a selfish asshole. So much of your fear is your own. You wince at your cowardice like it is a gaping wound. You so often find yourself unable to meet your own eyes. You scramble into shadows like a black cat. Scared, even, of being scared...You are a coward, but you are not a fool']

I Hate It Here: "I was a debutant in another life but now I seem to be scared to go outside" [In another life she already came out but in this one she's too scared to even leave her house let alone come out]

The Tortured Poets Department (This is from Karlie's pov): "You're in self-sabotage mode throwing spikes down on the road"

9th message: This message is abt her finishing her 11th album, the last chapter of her 11 part story, and then sending it out into the world like a message in a bottle (the Manuscript). So I'm assuming this would take place on April 19, 2024, the release date of ttpd. "You are sitting on a beach, cold and windswept. The sea is dark and angry before you." -> This may be the same beach and sea from the folkmore era. "The sun sets in muted colors." -> Describing the sunset colors as muted is quite interesting since sunsets typically have very vivid colors; this makes me think it's related to the eras tour visuals during the transition from august to illicit affairs (which I explained the meaning of in this post), and the folkmore color palette was mainly muted colors. "You finish scrawling on the parchment. Your pen dries up as you reach the end of a story in 11 parts." // "Feeling like the very last drops of an ink pen," "my veins of pitch black ink." She is sick of having to dilute her truth through metaphors and allegories which is why she is a tortured poet -> "Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die." Plus there's the "parchment" which she mentioned many times during her eras tour speeches which relates it to the folkmore era (x)(x)(x). "And now it is just a matter of time. The dripping of candle wax. The ticking of a clock." -> (x).

I recommend reading this post which explains how the Manuscript, ATW short film, message in a bottle, the story of us, and 4th, 9th, and 10th 🎃 messages are related. Many ppl pointed out that the Manuscript lyric vid looks like a movie script, and she's been referencing films and books a lot recently which makes me think there's a good chance she's going to release a film and book abt her coming out story. The 9th message and the lyrics in the Manuscript make it clear that Taylor's discography as a whole IS the manuscript i.e. it's the author's (Taylor's) draft of her story that is getting ready to be published. In academia, a manuscript is a draft of your research that you send in to be peer reviewed and if it's accepted it then becomes a published academic article.

The Manuscript: "And the years passed like scenes of a show, the professor said to write what you know, [She's equating her life to a story w the different eras being different scenes or chapters] The only thing that's left is the manuscript, one last souvenir from my trip to your shores, [message in a bottle; 'It may wash up on a sunny beach in Florida, or a rocky shore in the northwest'] Now and then I reread the manuscript but the story isn't mine anymore" ['Once you blow a dandelion, you never get it back. It isn’t yours anymore']

The Bolter: "But she's got the best stories"

10th message: This is a direct continuation of the 8th message and takes place right before she comes out of the closet (the wooden door in the woods). So this would take place after her rep has already been destroyed which I don’t think we’ve gotten to yet. My guess is that things will start ramping up in the next few months. She may start being papped w all her previous beards looking happy w them or sth similar which is all she’d need to do to show that the relationships were all fake and she’s been lying this whole time. This may be the “chaos” that 🫚 anon was referring to (see this post). This lines up with the blood moon glitch vinyl, representing chaos and disruption, being the 2nd quarter of the yr according to the midnights clock (4-6 or April-June, 2024). Plus many ppl think BDILH is abt MH--and Taylor meant for this to happen bc this album is full of red herrings--and in that song she says "He (MH) was chaos" so this might be a hint that the bearding shenanigans are gonna ramp up. Of course things are already plenty chaotic now w everyone thinking ttpd is abt 3 different men, one of which is pretty problematic, so perhaps this is all ginger was referring to. Taylor calling herself "the Bolter" has 2 meanings: 1) She is a coward who often runs away from danger 2) The 2nd more positive interpretation is that she knows "when it's time to go." I think it's very telling that ITTG is the last track on the deluxe edition of evermore and comes right after RWYLM, a song abt being stuck in the closet after the 2019 failed coming out. She's saying that she's not going to stay there forever(more).

The Bolter: "But none of it is changing that the chariot is waiting, ['The story of 2 princesses. No place for a prince'; the Cinderella metaphor (x)] Hearts are hers for the breaking, There's escape in escaping...Ended with the slam of a [closet] door but she's got the best stories, You can be sure that as she was leaving it felt like freedom" [The 6/21/2020 ♠️ riddle spells out 'They Are Free']

11th message: This message takes place after midnight at 3am on Nov 1 after she’s gone through the wooden door. In this post I explain how 3am connects to the witching hr or devil's hr. The fact that this takes place right after Halloween is quite significant since it is a day dedicated to remembering the dead, and death and ghosts are a big theme in ttpd. This symbolizes how after Taylor kills her old self (by dragging her into shark infested waters), she will resurrect as a new version of herself and leave the past behind her. And in doing these things, she will finally be able to go back to her figurative home, her cabin, that she was exiled from. -> "I think I've seen this film before so I'm leaving out the side door," "And I was catching my breath, floors of a cabin creaking under my step...I had a feeling so peculiar this pain wouldn't be for evermore." "The flame🕯️ finally🕯️flickers🌬️OUT" -> The match that started the "goddamn blaze in the dark" is no longer needed now that the lover house (her closet) has burned down, so the flame flickers out. This metaphor shows up in Peter as well, "But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light," where the light dying represents the woman losing hope that a coming out will happen. Notice in this message from present anon that "Goodbye" has a capital letter G which I believe links it to "Gold" in the volcano message that was mentioned earlier. This may indicate that Karlie is the woman/neighbor holding the light and waiting for Taylor's return home. The Dec 26th 🌋 message is likely from Karlie's pov in this case.

Fresh Out the Slammer: "Now pretty baby I'm runnin back home to you, Fresh out the slammer I know who my first call will be to...But it's gonna be alright I did my time...Get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge, [the burning of the lover house] As I said in my letters [the anon messages this corner of the internet has been receiving? Could also just represent her songs] now that I know better I will never lose my baby again...Swirled you into all of my poems ['My mind turns your life into folklore (literally and figuratively)']...To the house where you still wait up and that porch light [jack-o-lantern] gleams" [see this post abt the porch]

The Alchemy (This is from Karlie's pov): "What if I told you I'm back?...I haven't come around in so long, but I'm coming back so strong, ['But I come back stronger than a 90's trend'] Cause the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me"

imgonnagetyouback: "Push the reset button we're becoming something new...Even if it's handcuffed I'm leaving here with you, Bygones will be bygone eras fading into gray, We broke all the pieces but still want to play the game...I'm gonna get you back"

[elysianightsss]

Regency Price thot🌹🤍

I am working on Limerence and Part two of both mountain man and the pen pal au by popular demand. But while you wait for me to write those please enjoy this lovely Viscount John Price and his Viscountess.

Price sat waiting patiently, newspaper in hands reading the latest gossip of the ton. “Aristocrats.” He scoffed low under his breath. Being one of the wealthiest, best-connected members of the middle class came with privileges but too much gossip as far a Price was concerned. Unless it directly affected him he couldn’t care less.

The doors to the dining room opened and in walked a butler, white curly wig on top of his head, his hands wringing together in nervousness as he looked at his master. “Well?” Price asked without looking away from his newspaper, an interesting snippet about a whistle or a lady down or something or other caught his eye.

“My Lord she..” the lack of answer was beginning to agitate him, he rolled up the paper and slammed it on the table, finally making eye contact with the butler.

“What?” Price snapped.

“She doesn’t seem to be here My Lord.” He said, gulping with unease clear in his voice.

“One of the horses is gone too.” A maid had said a little too loudly as she rushed into the room with the important information. Everyone in the room cringed, each and every servent, perhaps at this point even the entire ton, knows if the Viscountess and one of the horses are missing, someone will either be fired or end up in the hospital.

A wave a darkness crashed through the room as John growled out “Find me who by the time I’m back from retrieving my wife.” His orders were clear as crystal as he rushed from the room, Simon, his number two following swiftly after him.

“My horse Simon.” John grunted pulling out his pocket watch from his jacket. After years of being married to you, he always knew exactly where to find you based on the time of day it was or day of the week.

You thrived in order and schedules, one of the many things that he loved about you. Loved knowing he didn’t have to worry where you’d be at eleven in the morning. Always the drawing room catching up the on stitching you’ve been putting off, frustrated when the cross stitch didn’t form the absolute way you wanted it to.

Simon, ever the loyal to a fault number two replied quickly and lowly, “Yes Viscount.” He began to rush ahead of John making it to the stables before him and barking orders at the stable boys to fetch the masters horse and saddle. Price didn’t bother with riding clothes or shoes, simply latching his everyday boot into the stirrup and hoisting himself up into his horse.

“Shall I follow My Lord?” Simon asked head bowed as usual.

“If you wish.” John didn’t stick around after that, whipping his reigns and taking off on the beautiful brown stallion. “Come on boy, we’ve not got long before it rains!” John shouted to his horse as if the creature actually understood him, though in his fear he did not care.

The looks of the sky had him worried, the last time you went riding in the rain you caught pneumonia. He remembers how you shivered, how you were covered in sweat yet cold and how you burned to the touch. He never wishes to see you that way again. These thoughts had him pushing his horse harder to get to you faster. By the cherry tree you should be, and oh does he hope you are.

You however had just become done with your rage fit and were about to leave. Stupid Miss Carmichael, one of the bitchiest women in the ton. Not even married and yet she had the gall to mock you about not getting around to giving John a child yet. Joking about possible infertility, the words made you sick as did her audacity.

You had been married to your husband two years now and yes you were yet to bore him a child. Though the first year of your marriage, due to it being a simple arrangement, you spent it away from him. Always avoiding him, even on your wedding night you locked yourself in your room.

Though finally he managed to get you to open up to him, taught you many things, you began to love him. He had loved you however since the first moment he saw you. More so when you had advertently put him in his place after he was rude to a servant.

You had spent the second year, still getting to know each other and becoming one as husband and wife didn’t happen until three months ago. It had been essentially two years of little innocent hand touches here and there, longing looks and John standing too close to you at balls and events just so he could feel your warmth and smell your scent for longer. You were both still making up for lost time, having children was not at the forefront of your minds. Well not yours anyway.

You sighed glancing at the horse you’d rode here on, you’d best get back to join John for breakfast was your first thought. Even though it would take barely a minute for him to see you were upset and demand who had made you that way. You didn’t need to put your burden on him as much as he always insisted that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do as his wife.

Blinking up at the sky, you saw rain clouds rolling in and started to feel the drizzle of water falling down from above. Then a clap of thunder and you instantly regretted your decision to ride out here after your awful interaction with Miss Carmichael earlier. “Wonderful.” You sighed annoyed as you pulled your cloak hood over your head and made your way back to the black horse waiting patiently for you. One last look at the cherry tree and you set off into the eye of the storm.

“That’s it girl yah!” You whipped your reigns, both feet tight in the stirrups. You never rode side saddle like most women do, preferring to ride properly. Just as the cherry tree was almost out of a view, the most spectacular sight came bounding toward you. Your husband Viscount John Price gallantly riding his brown steed toward you.

“Darling!” His yell was so quiet in the midst of the rain and thunder, though it was enough to have you stopping your horse and remaining stationary as he began to slow down the closer to you he got.

Pulling on the reigns John came to a halt, horses next to one another legs touching. “Before you say anything,” you began blinking up at your handsome husband who was staring down at you heatedly, he nods encouraging you to go on. “It wasn’t raining when I started riding.”

You give him a smile, and despite the fact that you’re wet through, chilled to the bone, and as far as John is concerned in desperate need of a hot bath, he thinks you’re the most beautiful sight to behold. He smiles back leaning in close to you until his nose brushes against yours, his strong hand coming up to cup your jaw as he whispers into your mouth, looking you dead in the eyes.

“I’m not mad my love, but make no mistake, once you’re warm and dry I plan to bend you over my desk and fuck you from behind. Keep you stuffed with my cum all day, then you can tell me the reason for your riding today and who I need to talk to.”

[honkthehenry]

unnamed slime game - part 1

Masterlist

The way you suddenly snapped into awareness without realizing you drifted off at all was something akin to having a bucket of ice-cold water thrown into your face.

You... dozed off in class again. In hindsight, it was inevitable – the last time you got hours of sleep instead of something in-between nothing at all and a 2-hour-nap was last Saturday. You've been running on nothing but bitter, cheap coffee and sheer spite for almost a week now, it was high time you finally crashed.

Still, you should have woken up at Uni. You should have woken up to your professor huffing and puffing and glowering in your face about your terrible conduct, about how your generation had no respect for his generation, about how such a complicated and beautiful science like Robotics was not a place for slackers like you (which, fair, you had no idea what you were doing in Robotics either), not... alone and certaintly not in the middle of a forest.

You ran through a bunch of scenarios quickly, but none stuck.

Kidnapping? Far-fetched at best. You lived alone, only barely making ends meet by running yourself into the ground as you tried to marry working retail with being a full-time student, so ransom was out of the question and being kidnapped for the sake of doing bad things to you... Why bother? You didn't know anyone nearly well enough to be kidnapped due to personal feelings and you were neither good-looking enough (perpetually tired goblin that you were) nor famous-, connected- or skilled enough to be kidnapped randomly.

Besides, you were at the University, on the 5th floor, in the middle of the city that had no forests for miles! You were surrounded by 20-odd other people, there was no way someone would be able to kidnap you with so many witnesses around.

So, not kidnapping.

Dream then?

Also unlikely. Your dreams were few and far-between and when they did happen, it was either you being surrounded by characters from the show you happened to be fixated on at the time or it was you getting repeatedly chased and swallowed whole by a dinosaur on a loop, until the dream finally ended (probably Jurasic Park childhood trauma, now that you thought about it).

Still.

This was so weird, because you knew for a fact you were much too aware of everything to be dreaming and yet the things you saw didn't makes sense at all!

You didn't have any arms for one!

And your body was purple!

You could feel electricity zapping at your body and it didn't hurt, it was more like being swallowed in a blanket burrito and nursing a comforting mug of hot chocolate, while watching your favourite show with no worry for deadlines or money!

You weren't supposed to feel like that, you were supposed to be tired and grumpy and irritable and not nice and not toasty and certaintly not so comfortable!

Drugs? Hallucinations? You never partaked, you didn't drink alcohol either, so that was a no—

—A purple crystal you were under zapped at you again and you positively melted on the spot, basking in the feeling and letting the troublesome train of thought go like the wind, before it inevitably derailed and caused you undue anxiety as it always did.

...it was very nice actually.

Maybe losing opposable thumbs wasn't so bad if you got this in exchange.

You could live like this.

×•×•×•× Honk!!! Corner ווו×

You know that one post lurking on Tumblr where OP is turned into a frog by a witch as revenge? And just vibes? Basks in the sun without worrying about life? This is MC now.

I don't care how long or how short chapters are, they're just gonna vibe as they are because I am a goblin with a short attention span and no actual ability to write.

Something to get you thinking - MC is an electro slime for a reason and that reason is electro immunity.

I wonder why?

*smiling like a particularly smug cat*

Did I mention I can't draw lightning/electricity? Because I can't, so I didn't.

Also fvck me, my tags didn't saveeeeee 😭

[theyanderespecialist]

The Deal (Scenario) Yanderes Asmodeus/Fizzarolli X GN Blitzo Reader (Helluva Boss)

[Hello, I am finally getting around to this one! I hope that you all enjoy this chapter! It is after Fizz quits and How Ozzie and Fizz's relationship changes. Maybe a little of that episode! So good luck! I hope that you all enjoy this. 

Disclaimer: You take the place of a Gender Neutral Listener 

Disclaimer 2: Fizz and Ozzie are a canon couple, they are not yandere in canon. This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously. Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine. Just do not be illegal or gross about it. Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon.

(Yanderes Asmodeus/Fizzarolli) 

(No One's POV) 

Fizz had a crush on (Name) when they were kids. They were just such sweet Imps. Then the accident happened and a huge misunderstanding came from it. For over a decade he has hated one of the loves of his life. He mourned that he could have been with (Name). When Fizz learned the truth, that (Name) had wanted to see. That they do care. It made his heart ache. Also, it reminded him that they were dating Stolas kind of. That left him bitter and angry. 

He gets ready for his date with Ozzie and then hears Ozzie come in. 

"Why are you upset Froggy?" Ozzie asks him. 

"well you know how I used to have feelings for (Name)...?" Fizz asks. "After they saved me... These feelings reared their head again... I love you so much Oz... It is just hard." 

Ozzie pulls Fizz close. "It is okay Fizzy," Ozzie says. "I can tell why you love them, they are quite something." 

Fizz stops and looks at him. "Oz? Are you attracted to them?" Fizz asks curiously. 

"Yes, they are physically attractive, but it is more so that they saved you~ That they would never have hurt you like that, seeing them shoot your stalker~ That was kind of hot~," Ozzie says and kisses down Fizz's neck. "If you want, we could have them~ Keep them as our lovers ~" 

"We could?" Fizz asks, this was the best situation that they could get in. 

"We could, I still have to give them one of my crystals," Ozzie says. "Maybe we can even make a deal with them~ Make them ours, and ours alone~" 

Fizz grins, that would be the best of both worlds. He would have (Name) and Ozzie, both of them being the loves of his life and he would never EVER let go of (Name) again. They belong to them~ 

-Small Time Skip;  Brought to you by: Ozzie being an Evil Little Fuck-

(Name) was eating cheese and having a good time. When their phone rings, they answer it. "Hello?" They ask around a mouthful of cheese. "What do you need?" 

"(Name)!" An excited Fizz says. "Since we are friends again, I thought I could have you over for dinner. You know, just me, you, and Ozzie." 

"Okay?" (Name) draws out. "I mean I will not say no to a free meal, just is it you cooking or the lusty king? Last time I checked you burn water when cooking." 

Fizz blushes. "Yes, Ozzie will be cooking," He confirms. 

"Okay then, I won't say no to a good meal, and my daughter is out with Tex and the Queen Bee. She won't be back until Monday." (Name) says and starts to put on their shoes. "So I guess I am all yours!" 

Fizz smirks happily, Yes, (Name). You are all Mine~ "That is great, we will pick you up in a few." 

"Okie doki!" (Name) says and eats the last bit of cheese. 

They wonder what prompted this. They shrug, whatever a free meal is a free meal. Soon Ozzie and Fizz are there and (Name) gets in with them. They drove down to Lust, (Name) talked to Fizz, they could tell that he was nervous. Was it because he was on edge because of the dinner? It was his idea, not (Name's). 

They got up to the penthouse and there was a candlelit dinner. Wait what was going on? 

"Were you guys planning a romantic date before inviting me?" (Name) asks. 

"Kind of. The romantic date is for you, (Name)." Fizz says and (Name's) face goes a bright red. Oh boy! 

"Hehe, oh that is a lot!" They laugh. "What does that mean, you two want a threesome." 

Ozzie pulls out a chair for (Name) and they sit down. 

"thank you." 

"Anything for you," Ozzie says. 

Fizz pulls out a box that looks oddly enough like an engagement box. 

"We both want you, (Name)," Fizz says. "We do, really bad, but we know at this time you are bonded to Stolas, Ozzie can break that bind and then you will be free. To be with us." 

(Name) takes the box and opens it, there is a crystal to have access to the human world. "Oh... Frick." They could not even swear, this is a lot. 

They also have feelings for Stolas. 

"Stolas cannot love you like we can," Ozzie says. "He is using you for his gain, he made a contract with you, so you will have to fuck him." 

(Name) bites their lip. 

"But we," Fizz adds. "We love you so much, I always have loved you, from since we were kids. You are just the perfect most wonderful darling." 

"Fizz is right, why be with Stolas, who is not good enough for you, who does not appreciate you and does not stand by your side?" Ozzie asks, both were manipulating (Name's) emotional state. 

"I-" 

"Let us love you." fizz says and kisses them. "Let us show you how much you mean to us~" 

(Name) felt their eyes tear up and they slowly kissed back Fizz. Fuck it was always what they wanted. 

Fizz pulls away, this is it (Name) is almost their Darling. 

"So what do you say, baby?" Ozzie asks. 

"Alright." (Name) agrees it felt nice for someone to say they wanted them, and not ask for anything in return. (Name) felt loved and it made them feel good. 

(Name) made the deal and they did not know that they just swore themselves to the Sin of Lust and His Imp lover, forever! 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another Chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!] 

[butterflybuckethat]

Crybaby

Hello! Found this sitting in my drafts so I thought I’d post it. I’m trying to return so please be patient with me and I appreciate all of your kind words 💕 My plan is to start fresh and expand from Bridgerton (currently in a bit of a Carmen Berzatto shaped hole — stay tuned!)

Notes: Prince Friedrich x Bridgerton!Reader 

Request: I would like to request prince friederich x Bridgerton reader, cause I love him so much. Preferably something really cute and fluffy or he finds reader crying and comforts her either way I’ll be happy thank you

🦋 Masterlist 🦋

You were being ridiculous, you knew you were and yet you couldn’t keep the tears from flowing. You cried often, over a wide range of somethings--anywhere from a spilt milk to death. Your siblings teased you often, mostly after you were finished weeping. Mostly. 

It was Daphne’s birthday, and you being the sibling closest to her--in age and affection--decided that you would plan her an extravagant birthday party; a surprise extravagant birthday party. 

It had taken you an entire month to bring it all together and, as far as you could tell, Daphne suspected nothing. You had it all set up with crystal butterflies and floral accents and lemonade infused with exotic fruits. It was shaping up to be an absolute crush with the entirety of ton buzzing in anticipation of the birthday girl’s arrival. You even managed the attendance of Prince Friedrich of Prussia.  

“Where is Daph?” Colin sidled up to you, an eclair already stuffed in his mouth. 

“You mean she’s not in the carriage?”

“How am I do know if she’s in the carriage or not?” 

“Colin,” you huffed, “you were to ensure that she got into the carriage we scheduled for her.”

“Oh.” 

Your vision went blurry as tears began to well, “Colin, how could you?” Despite the frequency, you were still embarrassed by the rasp of your voice. Colin apologized profusely, doing everything but getting on his knees. He could never handle your tears, none of your brothers could; only Benedict, whose response was a roll of his eyes and a half-hearted hug. 

“I will find her, Y/N. I’m sure she is on her way.” People were staring now and you were praying no one could see your tears. You brought your hands to your cheeks, feigning checking your rouge but really soaking the tears in your gloves. “I will fix this,” Colin said, placing his hands on your shoulders. 

You felt the tears welling up again as you watched Colin make a beeline to the butler and could feel Cressida Cowper’s judgmental eyes narrowing on you. You swiped a glass of lemonade off the table and moved into the smaller of the two drawing rooms. It was closed off to the public allowing you to plop down on the divan, take some deep breaths, and press the cool glass to your swollen eyes. 

“Lady Bridgerton?” The room was dark but you couldn’t mistake the accent, it was Prince Friedrich.

“Your highness!” you stood so fast some lemonade spilled onto the carpet. 

“Please,” he gestured for you to sit but remained mostly in the doorway with the door wide open, for propriety’s sake. “I only wanted to check if you were alright.”

“I did not mean to take you from the party,” you demurred. He dismissed that thought with nothing more than a gesture. “I’m certain Daphne will arrive shortly.” 

“I’m more concerned about you.” He stepped into the room, close to the arm of the sofa. You breath caught in your throat. This...was strange. 

You had spoken to the Prince before, of course. Nothing serious but he had his sights on Daphne and, subsequently, you were frequently in close proximity. “I did not mean to cause a scene,” you were a little flustered at this point and were just searching for words to fill the space.

“I don’t think any of the guests noticed...” 

“My tears?”

“Your tears,” he nodded. Prince Friedrich had not moved but you could have sworn he got closer. “I believe this is the third time I have seen them.” 

You started to groan before you forced it to die on your tongue--it was terribly unladylike, especially in front of a prince. “I’m embarrassed.”

“Please, don’t be.” His hand ghosted over your wrist and your blood rushed. 

“I can’t help it. I cry so often my mother used to call me Blue.” You pressed the glass back against your face in an attempt to quell your blush, but Friedrich laughed. It was kind of a deep chuckle; not much but it made you smile. 

“I rather like that, Blue,” he mused. 

“Daphne is here!” someone cried from the ballroom and you rushed over, helping people hide behind tables and walls before hiding yourself. Most of the candles were blown out, dimming the room completely. You, yourself, hid behind a large centerpiece with Friedrich beside you. You were much too enthralled with all your planning coming to fruition to appropriately react to the Prince of Prussia being mere inches from you. 

“We aren’t supposed to enter the ballroom, Colin!” Daphne chastised, “it’s being painted!” You smiled a little at her belief in your ruse. You could feel Friedrich’s eyes on you, just a glance, but all your hair stood on end.

“You’re scared of paint, Daphne?” Colin teased. She would be mortified when she found out he said this in front of so many people. 

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Surprise!” you jumped out, along with the rest of the guests, as the servants lit the rest of the candles. 

“Well done,” the prince whispered, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Now go accept your praise. No more tears tonight.”

[writethrough]

How to Mistakenly Summon An Ancient Being & Keep Him

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You're an insomniac and have exhausted all other avenues to help you sleep except one. What happens when that one brings you the King of Dreams?

Warnings: Language (only one f*** was given), mutual pining, inability to sleep

Word Count: 3299

A/N: I'm super pumped to share this one! Though, I do think I could've upped the pining a bit more. Let me know what you think!

Nothing you tried worked. No amount of meditation, sleepy time tea, or melatonin kept you asleep. Your doctor had prescribed you sleeping pills, which worked for a few weeks, but the drowsiness and headaches made you stop taking them.

You had been scrolling through your social media when an ad for some spirituality website popped up. All the words were a blur except “help” and “sleep.” You clicked on it before you could think about viruses. That led you through site after site. Some hawked overpriced sleeping potions that sent up all of your red flags, and others touted crystals for pleasant dreams and to ward off nightmares, but it was a ritual that caught your attention.

It was simple enough. A few herbs you already had in your kitchen, a candle, and some sigils that took you much longer to draw than they should have. All you had to do was say the words at midnight and hope your prayer would be answered. The worst that could happen was already happening to you. It's not like you could get less sleep.

When the clock ticked to 12 AM, you lit the candle and recited the spell three times.

You waited. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for—heavy eyelids, relaxation, the inability to keep your head up. However, you never expected to hear a deep voice behind you.

“You humans never change," he growled. It was more than a glare he pinned you with; it was that of a beast, ready to devour.

—

It happened so quickly.

He and Lucienne were in the library, combing through books when he felt a tugging from the top of his spine. It brought him back to that day over a century ago. He couldn’t let that happen again.

“Lucienne!” he called as sand swirled around him.

“My lord?” Lucienne could only watch in horror.

Before either could do anything more, he had been transported into a bedroom. A woman sat facing away from him, and all of his anger honed in on her.

He would commit atrocities sooner than sit in another cage. And you were about to discover just how far he would go.

—

The man before you blended into the shadows cast by the moon. He seemed to encompass everything within the darkness, but you knew he couldn’t; he was just a man—one that appeared without explanation.

You steeled yourself. Slowly rising, never taking your eyes away.

“Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?” you asked, impressed that your voice came out relatively steady.

The man’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent. If anything, this angered you more than frightened you.

“You need to leave before I call the police,” you said. You would call the cops regardless, but he didn’t need to know.

This made his eyes narrow.

“You wish me to leave?” he asked as if he were trying to decipher the words.

“Yeah, people typically don’t like it when strange men just pop up in their bedroom,” you snapped. Why was he looking at you like you were the crazy one?

“You summoned me, human,” he said.

You straightened, taken off guard. “I summoned you? You're out of your mind. I did not summ—” Then it clicked. The ritual. Could that be what he was talking about? You pointed to the candle. “Is this what you mean?”

He nodded slowly. His posture seemed to relax a little.

You glanced between him and your tools.

“I don’t understand,” you said. “It was just supposed to help me fall asleep. Not bring me a…what exactly are you?”

He ignored your question for one of his own. “May I see the incantation?”

You grabbed your laptop from the floor and showed him the lines. After a moment of contemplation, he exhaled a deep, exhausted breath.

“Truly, did you not know this was to summon me?”

You shook your head. “I promise. I…I just wanted to sleep.”

How were you going to do that now? And what were you going to do about the man you supposedly summoned from who knows where?

“I can help with that,” he said. “This ritual may not be what you thought, but it will do as you wished.” He leveled you with his gaze. “My name is Morpheus. I am the King of Dreams.”

—

You were…different, he had decided. Neither good nor bad, just something other.

You said this was an accident and that you hadn’t expected the ritual to work. Morpheus saw the desperation in your eyes—the need for a solution to a problem out of your control. Perhaps it was that familiarity that made him want to help you.

And no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, there was an instinct that told him he could trust you.

—

You had just summoned the fucking Sandman. You weren’t sure if you wanted to praise or curse the off-the-wall website you found the ritual on. No, you wanted to finally have a continuous eight hours of rest.

“Okay, so how does this work?” you asked, maybe a tad too excited.

“Lie on the bed and close your eyes. This will only take a moment,” he said.

In any other situation, you would react very differently, but now that Morpheus seemed to have relaxed, you felt you could trust him. At the least, you could trust him to do as he claimed. 

After taking your position, Morpheus stood over you, a small pouch in one hand as he poured it over into the other.

“Morpheus,” you said before he could continue.

He only glanced at you in response.

“I’m sorry,” you paused. “For making you come here against your will.” He was borderline hostile when he arrived, but when you explained everything, he calmed. There had to be a story there. “And thank you for this.”

His lips twitched in a blink-and-miss-it moment.

“Sweet dreams,” he said and sprinkled the sand into your eyes.

—

The next night, Morpheus waited for you in the Dreaming. After helping you fall asleep, he grew more curious about you. What caused your insomnia? How could a human be so honest? And what made him believe you in the first place?

Though time passed differently in the Dreaming, he knew when you should’ve been sleeping. When you didn’t come, he brushed it off as having missed you. Though that wasn’t possible.

The night after, you still had not shown. By the third night, he had a strange sense of concern. Were you alright? Have you not slept at all since you met? He was determined to find out.

It was nearly 7 PM when he knocked on your door. He thought it best not to repeat his initial arrival. His eyes narrowed when you answered, dark circles gracing your under eyes. 

“Morpheus? What are you doing here?”

He slipped past you. “You have not been sleeping.”

“Not true. I slept for a few hours,” you said, sitting on your couch and indicating the space beside you.

“Not well,” he said, following. “You haven’t visited my realm.”

You stayed quiet, pulling your cardigan tighter around you.

“Why did you not call for me?” You had the means to; if you had not been sleeping, there was no reason for you not to summon him.

“That’s not fair to you,” you said. “And I wasn’t about to bother you again, especially because it seemed to affect you.”

He was silent. You took his feelings into account even though it was to your detriment.

You were not as selfish as other humans. It made him want to help you all the more.

“Think nothing of it.” He pulled out his pouch. “You must rest. Now, lie back for me.”

You nodded, evidently not having the energy to argue.

—

You waited to feel the gentle taps to your eyelids the sand made. When they didn’t come, you opened your eyes only to find yourself on a cobblestone path in a village. Stands were set up with various foods, craftsmanship, and jewelry. Some merchants were human, but others were humanoid with animal features. A few had skin swirled like galaxies or solid green or even wings. It was all so vibrant, so alive.

“Welcome to the Dreaming.” Morpheus stood next to you, carefully watching your reaction.

His realm. So, he had put you to sleep.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you spotted baby dragons, of all things, playing with young children.

You laughed in disbelief. “I’d tell you to pinch me, but I know I’m dreaming.”

A hand was placed on your back as he led you forward.

“There’s much to see,” he said.

A few creatures bowed to him as you passed. And it reminded you that he was indeed a king.

“How long have you been the King of Dreams,” you asked, slipping your hands into your pockets.

“Since the beginning of time,” he said.

You stopped, as did he, and you looked him over. You shook your head slightly before moving again.

“I’m not sure if I can even fathom that,” you said, a wave of naivety washing over you.

“Do not dwell on it. It’s best not to.” He paused. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You looked at him expectantly.

“How long have you had difficulty sleeping?”

You shrugged. “Feels longer than it actually is. It's like one day, my brain decided it would never turn off, not fully. I get some rest here and there, but the best sleep I’ve ever had was the night we met.”

He took a moment to think this over. What he said next shocked you.

“Then I shall put you to sleep every night."

Your eyes widened as your cheeks heated up. Did Morpheus not realize how that sounded? A being as old as time itself surely knew every way that could be taken.

“That’s-That’s really not necessary, Morpheus. I’m sure you have more important things to do than make sure I sleep.”

You thought he was going to ignore you. He seemed to do that whenever he believed it suited him. Instead, his eyes held a certain glint to them.

“You should not question the Lord of Nightmares. And in his own kingdom no less.”

Was he…teasing you? The flutter in your stomach made you believe it.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. “I don’t want you to waste your time on me.”

You were so focused on your shoes that you missed the passing look on his face.

“Then it is fortunate I offered,” he said softly.

You met his gaze, ready to argue, but he stopped you.

“And only I may decide what is wasteful of my own time. You, (Y/N), can never be.”

—

Since that night, Morpheus had given you peaceful slumbers. Weeks passed, and his visits grew longer. He arrived when you prepared dinner. Though he didn’t often eat, he was keen to assist you in preparing it. You caught him taking a dish out of the oven once without mits. He was holding the pan before you could stop him, but his features showed no sign of pain. In domestic times like these, you forgot that he wasn’t human.

He stood chopping an onion while you combined ingredients in a bowl discussing your favorite films.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen it,” you said.

He tried to hide his smile as he slid the onions into the bowl.

“I do have a realm to oversee,” he said pointedly.

“Evidently.” You gestured to where he was, in your kitchen, clearly not in the Dreaming.

His eyes turned bright.

“Perhaps tonight you will finally meet one of my nightmares,” he said, voice dipping as if he was serious.

You tilted your head and pursed your lips in thought.

“No, I don’t think I will,” you said, setting the bowl aside.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re too nice.” You had to lift your chin to meet his eyes.

He had always been kind to you. It wasn’t just him putting you to sleep. It was his thoughtfulness and how deeply he cared for his people.

Morpheus hadn’t told you everything that happened to him prior to your meeting, but you gathered enough to know it had nearly broken him. The fact that he let you in at all spoke volumes. You hoped he knew how much he meant to you.

You may only be human, but you’d protect him with your entire being.

He had captured your heart quickly, and you wished you weren’t obvious enough for him to see it.

—

Morpheus reread the page for the fourth time, and its contents still failed to penetrate. Last night he had been with you making dinner. Now, all he could think about was your smile, the way your eyes lit up, and how he wanted to hold you and keep you from every wretched thing you had encountered yesterday and since you’d met.

He closed the book and stood. You were working today, which meant you wouldn’t be home, which meant he couldn’t see you until dinner tonight.

It frustrated him. He would provide you with whatever you desired—you need only ask. It was old-fashioned, but he didn’t want to be away from you. The moment you told him he could leave, it was as if something pulled him toward you. You were special. You guided him through obstacles he thought he had overcome long ago.

You became his comfort, and he hoped he had become yours. And tonight, he would tell you as much, and hopefully, you would accept him.

—

You had just gotten home from possibly the longest day of your life. Every minor inconvenience had culminated in the pounding in your head. But it was finally over, and soon enough, you and Morpheus would be relaxing on the couch watching a show he should’ve seen by now.

Changing into something comfortable, you entered the kitchen to pull the dinner ingredients out when there was a tapping at your window.

Matthew waited, tilting his head in that raven way.

“Hey, Matthew,” you said, letting him in.

He flew to the back of your armchair after swooping to scoop a mouthful of gummy worms you kept in a bowl just for him. The perks of being a magical raven.

“Hey (Y/N),” he said around his food. He continued after swallowing. “The boss is running late, but he’ll be here soon.”

You nodded. Sometimes this happened. Though Morpheus’ definition of late usually meant twenty minutes or so.

“His work is much more important than cutting vegetables,” you said, taking a seat.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw the look on his face,” he said. “He looked ready to cry or smite someone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Those seem like two very opposite ends of the spectrum.”

“Not when he does it. I’m talking this full constipated gloss over his face,” Matthew said.

You let out a laugh. “Still, I can believe the smiting, but the crying? Never. Especially not over something as silly as helping me with dinner.”

“Are you kidding? He doesn’t say it, but that’s the highlight of his day! There’s always this pep in his step when he’s about to come here.” He paused. “Well, about as much pep as you can imagine him giving.”

You blushed. Was Morpheus really that excited about something so small?

Matthew had gone down a bit of a ramble, but the last thing he said snatched your attention.

“...I mean, he’s basically in love with you, so it’s no surprise.”

“Who’s in love with me?”

“Dream,” Matthew said as if you hadn’t been listening.

“No, he’s not.” You shook your head.

“Yeah, he is.”

“On what planet would an Endless love me of all people?” He was lying. He had to be. There was no way Morpheus returned your feelings.

“This one!” Matthew said, exasperated.

You weren’t sure if you could breathe or not. It felt like you were, but why couldn’t you inhale completely?

“Are you being serious?” you asked, trying to hide the hope in your voice.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this,” he said softly.

You nodded. “Okay, so what do I do now?”

There was a familiar knock on your door. You both looked toward it.

“Do what’s gonna make you happy,” he said, then left out from where he came.

—

Okay, you could do this. It was just Morpheus. Standing outside your place, waiting for you to let him in after you found out he apparently loved you. Do you pretend not to know? Should you come out with it? You loved Matthew, but shit, you wished he didn’t talk so much.

First things first, you had to open the door.

“Morpheus.” You smiled, hopefully not too big.

“Hello (Y/N),” he said, pulling a bouquet of flowers from behind him. “For you.”

You gave him a soft smile. “What’s the occasion?”

He seemed to hesitate a moment. “I simply wanted to.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” You turned to the kitchen to search for a vase, hiding your widening smile.

“I sent Matthew earlier. Is he not here?” Morpheus asked, having followed you.

“Just left.” Do what’s gonna make you happy. “He actually told me something he probably shouldn’t have.”

“And that is?” He waited patiently but sensed your reluctance. “Unless I should be kept in the dark as well.”

“No,” you breathed. “No, it was kind of about you.”

He regarded you carefully. “...Has whatever he told you made you uncomfortable in my presence?”

Your eyes widened. “No! Never.” You supposed the only way to say this was to just come out with it. “He told me that you…well, he told me that you love me.”

“Oh.”

He had clearly not expected that response. And you wondered if he had ever told Matthew about his feelings or if the bird was only guessing.

“It’s true,” he said. “That’s the occasion.”

“Occasion?”

“The flowers. I was going to tell you tonight,” he said.

A thought occurred to you, and the corner of your mouth turned up.

“Then tell me,” you said, taking a step closer.

Morpheus seemed to be taken aback but recovered just as quickly. His jaw clenched, and he met your eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered. “It grows with each passing day.”

You found one of his hands with yours. His touch kept you grounded. You needed that with how it felt like you’d float away any second.

“I love you, too.” You beamed, happier than you had ever been.

His eyes were soft, and they became the slightest bit hooded.

“May I kiss you?”

Your response was to lift your chin and capture his lips with yours.

It was like you were on fire. And yet your heart somehow calmed.

This was right—his hands on your waist, yours resting on his chest. Each press of his lips reinforced everything since you met. Trust, safety, comfort, and now love.

You had to be the one to pull away for breath.

His thumb grazed your cheek as he examined your features.

How was it possible for someone to be so captivating?

You wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your head in the crook of his neck.

“Not even in my wildest dreams did I think you would love me,” you said, ecstatic that you were wrong.

He hummed. “It’s fortunate that I create dreams then.”

You pulled away enough to look at him. “Very fortunate.”

He leaned down for another kiss, a slow, deep peck. It burned all the way to your toes.

“I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

He pulled you closer, intent on showing you.

[cambion-companion]

Possession

Caring at all is caring too much.

I've never written from Raphael's perspective...at least not for this long. The idea just came to me last night. He is a very possessive and proud creature. I had to wonder how he'd react if Tav yanked on that chain a little.

Raphael x Tav (female) | drabble | Raphael POV

Caring at all was caring too much. The twisting knife of jealously lodged in Raphael’s chest.

He lounged upon silken pillows, a cup of wine held idly in hand, surrounded by doe-eyed doting mortals all wanting something from him.

Not her. The nymph of his orisons who now swept in a dance some meters away, her vivid satin skirts swirling with each twirl only to come close and hug her body at the end of each enticing movement.

Raphael took a sip of wine, the bitter draught staining his lips maroon.  

She was taken up into the arms of a green dragonborn, the large clawed hands dipping too low upon her form, feeling the curve of her-

The pain of shattered glass piercing the palm of his hand registered in Raphael’s mind.  He was yet loathe to tear his gaze away from her, yet left little choice as the courtiers surrounding him began to make a fuss akin to a gaggle of hens upon seeing a fox.

Red blood was pooling in Raphael’s palm. “Hush.” Was all he said to the women and men attending him, the word commanding immediate silence.  He plucked the remnants of the ruined crystal from his hand idly, smirking slightly.  

Raphael pushed aside offered hands of help, magic lighting his fingertips as he healed himself.  His brow darkened and his eyes smoldered as he trapped her again within line of sight.

She had come to the end of her dance, in more ways than one Raphael mused, and was now leaning up to kiss the cheek of the scaled interloper.

Unacceptable.

Raphael stood, abruptly. His anger spread around him like a cloud of brimstone. The mortals surrounding him scattered.  

Raphael approached her slowly, as a stalking cat does its prey. Her attention was drawn, recognition flashed in her eyes.  Those lovely eyes in which Raphael desired to only ever see his own reflection.

Before she could speak, though those lush lips of hers did part, Raphael stroked his hand down her side to rest atop her hip. With a gentle movement belying his true intent he pulled her to him. “What is a little bird doing straying so far from her cage.”  He purred against her hair, feeling the change in her body, the tensing of her muscles beneath thin fabric.

“It is a gilded cage at best.”  Tav replied. Her eyes narrowing in challenge. Just the way which had first drawn him to her. “Besides, I am not beholden to you.”

“Then why do you not walk away?”  Raphael coaxed her to sway with him, in a dance more fitted to lovers. Their movements guided by the new music lilting from musicians atop the raised dais.

Tav hesitated. “We have a contract.”

“Which you are no closer to fulfilling.”  The glow from the many candles and torches flickered and shone off the polished floor. Raphael turned his face in, closing his eyes as he inhaled her scent. Allowing himself one moment to forget his turmoil. “Least of all in the arms of a potential paramour.”

“Then what are you?”

Raphael smiled, loathe to admire her bravery in quibbling with him. He looked down upon her upturned face, caught between the desire to take her in his hands and kiss the soul right from her mouth or rake his claws down the soft skin of her back.  

His deep eyes showed nothing of this conflict.  With care he replied. “I am your master.” He held her tighter as she began to revile. “You are the brightest of my treasures. You will tarnish from all this inaction, and no longer be my favorite.”

The muscles of her neck tightened, drawing his gaze to the mark her vampire companion had made there.  Raphael wanted to swoop down, as a fell eagle to a mouse, and replace the scar with one of his own design.

“I will go, then.”  Tav seemed to take his warning to heart. She was defiant yet not to the point of becoming a fool.

“Good girl.”  Raphael smiled, smugly aware of the effect such praise had upon her. “When you return, we will feast.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Raphael held her for a moment more, the moment fleeting as a crystalline flake of ice falling unguided from the sky.

Then he let her go. Grimacing only when she had turned away. His fingers still itching to bury themselves in her in myriad ways.

Raphael returned to his lounging, his little flock of admirers slowly trickling back. With effort, Raphael pulled his thoughts back into careful order.  He would not allow himself to submit to the chaos she stirred within him.  He had many deals being laid at his feet, and eager souls practically throwing themselves at him. It was business as usual.

[nemo-in-wonderland]

"I guess it goes to show, does it not? That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it And no amount of love will keep it around If we don't choose it And I don't know what's got its teeth in me But I'm about to bite back in anger No amount of self-sought fury Will bring back the glory of innocence

My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire

I have traveled far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden Take me back to Eden"

"Take Me Back To Eden" - Sleep Token

You remember how, the other day, I wrote about how Aranea would eventually meet her demise a few centuries after the events of BG3?

Well, you know that with me, angst and fluff go hands in hands, so I wanted to draw the moment Mephisto found Aranea, mere moments before she is to pass. And he knows that she is going to pass, because he already can feel her soul drawn to himself, reaching for him, as part of their contract. So, before this happens, he brought her to the small garden of rocky trees and crystals that he created for her when she joined him in Cania and became his consort.

As for HOW Aranea has met her end, I like to imagine that it was always her desire for revenge that got her, and her inability to let go of grudges just lead her to a poor decision that, eventually, brought to her demise.

Her grudge against the Dream Guardian, who he was, and how he tricked her into taking her late husband form, was something that Aranea NEVER forgot nor forgive. It was something done deliberately, something that brought her excruciating pain (born out of hope and longing) even if her frozen heart was already in Mephisto's hands, and she could never look past it, not even if the Dream Guardian was the reason she didn't become an Illithid.

So, after the events of Baldur's Gate, she would go her way to find him again, with all the intent to make him pay for what he did (I know, I know, the retribution might be disproportionate, but considering that this happened after Aranea spent a whole century reaping souls for Mephisto, her morals are a tad skewed).

So, considering that the reason for Aranea's death is once more connected to the reason why she sought Mephistopheles' help in the first place, I decided to go down the symbolic route, and give her a garment that resembled the one she had the first time she invoked Mephisto, in a sort of cruel irony.

As for who is taunting Mephisto...well.👀👀👀👀 (but gods, I loved drawing Mephisto so pissed, if anything because drawing all sort of strong emotions is truly a treat for me eheheh).

BUT BUT BUT. This is just one outcome, and not even the canonical one! You know how all the characters have different endings in BG3?? Same thing applies to Aranea as well, I promise! THERE IS PLENTY OF AU WHERE SHE IS ALIVE AND WELL, WREAKING CHAOS ALL AROUND THE NINE HELLS (and Faerun as well lolol), and to be honest, my most favourite outcome among them all. I *live* for a trickster immortal fiend, Consort of Mephisto lolol. (plus, while I explore various possibilities, in my brain all my characters are alive forever, lolol)

AND FOR NOW I AM DONE WITH THE ANGST, I PROMISE.

I promise that the next artwork with Aranea and Mephisto will be a JOYOUS one (fluff? SMLUFF? who knows, but it will completely devoid of Angst. Only 100% Pure Smluff of Certified Origin lololol).

WELL, I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE THIS.

--Nemo

[sciderman]

Quick! Infodump about something!

HHH UH. UHHH. UUUUH. okay. okay. i'm going to info dump about what i did today and it's NOT going to be about spider-man. let me infodump about something else i got really giddy about today and that's the crystal palace dinosaurs.

i've wanted to visit crystal palace for the longest time but have never had the time to do it. so i woke up this morning RESOLUTE that today is the day. today is the day i'm finally going to see them. the crystal palace dinosaurs.

they were made in 1857 back before we had all of these archeological finds that completely changed the way we look at dinosaurs. look at these goofy guys. look at these guys.

they're just giant iguanas. i love them.

i got so, so unreasonably excited about these guys. and look at these wiggly guys. look at them.

i love this photo because there we have a still breathing dinosaur (the goose) sitting on top of a ridiculous interpretation what we thought a dinosaur was 150 years ago.

of course i was listening to the jurassic park theme song as i went, because the crystal palace dinosaurs were the blueprint. this was the first jurassic park, baby. oh yeah. oh yeah.

i drew the wiggly boy.

look at him.

yeah, okay i wasn't having a very good art day today and i was too giddy about the dinosaurs to draw anything good. but my favourite thing about my sketchbook is that it is so shitty. and whenever i flick through it again i smile because this crappy doodle means a lot to me. i remember how stupid giddy was when i drew this crappy little wiggly man. and that means so much more to me.

i loved this mural on the restrooms. these funky little guys.

i kind of am obsessed with our old inaccurate dinosaurs. i'm so obsessed with the little raptors in the london natural history museum because i remember when they were naked. but they put little feather jackets on them since we discovered dinosaurs might have been feathered. look at these guys in their feather jackets.

they just.. took these guys and put them in fursuits. im gongna cry.

here you go here is my little small fascination people don't know about and that is scientifically inaccurate depictions of dinosaurs. i think about the raptors in their little fursuits ALL the time. AAAAALL the time.

[fanaticsnail]

The Break is Never Easy

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,175

Synopsis: You were invited as an artist to showcase your work at the bi-anual ball thrown for the marines. A decade has passed between you and your severance from your ex-fiance, old flames reigniting as tension builds throughout the night.

Themes: Marine!Bogard x Artist!Reader, right person wrong time, dance series fic, lost love, love reignited, angst, domestic angst, military themes, death suggested, love found once more, dancing, miliary ball/gala.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the beautiful @i-am-vita, creator of the banner for the storyteller au collaboration for Mihawk's Sapsorrow. Bogard’s angsty chapter for the dance-fic series is all for you, dear! 

Tag List: @sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @since-im-already-here

"You had my heart // I had yours too // My fight’s withdrawn, believe me // The break is never easy"

Staring at the ornate canvas encrusted in gold, you allowed a warm smile to rise against your lips to highlight your face with its mastery. This, your prized creation in the entirety of your collection, was the reason you had been invited to showcase your artistic skill within the ballroom of the upper class admirals within their bi-anual commemoration ball. 

The imagery within the oil painting showcased the grief of war: the violence within battle, alongside the families they left behind as they ran off to rid the world of the ravenous plague of piracy. A valley of skulls littered alongside the crystal shores of a cove you knew well in childhood; the woman within held resemblance to yourself, distant enough to not draw similarity within the crowd; the version of yourself a decade your junior as she clung to her marine lover. 

Her back had been riddled with bullets, the blood cascading down her back, as she shielded her Marine lover from their incoming carnage. Holding the woman by the waist, the expression of immense bittersweet adoration and sorrow, resembled the younger version of your ex-fiance. 

Crafting this depiction of war caused you to experience the pain over and over again, feeling the exact moment your heart shattered into a million pieces as he left you. The words he spoke to you, the tone he used, the feeling of his hand caressing your cheek to wipe your tear stricken face of the falling droplets of sorrow - all depicted in the utter chaos within the portraiture. 

You raise your glass of sparkling wine to your lips; the amber hue bounding from the glass as you take a small sip of the liquid within. The beading of the bubbles tickled against your tongue, the bitterness of the tannins dancing with the sweetness of the juice as it trickled down your throat. Feeling a presence beside you, you withdrew the glass from your lips and crossed your arms. 

“Is this one of yours?” the familiar brogue of the man who stole your ex-fiance from you caused your spine to tingle and the bile coat your tongue with its flavor. 

“Does it surprise you to be informed that it is?” you retorted, refusing to break eye-contact with your painting to spare the gentleman at your side the luxury of a glance. The warm chuckle felt oddly comforting despite your disdain for the gentleman. His voice held a brutish warmth within, almost pride in standing next to such an accomplished artist within their field. 

“Not in the slightest,” he confessed with the small shake of his head. At this comment, you turned to face him. Your dress danced at your feet, the slit from ankle to thigh flashing a moment of exposed skin to him as you drew yourself closer to the man who stole your love from you. He extended his right hand to you in a gesture for you to take it, an action you reciprocated by placing your right hand within his palm. 

“In fact, love,” he uttered, drawing your hand up to his lips and brushing them against your knuckles, “I have never been more proud to be proven wrong.” He withdrew your knuckles from his lips, the tingling sensation of his stubble remaining behind as he released your hand from his.

“Wrong in what capacity, Vice-Admiral Garp?” Your narrowed eyes held your question with more venom than what you had originally intended, the sting of the break festering beneath your skin the longer you stayed within the aura of your painting. The dryness of his humorless chuckle stung against the rapidly reopening wounds of your sorrow; both of your attention being recalled to the painting of the defeated woman within the arms of her Marine lover. 

“Artists serve a purpose in war,” he commented, bowing to the painting before turning and bowing further to you, “And I was wrong to trigger such a break in union from my right hand and his bonnie lass.” Upon hearing those words, you felt the swell of vindication in your blood swell to your heart and mind. 

If you remained the person you were ten years your junior, you may have yelled, screamed, hit, slapped and gnashed your teeth at the highly decorated vice-admiral at your side. In your decade of severance from your lover, you had learnt to navigate the upper class and to smolder the flames of your raw emotions enough to articulate your meaning verbally alone. 

“How honorable of you to repent a decade in the latter to the event, sir,” you nodded, your lips curling up in a smirk hidden by your chin’s tilt. Rising from your stoop, you held the brutal gaze of the vice admiral and remained unflinching in your resolve, “May the next time you assume weakness amongst the arts, you think back to this moment and make the wiser decision.” 

“Aye, that I will,” he nodded, a knowing twinkle held within his intense and wild eyes, his decorum faltering as the beast within him lurked beneath, “And should Bogard ever attempt to push back on a hard boundary again, I may yet acquiesce to his request.” The sting of the name of your ex-fiance had your blood swelling, the hurt remaining and resurfacing the longer you stood next to Vice-Admiral Garp. You stepped toward him, your body smothered by his great height, but unwavering in your resolve.

“May your heart be open to receive such pushback, Vice-Admiral,” you nodded, awaiting dismissal from one so high in the commanding chain against a meager civilian. 

“Rest assured, bonnie,” he stepped closer to you, clapping a hand over your shoulder in a gesture of familiarity, “It will be.” At that, and a brief nod, you both departed from your proximity to the painting while watching eyes held firm to your departure from the shadows of the corner of the room.

Bogard held onto your every word; his heart swelling at every syllable departing from your lips. He had not heard a whisper of your voice in over a decade, the silence plaguing him with each moment that passed in your absence. His eyes stuck to your frame at your departure from his commanding officer, and captain, Garp. The way your dress swelled at your feet, the way the hem cascaded down the exposed skin of your back to the hue of the material illuminating beneath the lights. 

After all this time, Bogard’s heart belonged to you. His soul screamed at him to rush forward and hold you in his arms, smothering you with open adoration and affection; regardless of who’s eyes were watching. The unspoken concept that was holding him from sprinting to your side, was the mystery surrounding your correspondence to the letters and calls he attempted to reach you with. 

He had stretched his resources until they snapped, breaking off relationships with communicators and transponders that held only silence in response to his heart dissected upon the pages of the parchment paper sent to you. For the first three years of serving Vice-Admiral Garp as his right hand man, he was an emotionless drone and lackey. His only outlet was sketching and scribing his mind to you and sending you his thoughts from the corners of the blue sea he had found himself traveling within. 

Nothing. Not a semblance of a whisper of a word. His heart was met with a cold, hard nothing. No simple “okay,” no complex hatred and rage scrolled onto a tanned page of scrap paper. Nothing. In that uncertainty, he had no idea how you would respond to such a swell of affection. 

Have you moved on? Were you married? Did you have a beau or a spouse? Did they court you the way he did? These questions remained unanswered, even as you reached for another glass of sparkling amber wine and drew up your emptied former glass to place on the tray. He had to know. Moving forward from the shadows, he glanced up at the painting his superior and the former holder of his heart were glancing at. 

His breath was stolen from his lungs as his eyes met the painting. The imagery was so intensely intimate, he felt a blush begin to litter his face with its warmth. He didn’t know how to feel, angered that his likeness was depicted in such a way, or proud that this moment of time was artistically captured within the brushstrokes within each injury depicted within. It was beautiful. 

Each movement within the piece had his heart cracking like porcelain meeting concrete at a harsh velocity. He could see your heart, your soul; his ex-fiance and holder of his affection depicting such unjust injury upon the canvas. 

You smiled at the attendees. Young marine cadets who sparked and jittered in place with their hands clenched and nervous had your heart swooning in memory of the man who held your heart in your youth. The small string orchestra swelled their melody, your body swaying in response to their bow-strokes and finger-picks almost against your will.

Several members of the attendees had joined the circular dance floor, swaying jovially to the rhythmic beat and swell of the melody with precision. You smiled a vocalless laugh in encouragement of a pink-haired cadet out of their depth dancing with a skilled marine dancer, Vice-Admiral Garp also spinning a widow on the dancefloor within his skilled arms. Although you had reservations about the vice-admiral, you did appreciate the intention behind the break he caused with your beloved. 

He wanted to protect you in a multitude of ways, your youthful wonder being your downfall in assuming the best in those around you. Your artistic soul was not meant for war, no matter the individual who held your affection. But in time apart from Bogard, your heart began to harden and turn wrathful. You changed your familial name, fled to a new beginning to make something of yourself as you processed your grief. 

With no name nor family to hold you back, you thrived in your artistry. Your popularity gained and nurtured you with each piece created by those rallying to your support. The first item you produced with a piece of your soul scribed within the canvas was the piece you were staring at with Garp moments prior. In the silver healing of your scars, you silently thanked Garp for prying you apart from your beloved Bogard to allow you to depict such pain upon the page.

As the serenade concluded, you applauded the musicians with your hands and a joyous cheer flung from your lips. You also applauded those brave enough to dance, nodding to Garp in respect with a small smile he reciprocated. 

A presence fell to your side, the familiar cologne drawing up to your face and alerting you of his presence before he had even spoken a word. You tensed, your newly emptied glass clutched firmly within your strong grip before an attendee wordlessly collected it from your fingertips. 

Neither of you could find the words to articulate to one another, feeling the tension gathering between your bodies with each inhale and exhale you took silently beside each other. You refused to be the one to break the silence. He was the one to end your union, he should be the one to apologize. 

Bogard did not know how to approach your silence: the same silence he was met with for each letter he sent to your residence depicting his heart; piece by piece. He wanted so desperately to cast all decorum and title aside and simply escort you outside and fall to his knees and beg for an answer to a single question be asked within the pages. 

Questions you had no knowledge of. No parchment paper, scrap nor call had found you on the other end of his many stretches from his base to your home. How could it have? You had changed all you were to become who you are. No name tied you to your history, abandoned alongside your heart cast aside by Bogard now standing beside you. 

“Would you care to dance?” he asked after clearing his throat, prompting you to turn your chin towards him to meet his darkened eyes. 

After all this time, his aura still held the same pull it always had. You felt your soul call for him, your body almost moving against its will to be pulled into his arms. You curtseyed deeply, prompting a small click of his tongue and turn of his head in displeasure. 

“I would be honored,” you uttered monotonously, extending your right hand to him for him to claim within his left. Your breath hitched at the contact, prompting you to mentally scold yourself at such a response. 

As your eyes met, you almost looked past the man he was now to the boy who held your heart a decade ago. His eyes held a similar reflection, meeting with the person you once were behind your eyes. Refocusing both your gazes on one another, you were met with an unfamiliarity you had no map, nor compass, to navigate. 

The hazelnut glow of his eyes still held you breathless within their depths, as much as your parted lips held his similar focus. He led you onto the dancefloor, the music swelling as he began to twirl you within his arms in front of his superiors, colleagues and underlings. You had no idea where to begin the unspoken conversation, feeling almost awkward within his arms the longer the silence was held between you both. 

Being the first to break the silence, you held your gaze firmly against his after huffing out a breath of frustration. Smiling, you darted your eyes between focusing on each of his, feeling incredibly exposed beneath his focus. 

“Are those new medals, sir?” you asked him, gesturing with your chin to his left breast pocket. 

“Sir?” he asked, his left hand gripping yours a little more firmly before relinquishing its intensity on your hand while holding firmly against your hand. “My darling, I don’t know what you-...” his words rushed out of his lips without restraint, a small cough from his throat refocusing his mental state with a deep inhale and exhale. 

“It has been a few years since last I held you in my arms,” he nodded, ushering you out to the side of him before twirling you within his arms. Your back fell flush with his torso, his every essence overwhelming you with emotions you thought to have buried a decade ago. “I have earnt a few titles over the years, yes. I appreciate you taking the time to notice.” 

“Of course I would notice, Bo,” you answered him with as much hase as he did earlier, taking a moment to collect yourself as he swayed you within his arms. You briefly shook your head, allowing him to wield you as an extension of himself with another twirl; this time ending with you facing him. “I always notice.” 

He hummed in response. There was no way he could ask all questions plaguing him for each swell and step of the melody from the orchestra. In lieu of interrogation, he opted to focus on you externally. He focussed on the ornate way your hair was drawn up, the way you held your face beneath its painted and accented appearance, the way your dress clung to your body and held an illusionary barrier between tastefully covering the necessities while leaving little to the imagination for what falls beneath. 

Both closing your eyes, you fell almost organically against one another. The automatrons beneath your inhibitions had your chests pressing against one another, your foreheads holding a similar fate with their proximity. As soon as his forehead was pressed against your own, you felt the person you were a decade ago resurface and lean towards him.

“You-...” his voice fell short, the stutter and waver in his voice had your heartstrings tugging like a wolf leashed beneath its owner's muzzleing. Opening your eyes, your brows arched up in the center as they fell on Bogard’s lengthy eyelashes. You witnessed his eyes darting beneath the small shield of flesh, dreamlike in its make while searching for a word or phrase. 

“We were perfect, weren’t we?” you smiled through your sigh, his eyes opening to meet yours at your words, “We were the right people for each other, but the wrong time. You were a Marine in the prime of your life, while I was an experience-.”

“-You were everything to me,” his voice cut your sentence like shattered glass through tender flesh. The raspy tone of his voice matched with the intensity of his eyes had you truly wanting to believe his words. Your breath hitched, unable to find stability within the large gathering of people on the dancefloor. 

Bogard continued to lead you through the dance, silent and brooding through each twirl, spin and sachet. His questions continued to swirl behind his lips, his brow furrowing and deepening the more the dance continued to leave his questions unanswered. 

“You never gave me a whisper of where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay or struggling,” he began, his heart pouring from his lips in a hushed whisper, “You were to be my wife. My love, I would’ve never accepted the promotion should I have known the agony I would endure at your silence. I would have become a sword for hire, a bounty hunter-.”

“-And I would have never asked you to make such a sacrifice, my heart,” you confessed, feeling the music begin to decrescendo its swell and teeter off, “I loved you, and you held my heart within your hands,” you drew yourself closer to him, feeling the final dip in his movement before he drew you into an embrace against his body, “You were my love to lose, and I will be forever grateful to be a chanel for your affection.”

Applause resounded within the hollows of the room and reverberated from the dome of the room. You broke from Bogard’s embrace and bowed to him, and he to you. 

“We would have been best side by side,” he confessed, his lip stuttering beneath his words, “I would have had you with me. My light,” he continued, stepping towards you and reaching to reclaim your fingertips to brush against him, “My heart. You were mine-.”

“-I was yours, Bogard,” you nodded with a false smile to mask the pain resurfacing, “And now our light is gone, and the break was not easy on either of us.” You stepped away from his outstretched hand, subtly shaking your head at him and attempting to stop the rapid rise of familiar sorrowful emotions within your heart. 

Taking your bottom lip beneath your top teeth, you held your widened eyes fixed on  his to warn him not to pursue you in your retreat before you left the dancefloor - a warning he refused to follow, even if it was commanded by the most superior officer in the chain of command. He had lost you once, and the memory of you was once again slipping through his fingers in each moment he watched you turn away from him.

“Let her be,” Garp’s voice broke him from his silent brooding, Bogard’s jaw clenching as his teeth ground behind his firmly clasped mouth, “Just let her be for a moment before you chase her.”

“Sir?” Bogard asked, his brow arching up at his superior officer in question. Garp’s stern expression began to falter beneath his hardened exterior. A grin rose to his lips, his eyes holding a foreign twinkle usually reserved for the pursuit of a particularly difficult adversary. 

“She is a rare soul to walk among us mere mortals,” he confessed, his eyes fixed on the retreat of your body as it disappeared through the threshold of the exit, “And she needs to be treated as such.” Turning to his underling, Garp clenched his firm hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze beneath his wide grip, “Allow her the luxury of navigating her own feelings first before you confess your own to her.” 

Bogard nodded, his broad hat covering his eyes to shield the emotions gathering behind them. He could see how you were struggling beneath your learned hardened exterior, truly unsure as to who the person you had become really was after all this time. All he knew within his soul was you were his, and he is still yours. 

Upon exiting the central floor your dance was held upon, you breathed in a heaping gulp of air unoccupied with the sting of unnatural perfumes, colognes and lotions within the dancefloor. You hang your head back, lulling it upon your shoulders within the solitude the gardens provided for you. 

“May I join you?” the familiar voice of your ex-fiance asked you, prompting you to both repress a groan of frustration within your lungs while your heart cried out in affirmation of his presence. Your internal conflict did not provide you with any resolve within your being, prompting you to provide a half-hearted shrug and a nod in response. 

Stepping closer beside you, he felt uneasy in your radiance. He took the opportunity in your own internal argument to look over the way your dress clung to your body. Raking his eyes slowly, he drew them up from your shoes, to your calves, to the split in material against your thigh which prompted his breath to hitch. He slowly withdrew his gaze from the small glimpse of flesh to your hips, chest, exposed neck and face - your brows continuing to be knit with a mixture of confusion, rage and sorrow. 

Before he could utter a single word or compliment your way, you spoke with your sharpened tone, causing him to stumble in his own mind.

“What do you want from me, Bogard?” you asked him, turning to face him with your heart weighing heavy within your chest, “I gave you everything. I gave you my youth, my body, my time, my heart, the prime of my life - leaving me in this shell of the person I once was, no longer an object of desire-.”

“-You never answered a single letter,” he interrupted your train of thought, prompting your frown to deepen in the centre of your forehead, “I sent you mountains of wasted paper for you to not return a single scrap of a word, nor semblance of a phrase. I would have appreciated a simple reprimand, a crude expression telling me to leave you alone-.”

“-Bogard, need I remind you that you left me?” your voice elevated to a small and firm argumentative tone, your jaw clenching with your every word, “You left me. You left me on that island with a simple relaying of the word from your commanding officer. One that he relinquished tonight, in fact: ‘Artists have no place in war. I shall leave you now so we are not burdened by the loss of one another’,” you mocked him, stepping closer to his body diminishing within the shadows. 

You allowed a dry and humorless laugh to escape your lips as you stepped closer. Allowing a moment of tension to continue to swell between you, you snarled at him with your eyes narrowed.

“Did you enjoy my painting of us?” you asked him, your brow and lip twitching in anticipation for his response. You expected anger and wrath at the depiction of his likeness within the canvas, his passionate ignition of flamed fury directed at you. In its stead, you received a small whisper in response. 

“I saw your heart reflected on its page,” he uttered, stepping closer to you with his head bowed, “A heart I have tried so desperately to reach in the decade that has held us apart.” Your heart fluttered with its rage within you, desiring to both shove him to the side and leave, but also draw him close for an embrace. 

“After all this time, you continue to chase me?” you spat at him, your heart now elevated to a heightened pace of anxiety and a rush of rage, “Tell me. What do I have that a flurry of others do not? What do I have that another cannot return to you? That another that would be more suited to provide for you, could not? Tell me, Bogard. What do I have to offer you-?” 

Bogard stepped in, claiming your waist within his left hand and holding you flush against his chest, while his right hand claimed your left cheek within his gentle caress. 

“You still hold my heart,” he whispered, his breath dancing on your lips on each syllable, “You rule my heart,” his words drew you in, your eyes swelling with the emotions of your youth. “I would build a citadel around your leadership, as queen of my heart,” he continued, his eyes dancing between your own. Your breath hitched as his eyes met with your parted lips, his own parting as his body swelled to join yours all the sooner. 

“You command my every being, in all these years apart,” he continued, reaching his right hand up and weaving his fingertips within your hair, anchoring the heel of his palm against your jaw and forcing your eyes to meet with his, “I never stopped loving you.” 

At that, his body surged forward; his lips claiming yours beneath his in a slow and firm movement. Your eyelashes were immediately flooded with silent tears spilling from the corners and littering your cheeks. Your soul yearned for him, surging your body to react to his touch with your own desperation. 

You had never stopped loving him either.

Hooking your arms around his neck, you pulled him into yourself with your heart pulsating with a dangerous rapidity for each second you continued this embrace. He ushered you over to the darkened corner of the wall, coaxing your body to respond further to his ministrations within the shadows to hide from prying eyes. His tongue darted out to dance with your own, a groan siphoned from his lips as you reciprocated his advances. 

You unhooked your arms from his neck, choosing to grip at his collar beneath your fingertips and drawing him impossibly closer to you. The ruckus from within the halls had you pay no mind, too swept within the arms of one another to have a thought or care cast at its elevation. The music swelled within the room, Bogard continuing to operate with his lips collecting each scrap and semblance of affection you allowed him to skillfully claim.

It was as if the pain of the decade ceased to exist at this moment. The two of you pictured the life you would have had within the arms of one another: marriage, stability, equality, relationships being at the forefront of this illusionary divergence. 

At the booming voice of Vice-Admiral Garp within the ballroom, addressing the soiree of Marines within, Bogard broke his lips away from yours while panting desperately against your lips as he listened to the orders of his superior officer. At that break in caress from the word of Garp, the illusion shattered and you were swept back to your position as the ex-fiance to the right hand of the Vice-Admiral. 

Bitterness swelled within your heart, you opting to push Bogard away from your arms as his attention was pulled elsewhere. His eyes quickly darted back to you upon this action, your own eyes refusing to meet his as you wallowed within your own disgruntled fury. 

Bogard felt a similar choice was to be made, akin to the decision he made a decade earlier. He could choose to rejoin the ceremony at this stage, leaving you out here to wait for him to return - should Garp let him; or to remain out here with you. You: the light of his life, the person he gave his heart to in youth - and its current owner as queen over his body. 

As he felt you pull away and begin to shepherd him to return to the halls, his eyes snapped as he made his decision. 

“I lost you once,” he uttered, his hands grasping your hips and holding you firmly in place, “And I refuse to lose you again.” At this small utterance, you would be a fool to admit anything other than the swell of your heart within your chest and your eyes softening at such a notion. Putting aside your own selfish desires to keep him further with you, you shook your head and reached up on your toes to place a chase kiss against his cheek.

“I will still be here if you choose to return to me,” you ushered him with a small smile, “And if you don’t, I will not hold it against you this time.” He leaned forward, the tip of his broad, gray cap circling the crown d your head as he placed his forehead against your own. 

“I will never break from you willingly again,” he confessed, his tone holding all of the emotion resurfacing from the decade taken from him, “Nor would I ever allow the light to leave us. You have my heart,” he nudged his nose against your own, “And I desire nothing in return-.”

“-Should you desire it or not,” you spoke over him, ensuring your voice was heard over his inner monologue, “My heart has been with you from the moment we first met,” his eyes met with yours as you continued, “And was only returned to me when you shattered it upon your departure.” 

He claimed your lips beneath his, feeling the roll of your raw emotion within your lips the longer he held you against him. Breaking away, he gazed intently into your eyes and uttered his final confirmation.

“No matter how long it takes: I swear to remake your heart and treat it kindly should you offer it once more.” 

“My heart is yours, Bogard,” you sighed in response, the swell reigniting within your chest as you allowed him to cradle you against himself. Ignoring the calls and words of Vice-Admiral Garp within the hall, addressing the marines and tailoring their awards to them without his right hand beside him, Bogard was intent on showcasing how deeply he loved you regardless of the time that departed.

Garp continued his relay, his eyes darting to meet with the image of an entanglement with his right-hand man and your body pressing romantically against one another with a twinkle in his eye. He remained relishing in the fact he was able to right the mistakes of his past and reset it to shepherd it into a promising and fruitful future; Bogard finally able to meet with his bonnie lass once again and treat you with the utmost respect you deserved.

He refused to come between you again, swearing at that point to never offer an ultimatum to an underling in return for their loyalty.  

[bokettochild]

  “I don’t know what I am. A harpy, a demon,” He can’t look at their eyes, can’t look at his own hands, hands with claws that are twisted and covered in his own blood from clawing at what should not be there so he looks at his boots. There’s a spatter of blood on the toe of the left one. “No one ever told me, and Uncle told me to hide so others couldn’t see, so we wouldn’t be separated.” Because only Uncle had a heart so tender that he could continue to love a monster’s child as his own, even after he realized his mistake. “Whatever I am, the dark world showed me when I was thrown inside.”  

  “But the crystal turned you into a blupee.” There’s confusion in Twilight’s tone, he can almost see the man reaching out to him, trying to convince him.  

  Laughter rings, twisted and sick and cold and painful as it rattles in his chest. “Yeah.” It sounds more bitter than he’d intended, it sounds harsh and pained, even in the high voice he’s been stuck with since birth. “That’s the thing. The dark world doesn’t change you all at once. Oh, you can be this or that or the other, but the minute you let your heart lay itself bare, the darkened sacred realm will reveal you for what you are.” And now he can’t help it, he can’t help but look up to see his brother’s ( not uncle’s, not uncle’s ) face, irony drawing a bitter huff of laughter to his lips as he watches Twilight’s face shatter in horror and shock. “A wolfoes, a twisted, demented wolfoes with black blades for wings. A demon so horrible even Zelda couldn’t look at me.”    

  Arms close around him, tight and exactly what he expects but- but they’re warm, and once he’s held, he’s pulled against Sky’s chest and there’s a hand in his hair and- this isn’t how people act when they discover a monster!  

  “You’re not a monster, Legend.” It’s repeated again. “You aren’t a monster, you hear me?”  

  “The shadows twist people all sorts of ways.” Twilight hums, boots scuffing the dusty floor as he moves closer to where Sky is- where Sky is hugging him. “They don’t make us evil though.”  

I finally found it! one of my all time favorite pieces of Writing from you in Flight to my heart! and I would love to hear any and all details you're willing to share about it!

Gosh, it's been so long since I actually looked at Flight to My Heart, I had to go back and find this chapter (chapter 24) and re-read it just to remember what was happening in this scene!

(Trigger warnings for discussion of suicidal mindsets and self-harm)

Okay, so one of the main themes of the fic is that Legend has wings, but was never told why he has them. His Uncle only ever told him to hide them, but never explained why. Maybe he would have, when Legend got older, enough so to understand what was happening, but since he died before that happened, Legend has been in the dark his whole life: he doesn't know he's royal.

Without any answers provided, the natural thing that he does, and which I imagine any other person would have done, is try and determine the reason for himself. He's tried different theories, hence his line "I don't know what I am; a harpy, a demon(...)", because as far as Legend is concerned, it's obvious that he's not a royal, so the only other explanation is that he's not fully hylian, and thus some kind of monster.

As we see repeatedly in his thought process, he genuinely does believe he's some kind of monster, and it's not just self hate or low self-esteem as Groose says, but honestly the only explanation he believes makes sense in his situation. This is only further cemented by the fact that he is fully aware that the circumstances of his childhood are unusual. No one talks much about his parents because his grandparents and uncle were wary about him finding out he was royal before he could understand what that meant for him; they don't want to risk him telling someone else and getting killed. So, the only thing he does know is what he was told when he got to the dark world.

I drew from the manga a lot with this story, especially when it came to the dark world bit (I had read it recently when I wrote this). Legend finds out that "a knight and a lady" had come to the dark world around the time he was a very small child, and they'd lived there with many other lost hylians, turned to beasts like the rest most likely, until one day they just disappeared

(The implications that they're not confirmed dead really had me excited when reading the manga, but Legend did not, in fact, go looking for them, which was a bit of a disappointment for me. I have been tempted to write that for myself, but maybe another time LOL)

Anyways, Legend knows his parents were only ever seen as monsters, so he actually fully believes that that is what they were. I think the above bit really explains his thoughts best:

“Maybe Uncle found me when I was a kid, maybe he saw me and thought I was a Hylian baby who got captured by monsters. Maybe the knights banished my parents and thought they’d saved me. I don’t know for sure(...)"

Legend thoroughly believes he's not hylian, it's become part of his world view and he clings to it firmly, not because he likes it, but because at least it makes sense and is an answer to all the questions he never got to ask. He doesn't like it though. He actually hates that part of himself. He hates the wings because they signify, to him, his faults and failures and the horrible thing he believes himself to be. His wings are, to him, as much a foe and struggle and burden as Ganon or his destiny, so, like with those, he's tried to get rid of them. I only hinted at it in the fic:

 It’s a question he’s asked nearly every night since Uncle pointed them out. “I don’t know. If I could get rid of them, I would, I’ve tried but-”     An injured sounding squawk cuts him off and then all eyes are boring into him, gazes wide and something between fearful and horrified.      “You what?”     “What do you mean you tried-”     “How does one-”     “Legend.” Sky’s voice is heavy, gaze heavier and hands heaviest of all. “What did you do?”     He drops his gaze, tries not to think of the scars that hide under taunting pink, tries not to think of the swords and knives that Zelda begged him to lock up in his basement when she found out he couldn’t even look at them without wanting to-  

but yeah, he definitely made an attempt to try and cut them off at least once, if not more. He also attempted to tear them off when, as he later explains, he lost control of himself and became an actual monster in the dark world. That's that italicized bit; he's remembering being a beast, remembering being a monster, a demon, whatever it was that he saw himself as in that moment.

The reference to blood on his boots is bot another reminder, of all this, but also to show you, the reader, where his eyes are turned now, that he's looking down, that he can't bring himself to look at any of them as he's saying all this.

The next bit though is Legend's love for his uncle. Despite Uncle enforcing his having to hide something that, as a child, he'd thought was beautiful and wonderful and amazing, he doesn't resent the man for it. He believes that the man was just too kind to throw out any child he'd raised as his own, even a monster's. Again, he thinks his wings appearing was a sign of his "evil" nature, and that the reason his uncle was so upset by it was because he'd realized the truth at that moment. This is his love of the man battling with the hate for himself.

Yet, right after, Twilight, who reminds Legend so much of his uncle, speaks up to try and deny it, and Legend, tired of hiding and waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rest to find out, for everyone to just start hating him already, argues back. he wants his truth to be seen and recognized so he can stop fearing what it's results will be, but saying these things to, essentially, his Uncle's face (even if it's actually Twi) is hard for him. Especially as he announces that his dark world form when corrupted is a twisted version of the rancher's own, thus doubling the pain.

When Legend says he expects the arms that close around him, he's sort of expecting that someone is going to try and catch him, hold him back, or down and- well, he's not entirely certain what would have happened if someone had seen his wings before, what Uncle was scared of, but he's not dumb. Legend thoroughly expects one of the others to try and hurt him in this moment.

That's why Sky's embracing him catches him so off guard. He's expecting hate and hurt and pain and also, in a twisted way, the relief of no longer waiting for it all to come. Instead, he's met with acceptance, with worry, with pain not for himself, but for the others as they realize, to various degrees, what's going on here.

Legend may think of Sky as dumb in tis chapter, too sweetly stupid to realize the monster before him, but sky's actually pretty sharp, and he's caught on to what's happening here, and it scares him. It scares him that the id he's gotten so close to is feeling this way, has been feeling this way, and, worst of all, expects it to just keep getting worse, even after they've all done all they can to show him that he's safe with them!

Sky is devastated, and knowing what he knows now; that Legend always feels in danger, his first action is to pull the kid in close where he can protect him, show him kindness, show him care, and maybe also, selfishly, assure himself that Legend failed (he didn't cut his wings off, or worse, kill himself).

In contrast, Legend has lived basically his whole life, or at least the last decade, afraid of this precise moment, the fact that he's doing any of this is just because he's tired of living in fear and wants to get it done and over with (and maybe still doesn't value his life as much as he ought). he's not expecting Sky to immediately try and comfort him, or any of the rest for that matter, but when they do, well, it sort of shatters his perception of the world.

Sky is telling him he's wrong, promising, pleading, and meanwhile, Twilight, who's also been treated like a monster for his dark world form, who knows what it is to hate yourself a little bit for what you become (wolves are predators, wolves are vicious, wolves are feared by children and small animals and everything and everyone that Twilight loves) is sharing his own thoughts. Twilight is telling Legend what he wishes someone would have told him (or maybe once did!). He's telling him that things we can't control like our shape, body, or even the perceptions of others, don't make us evil. he leaves out that actions are what do that, because, well, that's not important to this conversation!

Anyways, there you go! Feathered AU may be one of my old works, but this one at least was a pleasure to revisit. Even for it's faults, I love it dearly, and I guess that's a sign that I need to go re-read it again :)

Hope you enjoyed this analysis, Nan!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 28

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

If you weren’t with that man, you would be blown away. You would be absolutely floored. In awe of the private jet, its luxury leather, and pristine interior. Never in your life, scrubbing floors, dredging through the misery of the day-to-day, did you dream of this. You never even aspired to it. You thought, foolishly, you could be happy with just Colin.

Then this man, this dumb man and his mustachioed complexes, walks into your life and ruins it all. And now, he is up to something new. Something you’re certain is just as vile and callous. As always with Lloyd, you just can’t guess at what.

You lean on the armrest, anxiously teetered on the edge of the seat, as you watch the clouds dissipate into the blue sky. You won’t sit back and relax and let him get the best of you. You can’t let your guard down. Your fingers trace the line on your throat, still tender and throbbing.

“Baby,” Lloyd grabs your elbow. You tear away from him as you glance over, “why don’t you relax and have some bubbly?”

He offers a flute of champagne and you keep your face neutral. Your body language alone must give away your anxiety but you won’t crack. You drop your hand, and shrug.

“It’s a bit early to drink–”

“Time zones,” he pushes the glass closer, “who gives a fuck?”

You relent and take the flute by the stem. He takes his own glass as you stare at the bubbles and surprises you again as he clinks his brim against the crystal in your hand. You squint up at him and take a cautious sip. He gulps down half of his.

He wipes his upper lip instinctively and flings his hand away with a huff, “so, you don’t like surprises, babe? I figured you for the romantic type. I mean, the way we met… that was some sweet shit, wasn’t it? And for a loser.”

“Please, Lloyd,” you take another drink, deeper.

“I know, sensitive spot. Still.” He growls and sits back, tossing back the last of the champagne, “I’m gonna help you forget about that jackass. You know, you should be thanking me because that’s exactly what I've been tryna do this whole time.”

“Uh huh,” you hum doubtfully.

He sets his glass down on the table at his elbow and clucks. He leans back and smooths his hair with his palm. His fingers twiddle along his cheek as he thinks.

“You’re such a fucking cynic,” he says, “why the fuck are you so heartbroken?”

Your lips part despite yourself. Why would he ask? Why would he even care? He doesn’t. He’s mocking you. Again. Trying to draw out a reaction.

“I’m not,” you assure him and drain your glass, “I am just… aware of my worth now.” You put aside the crystal and sniff, “thank you for showing me that.”

He lets out a long, gristly breath. He pushes his head to the side so it pops, then to the other, another stiff crack. He sighs and rolls his shoulders, wiggling as he settles back against the chair.

“I got an idea,” he intones.

You look at him. Whether you ask or not, he’s gonna share it and it’s no doubt going to be stupid.

He reaches to his fly and undoes it, smirking as he lifts his hips slightly to roll down his pants. He’s not wearing any briefs. You don’t think this is an entirely organic thought. You peek over towards the cabin, a curtain separating you and the staff.

“Ah, don’t worry about them, they don’t come back here unless I tell em too,” he pulls out his dick and strokes himself. He’s only half-hard, “it’s gonna be a long flight–”

You brace yourself. What is it? Hand job? Your mouth? Or maybe he wants it all.

“Sit in daddy’s lap,” he orders as he plays with himself, teasing himself to fully cocked.

You inhale and push yourself up. You hide the roll of your eyes as you sidle in front of him. You reach back to brace the wide armrests and lower body slowly over him. He slides his hand up your skirt, rolling it up above your ass as he grips your hip and guides your back. He prods at your entrance and urges you onto him.

You hold your breath as he stretches you. He hooks his arm around your stomach and pulls you flush to him, forcing you down to your limit. Your nails sink into the leather as you shudder and gulp. He keeps you against him as he leans back and his thumb flicks against the switch set into the arm rest.

The chair reclines and he brings you to lay atop him, sheathed in you. He doesn’t move as the back angles below him and his other arm loops around you, his hand sliding beneath the dress and cupping your tit. He purrs as the tension seeps from him.

“I always like a good nap on a long flight,” his mouth tickles your crown as he speaks.

You don’t reply as you wrinkle your nose. You’re rigid atop him, uncomfortable around him. He’s smothering you to the point of misery. Just another game, you tell yourself.

“Relax,” he squeezes your chest, his thumb toying with your nipple, “and sit still. I just need you to keep my dick warm while I get some shut-eye.”

You stare at the curved ceiling of the plane. How long are you going to be trapped on this flight? Does it matter? You doubt what comes after will be any better. You let your head rest against his shoulder and fight to ease your taut muscles.

“Good girl,” he groans as he fondles your chest, his other hand trailing up to touch the cut at your throat. A subtle reminder. Maybe even a threat.

💎

You ache emptily as Lloyd takes your hand. A gesture that troubles you more than the mile-high catnap. You don’t fight him as he tosses the keys for the rental to a valet and tells him to get the bellhop to unload his bag. 

The entitlement roiling off him makes you want to hide. It’s almost embarrassing how he speaks to them. You were once in their position, seen as nothing more than a shadow cleaning up after the VIPs.

He guides you through the front doors of the hotel, tall glass barriers with sleek golden handles. It’s the sort of place you saw on those reality shows about pampered housewives. The type you bitterly envied behind a glass of cheap wine.

As much as you feel displaced, Lloyd appears entirely in his element. He changed before you disembarked. A pale blue suit over a gauche floral shirt, unbuttoned too low on his chest, and a pair of dark sunglasses that added to his douchy veneer. The whole charade throws you off-balance. What is he doing?

As you approach the front desk, you assume he’s drawing out the inevitable. That for you, a return trip might be out of the question. His cryptic behaviour bolsters this suspicion and the way he clings to your hand heightens your disease.

“Hello, sir, welcome to The Paridisia, are you checking in?” The pretty clerk behind the desk greets. Her dark curly hair is pinned back to spill perfectly down the back of her ivory blouse.

“Hansen,” he replies.

He flips up his sunglasses and raises your hand. You tug against the sudden motion and he squeezes tighter, kissing your knuckles as he sends you a wink. You let your arm hang limp from his grasp.

“Oh, yes,” she says as her manicured nails hit the keys, “the honeymoon suite.”

You nearly choke as Lloyd releases your hand and snakes his arm around you, drawing you close, “you know it.”

“Congratulations,” the clerk says brightly, “you two look so happy.”

“Overjoyed,” he affirms as his hand falls down to your ass and he squeezes, “she’s a bit spontaneous, you know? Eloped and all that.”

You blink dumbly as you peek over at him. Are you supposed to play along with this? What is he playing at? Does he really think this if fucking with you? It’s weird but it’s not… terrible. A free vacation?

No, he’s got something else planned. He has to.

“We have everything ready for you, Mr. Hansen,” she slides over an envelope trimmed in gold, “and if there’s anything you need, you just let me know. I’m Martina.”

“Thank you, Martina,” he takes the envelope, “you can have them bring the luggage up to us.”

“Of course, sir,” she smiles.

Lloyd taps your ass before he veers you towards the elevator. You take short steps beside him, crossing your arms as you try to figure him out. He hits the golden button and you look up at the arc of numbers above as they light up one at a time.

“I’m just going to ask it,” you say under your breath, “what the fuck is going on?”

He snickers as the elevator dings and he ushers you aboard. The doors shut as you turn around and he plays with the hem of your skirt.

“Surprise, baby,” he slithers, “you get to be Mrs. Hansen for the weekend.”