#childhood fantasies turned dark realities

[controlledchaos1342-blog]

“Let’s have a battle!” Naive, vicious child. This is why I wear my mask these days. Before it was to hide, now it’s to make it all too clear ‘who’ I am to these people. I can see in their eyes that they don’t intend it to be a playful match like the small school-children getting a first taste of this life. They see me and my ‘disabled’ partner as easy prey.

I look to Missy and tilt my head, no need to say the question out loud. She simply nods and gives a responding “Kacha,” before jumping out to fight what ever opponent we were to face. If the brat was smart they’d send out a ground type like Sandslash or Graveler. It wouldn’t help them really, especially since this is a loose fight without stated rules so even if Missy couldn’t handle it Saoirce or Flicker could pick up the slack.

They aren’t smart, but they aren’t stupid enough to send a flying or water type in their cockyness. The opponent is a Ninetales. Arguably local to the area and no indication of its current power due to the fact it evolves with a stone rather then experience or even an attack.

“Natsume, Flamethrower!” The intention is clear, they want to surprise me with an instant death. I say nothing but instead shake my wrist. The bracelet jangles just audibly enough for Missy to know her own judgment is preferred, whatever that may be in this moment.

As the flames spew out of the large fox’s mouth straight at Missy, I still can’t tell the difference between “that’s a lot of hot air” and “Fourth degree burn incoming” so I can’t tell if having her jump out of the way will be required or a waste of energy. She, as a Pokemon from the wilds, has a better grasp on the flow of the magic needed for these attacks.

I can’t see what her choice is in the moment of truth, but when the flames go away, the stream cut off to avoid hitting me as I stood barely four feet behind her, I don’t see her. Merely a hole where she stood. The brat seems surprised but is quick to take on a prideful look. “Don’t touch the tails.” It took, quite honestly, far too long to be able to project my voice so easily across such a clearing. But such a skill is needed when you have no clue where your Pokemon is in a battle, when the fights are life or death and the attacks are roaring like storms and wildfires.

The brat is surprised once more and seems uneasy. ‘Word to the wise: Dig is a very useful TM for electric types.’ Missy finally pops out, across the field and right in place to grab the foreleg of the Ninetales. It yelps  and the brat asks what happened only for it to rear back, yanking Missy out of the ground and preventing her from dragging it into the hole to snap its leg or at least twist its ankle.

“Natsume, flamethrower now!” I’ll give the kid one thing, they have good reaction time for these developments. If they weren’t so vicious I’d want to give them some proper advice on how to survive and protect their team. As it stands I can’t bring myself to care, or rather can’t allow myself to care. Regardless, Missy’s left cheek pouch goes from an occasionally sparking live-wire effect to producing bolts arching well past the length of the fox’s tails.

‘Natsume’ doesn’t even get the barest licks of fire out past their muzzle before Missy had unleashed enough electricity to likely rival an electric chair. The fox falls, the rodent brushes herself off, the brat drops to their knees, and I approach.

For so long I had dreamed of being in this world, knowing full well that a cartoon and game series directed at children would sugar coat it. I knew there would be horrors and turmoil, especially in this particular iteration of such a world. It doesn’t stop me from hating these kinds of fights, it doesn’t stop me from looking at the Ninetales, something that was always shown to be majestic but laid before me seemed ragged and feral, and making sure to check if it was alive.

It’s been made clear to me, a Pokemon that fights for another, whether to protect the weak under its care or as a soldier under its leaders guidance, that they would rather fight to the end of that battle than be given paltry mercy. But there is a catch, when the battle doesn’t need to end in death then they can loose without dying or being disgraced. Is it disgrace even? At least, is it by the standards that most humans and even I myself understand it?

“Oi,” I speak up to grab the kid’s attention, “Natsume isn’t dead. Either continue the fight or forfeit and run to town for treatment, ya got that?” The brat of course looks up with hatred. Shaking, crying, do they even understand that they caused this themselves? That they intended to do unto me what they thought I had done unto them? “You wanted a fight. You had Natsume use as much power as she could to attack Missy. You did not, in any way, imply that it was a spar.”

Spars are odd things in this world. It’s generally agreed that when fighting with preschoolers and other such young ‘trainer’s that it is a spar. Spars aren’t allowed in official competitions unless the competition is built around them, such as contests and battle tents that let you rent a Pokemon. In true fights you’re expected to either fight to the death or be able to act fast enough to save your own Pokemon’s life. Spars you’re expected to hold back enough to not kill, though accidents can always happen, and you can ask for a break to use items or swap out a Pokemon safely.

The kid slumps, seeming to understand that they had no right to feel attacked when they had challenged, when if the roles were reversed they’d have made sure their own Pokemon knew not to show the slightest bit of mercy.

“I… How much do I owe you?” A cultural part of this whole world that I still struggle with. Typically people will just give you half of their current savings as compensation, compensation for challenging someone who was ‘better’ or compensation for not being a good enough challenge. Sometimes it’s treated more like prize money, sometimes people treat it like a bet and set the money aside ahead of time. It’s thankfully not uncommon for someone to refuse but it is sadly seen as extremely disgraceful, at least in this country, to accept the money if you had lost outside of preestablished conditions.

It’s also not unheard of, though exceedingly rare and universally considered a ‘dick move’ to instead be paid in conditions or requirements. It’s one thing to have them established before hand, it’s another to make demands when the person is arguably defenseless and heartbroken. I haven’t cared for societal rules in so long.

“Look after your Pokemon with reasonable care, as in make sure they can live a content life,” already the kid is flinching at my demands, likely less what I’m asking of them and more that it’s not going to be a simple matter of maybe not eating for a week, “never demand a battle, but instead request and back off if someone is opposed to the idea,” the second command is arguably good practice for if the kid manages to stay at this well into adulthood, as once you reach a certain proficiency and or age you’re expected to ease off a bit, to not just slaughter the next generation, “and spar with me next week. We can hash out the exacts and it doesn’t have to be exactly seven days from now.”

The kid nods, recalls Natsume, and runs back to the nearest town. Or maybe they’re running to the next town on their travels? I honestly didn’t notice where they came from before they challenged me. Regardless, Missy climbs up to my shoulder, damaged cheek facing out to the world so it can spark out safely. The sparks don’t stop me from gently rubbing her cheek, by this point in our travels the tingles of electricity running down my arm feels comforting.

“So, do you think you’d rather deal with it or do ya want to shunt it off to Saoirce? Yes-you, No-Saoirce,” I mumble as I start heading off to our current ‘campsite’, a small nook where I dropped my stuff while we scavenged for food in hopes of avoiding a store-run.

“Chu.” A no, fair enough. I can’t tell if Missy just doesn’t want to deal with being burned, which fair enough, if she simply thinks Saoirce would find the spar fun, which also is fair, or if Missy is hoping the brat will realize who they challenged. If she’s hoping to see the dawning horror the kid will feel when, if they realize they challenged ‘Z-Sama’ and attempted to kill my starter.

There’s always a chance the kid would never realize. After all Pikachu do naturally occur in some areas in this country, it’s not impossible to get an Eevee to evolve into any of its variants, especially if your foolish enough to lie and order a pet-grade Eevee rather then a combat-grade one. Even if the kid sees Flicker, Charmander are one of the Pokemon in the Starter’s Initiative Breeding Program so it just means having connections or filling out a bunch of paper work.

Even my mask, one modeled after the Hisuian Zoroark and my ‘namesake’, paired with the exact injuries on my team wouldn’t be concrete proof. The masks have gotten more popular when people saw me challenge and hold my own in the league so quickly. The injuries are fairly common either as accidents in combat or shameful intentions so it’s not impossible for someone to either randomly end up with team members that match mine or, in the cases of people I’d want to personally gut and skin alive, purposefully injure, arguably cripple multiple Pokemon just to copy.

The idea of purposeful copycats is even more infuriating when one remembers that there’s a random chance that damaging a Pikachu’s cheek-pouch will leave it incapable of using electrical attacks of any kind ever again. That there is never a way to know how such an injury will play out, that there is no way to guarantee the true problem will be fixed with a transplant, that the sparks and static is less important for combat and more an integral part of their culture and communication.

[phoenixrisingastro]

Common Serial Killer Placements: When the Stars Turn Dark 🌑🔪

Astrology reflects the full spectrum of human nature—the light and the shadow. While most charts speak to love, growth, and potential, some reveal darker paths, paths carved out by pain, obsession, and destruction. What makes someone cross the line? Let’s delve into the sinister placements that show up in the charts of some of the world’s most infamous figures.

Pluto in Harsh Aspects: The Lord of Death and Obsession ☠️

Pluto doesn’t just rule transformation—it’s the underworld. Hard aspects between Pluto and personal planets like the Moon, Mercury, or Venus create an internal war between desire and destruction. These people are often consumed by power struggles, deep obsessions, and the need to control. If left unchecked, their hunger for dominance can become all-consuming, leading to dark, dangerous extremes.

Mars Square or Opposite Pluto: Violence in the Veins 💥

Mars is your drive, your raw physical energy—and when it clashes with Pluto, it can explode in terrifying ways. This aspect fuels intense rage, suppressed anger, and a desire to dominate through force. It's the kind of energy that burns bridges and scorches anything in its path, leaving devastation behind. In the charts of serial killers, this aspect screams of unchecked aggression, often masked beneath a calm exterior.

Moon Square Neptune: The Illusion of Innocence 🌫️

Moon-Neptune aspects blur the lines between reality and fantasy. Squares here can indicate someone who lives in a world of their own making—often one that’s steeped in delusion. These individuals may appear charming, even sweet, but their inner emotional world is chaotic and ungrounded. They are masters of deception, wearing masks so convincing that even they start to believe the lies.

Venus in Scorpio or the 8th House: A Love That Consumes 🩸

Venus governs love and attraction, but in Scorpio or the 8th house, it takes on a darker, more possessive tone. These placements crave intimacy that borders on obsession, a connection so deep it becomes destructive. In some cases, the desire to merge fully with another can manifest as control, manipulation, or even violence.

Saturn in the 12th House: Isolation and Hidden Guilt 🪐

The 12th house is the house of secrets, and when Saturn resides here, it creates an individual burdened by inner demons. There’s a sense of isolation, guilt, and repression that festers over time. In extreme cases, this placement can lead to a cold detachment from emotion, making it easier to rationalize the unspeakable.

Chiron in the 4th House: Wounds That Never Heal ⚰️

Chiron represents deep, often unbearable pain, and in the 4th house of home and childhood, it speaks to early wounds that shape the psyche. For some, these wounds become motivators for growth and healing. For others, they rot, turning into resentment and rage that eventually erupt. Many infamous figures with this placement experienced trauma at home that warped their sense of self and humanity.

Moon-Pluto Aspects: Emotional Turmoil on Steroids 🌋

When the Moon (emotions) and Pluto (power) clash, the result is volcanic. These individuals feel everything too much and often struggle with intense emotional reactions that spiral out of control. In some charts, this aspect shows someone deeply aware of their pain but unable to escape it—leading to destructive behaviors toward themselves and others.

South Node in the 8th House: Karma and the Dark Side of Desire 🔗

The South Node represents past life patterns, and in the 8th house, it hints at unresolved karmic themes of power, control, and taboo subjects. These individuals may feel inexplicably drawn to the shadow side of life—whether that’s through fascination with death, crime, or forbidden pleasures. Without conscious effort, they can get trapped in destructive cycles.

Final Thoughts: The Stars Are Not an Excuse, But They Are a Blueprint

It’s important to remember that astrology doesn’t make anyone do anything. These placements don’t create monsters—but they do show where the potential for darkness lies. In the end, it’s about choice. Do you embrace the shadow and channel it into growth, or let it consume you?

[fratttymatty]

Villainous

(All characters are 18+)

The glow of the TV screen flickered in the dimly lit dorm room, its bright colors reflecting off the walls as Maxwell "Max" Reyes, a 21-year-old college student, lounged on his bed, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. His room was a typical college mess—dirty laundry scattered on the floor, empty coffee cups, and posters of superhero movies plastered across the walls. He had just finished a grueling midterm exam and now, in the only free time he had all week, he was ready to kick back and relax.

"Spiderman 2," he murmured to himself, hitting play on the remote. Max had always been a fan of superheroes. As a kid, he had idolized Peter Parker, wishing for even a fraction of the courage and strength that the wall-crawler possessed. But now, at 21, Max felt disconnected from his childhood self, the world of fantasy and imagination giving way to the hard realities of adulthood.

His gaze fixed on the screen as Tobey Maguire's Spiderman swung through New York City. Max had seen this movie a hundred times, but there was something comforting about it—something that made him feel like he could escape, even if just for a moment, from the grind of college life.

Suddenly, something strange happened. As the iconic music swelled and Spiderman dodged a punch from Doc Ock, the screen seemed to pulse with energy. Max blinked, thinking it was just his tired eyes playing tricks on him. But then—the screen pulled him in.

A force stronger than anything he'd ever felt yanked Max forward, his body jolting, his surroundings warping into a blur of colors. He tried to scream, but his voice was lost in the swirling vortex. The next thing he knew, his body was crashing down onto a cold, hard floor, and the world around him seemed... wrong.

“What the hell?” he muttered, clutching his head. His thoughts were jumbled, but one thing was clear: something was very wrong.

He staggered into a nearby mirror, staring at his reflection.

He wasn’t 21 anymore.

The face staring back at him was younger—much younger. He had the soft features of an 18-year-old, his dark hair slightly tousled, his eyes wide with shock. His body was lean and athletic, not like the slouching, stressed-out version of himself he had been just moments ago. His clothes had changed too. He was wearing a school uniform—blue blazer, red tie, white shirt. He looked like a high school student, not a college senior.

“This isn’t real. This... this isn’t possible,” Max breathed.

His reflection smiled back at him—no, grinned at him in a way that wasn’t his own. The grin spread across his face, forming a self-assured smirk.

“Wait a minute…” Max’s voice faltered as memories—new memories—flooded his mind. They didn’t feel like his own, but they were. He had just become someone else, someone he knew in an almost instinctive way.

His name wasn’t Max Reyes anymore.

It was… Aaron Parker.

He knew it without question. He was Peter Parker—except not. In this universe, Spiderman’s real name wasn’t Peter Parker, it was Aaron Parker. A high school senior by day, a masked vigilante by night. And as the memories settled, Max—no, Aaron—felt a jolt of realization: he wasn’t just transformed into someone else. He was Spiderman.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. In the reflection of the glass, he saw something else—a silhouette standing in the shadows.

A woman. She was tall, with dark hair, dressed in a black suit that shimmered in the dim light. Her eyes glowed with an intensity that made Aaron's heart race, even though he barely knew who she was.

Felicia Hardy? No. No, this wasn’t her. This was Maia Fernández, someone whose name Aaron knew deep down. Maia... She wasn’t just any woman. She was his partner—in crime, in life, in everything.

As he approached her, she turned with a wicked smile. “Well, well, well, Aaron. You look... different.”

Aaron felt a heat rise in his chest, his pulse quickening. There was something about her, something dangerous yet intoxicating.

“What’s going on?” Aaron asked, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

“You’re finally here,” Maia purred. “And now, we can finally get to work.”

Before he could respond, a sharp sound broke the moment—a click—and before Aaron could react, Maia raised her hand and fired a strange weapon at him.

A glob of thick, black goo shot out, enveloping him before he could even dodge. The goo crawled over his body, coating his Spiderman suit in a black, viscous layer. It clung to every fiber of the fabric, turning his once iconic red-and-blue suit into a sleek, black, skin-tight costume.

Aaron gasped, feeling the heat of the goo seeping into his skin, igniting something deep within him. The sensation was overwhelming—addictive. He could feel his mind shifting, his thoughts becoming sharper, darker. His muscles tightened, and his body temperature spiked. The cocky grin on his face grew wider, more self-assured.

“This suit,” Aaron murmured, voice low, laced with a newfound arrogance. “It feels... good.”

Maia stepped closer, her lips curling into a smile as she admired the transformation. “It suits you. You’re not just Spiderman anymore. You’re... something more. Something better. No more saving people. No more playing the hero. It’s time to be who you really are.”

Aaron—Spiderman, or whatever he was now—felt a thrill surge through him. He wasn’t bound by the rules of the old Max, the one who had been lost in a college dorm room. No, this was the Aaron Parker who was in control, who was powerful, and who had no intention of saving anyone.

“We’re going to have so much fun together,” Maia whispered, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Spiderman—no, the new Aaron Parker—nodded slowly, his grin deepening into something darker, more villainous. The mask on his face felt hotter now, like it was melting into him, fusing with his new persona.

“Yeah,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “we’ll make them all regret ever thinking they could stop us.”

And with that, the new Spiderman, wrapped in a black symbiotic suit, walked off into the shadows with Black Cat—Maia Fernández—by his side.

The world would never be the same again.

[ladymoody]

SATURDAY NIGHT

lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw +18, childhood friends concept, teasing in public, explicit and suggestive language, dirty talk, v rubbing, blowjob, p in v penetration (unprotected), creampie, cum in general.

word count: 3,7k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist ; playlist ; characters list ; my website

the clock struck 8pm. I won’t lie saying I wasn’t nervous, because I was, I was very nervous.

my parents had recently become in touch with enzo’s parents again after 5 years of no communication, so now I was getting ready in my room to hang out with them.

enzo and I met when we were kids. he was slightly older than me but we were both in elementary school. our parents immediately became friends so we started hanging out quite often.

enzo had always been very sweet with me but also a pain in the ass. since we were kids, we often argued and we almost even hit each other once. though, I cared about him and I guess he cared about me too. through time enzo and I grew up and became distant — we stopped playing together and we began to hang out once every two months at best.

once we started high school, we lost touch and so did our parents.

I often thought about him. I quite missed his presence as he had filled a good part of my childhood memories. the only thing I had left of him was a necklace he got me the last time we hung out — it had a little swan as a charm and I was completely in love with it. I found myself touching it every now and then, in an attempt to feel enzo’s presence with me again.

“y/n! are you ready, honey?” my mom called out from outside — she was already in the car.

“I’m coming!” I said out of the window, rolling my eyes in annoyance.

I glanced at myself in the mirror one more time to check if I looked good. I didn’t know why, but I felt the need to look good. then I grabbed my purse and headed out fidgeting my house keys.

once outside, I closed the door behind me, I locked it, and then I spotted my parent’s car. I saw my father looking at me up and down through the window, his gaze not much approving of my outfit — I was wearing a fancy black dress, elegant and delicate. it was quite long, but not too long, and had a wide neckline that showed my cleavage and my boobs which perfectly sat there.

I approached their car and got in. “hi.”

my father sighed, almost sounding like he grunted. my mom, on the other hand, turned around and smiled at me. “are you excited?”

“a bit, yeah.”

“enzo will have turned into a handsome man by now, don’t you think?” she teased.

“mom.” I warned.

“just saying.”

my dad started the car and I put my headphones on, ready to get lost in my fantasy world as I watched the real one out of my window.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I did feel something odd in my stomach… like butterflies? impossible. enzo and I had only been friends and nothing else. besides he wasn’t even my type — for what I could remember from the last time we met. I sighed and accepted the fact the hangout would have been quite awkward.

(skip time)

my dad pulled over and we all got out of the car. the light of the streetlights surrounding me caught my attention, making me look up and see the dark sky of the night. I loved that feeling.

“cover up.” my dad walked past me looking down at my cleavage. I knew my dress wasn’t so appropriate, but I didn’t have many dresses in my closet.

I grabbed my purse and closed the car door before following my parents into the bar where my and enzo’s parents agreed on meeting.

the bar from the outside looked really good — there were a few glass tables and small dark red armchairs probably made of velvet. there were some people already, drinking and chatting, and enjoying each other’s company. the dim lights were placed on the tables, followed by some candles as well, creating a cozy and elegant atmosphere for the whole bar.

my parents walked in first, making me snap back to reality. I followed them inside, realizing the big moment had come. my eyes lazily roamed over the room scanning it to spot enzo and his parents, but they weren’t there yet. we decided to get back out and sit at one of the tables outside that I had previously spotted. as we settled down, my mom spoke.

“are you nervous?”

in the meantime, I calmed down. I mean, it was just a reunion, right?

“I’m fine, actually.” I replied nonchalantly, both because it was a bit true, and because I still needed to convince myself of it.

(skip time)

I looked at my watch on my left wrist, which showed it was already 9:45pm. the meeting should’ve been at 9:30, but I let out a huff.

before I could complain to my parents, who were busy on their phones, my attention shifted to the three figures approaching us from afar — enzo and his parents.

his mom and dad still looked the same, slightly older, obviously. and enzo… wait, that was enzo? he looked way taller than the last time, his hair was still brown but he had changed haircut as it seemed more like a sort of mullet with a few strands falling down on his forehead, he was grinning and looking in our direction as he got closer, making me appreciate his outfit as well — his black t-shirt amazingly hugged his torso, highlighting his abs and chest, long black pants fell down his legs matching his t-shirt, and the shoes as well, but not his belt which was brown and silvery.

oh my goodness.

I would’ve said it wasn’t him, but the way he was smirking with his eyes made me recognize him without a doubt. that was my childhood friend lorenzo berkshire.

“my god, hi.” my mother stood up hugging enzo’s mom. my father stood up too, saying hi to his dad and shaking his hand. enzo stared at me as I stared at him back. he nodded as if he wanted to say hi to me as well, and I smiled in return.

“you grew up so much!” my mom caressed enzo’s cheek, making him slightly blush. enzo glanced at the ground, trying his best to seem polite in dodging my parents’ touching. after that, enzo’s parents’ attention turned to me, admiring how I had grown up as well. (I will let up on this for your sake).

we all sat down around the table, the seats felt so comfortable. my and enzo’s parents started talking, happy to finally meet each other again, as enzo looked at me — I felt his eyes wandering on my figure so much that it seemed like his gaze was burning my skin. after a couple of seconds, I looked up, seeing his eyes, which shifted quickly from my cleavage to meet mine. I smiled and he smiled back, rubbing the back of his head. as he did so, I could finally have a better look at his silver bracelet that made his wrist look delicate and sexy.

“hey.” he broke the silence, he was sitting right next to me.

“hi.” I said back, eyeing him up a bit.

“how’s your life going?” he asked as he propped his head on his hand and turned his attention to me.

“good, good… yours?”

“same.” he eyed me back up, scanning my figure in my tight dress. his tongue licked his upper lip subtly.

our conversation went going for half an hour and it was totally awkward. not because enzo and I had nothing to talk about, but because I kept feeling his gaze on me all the time — every single movement I did, even the slightest, he looked. to finally break the moment was enzo’s mother.

“you grew up so much… I still remember you playing with my enzo at the playground.” she said with a hint of nostalgia in her voice. I smiled at her words. she had always been so sweet.

in the meantime we had already ordered our drinks — enzo had ordered some martini and I had decided to get the same. the bartender brought the beverages to us a few minutes later and we started sipping them as I kept sharing words with enzo’s parents.

“do you have a boyfriend now?” enzo asked me. his voice had lowered a bit not to let our parents hear us too much as they began to talk to each other once again, shifting their attention away from us two.

“no. do you have a girlfriend?”

“no.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I couldn’t understand why, but I felt relieved by the news of him still being single. I felt… possessive over him? as we kept chatting I couldn’t help letting my eyes fall on his hands several times as he gestured while speaking, even his hands grew up with him — they were veiny now, bigger than the last time we saw each other, and each finger had at least one ring.

“you sure you’re single? no guy drooling over you?” he said out of the blue, his eyebrows furrowed, interrupting the speech he was giving a few seconds before.

“yeah, I’m sure. what’s wrong?” I chuckled.

“I hardly believe a pretty thing like you hasn’t got a nice boyfriend.”

“well, guess what...” I sarcastically spoke and we both laughed.

but then he suddenly stopped, becoming all serious as his eyes stayed on me. I looked at him with a confused expression and I calmed down, finishing to laugh as well.

“I’m glad to hear that. you’re still my friend, aren’t you?” he spoke lowly, marking the word ‘my’ with his voice while his hand wandered on my bare thigh.

I nodded, not understanding what was happening. his touch gave me shivers.

he backed up, now fully focusing on my parents who started asking him questions, yet his hand stayed on my thigh — his thumb caressed my skin every now and then as his other fingers squeezed it.

I didn’t know what to think of it but I definitely enjoyed his touch and I didn’t want him to stop whatever he had in mind.

(skip time)

as the night went on, we all found each other more comfortable than at the beginning. but for each passing minute, enzo’s hand slid upper and upper. suddenly, when I was chatting with his father, his hand touched the hem of my dress, tugging at it, and slightly sneaking under the fabric to brush against my panties.

I tried to hold back a gasp, but I couldn’t do anything with the light blush that spread across my cheeks. I tried to push his hand away, but the harder I tried, the further he went until he completely felt my panties under his fingers.

enzo abruptly pulled his hand away, stood up, and he spoke to his and my parents.

“I’m going to smoke.” he picked up his lighter with his right hand while his left one still wandered in his pocket to find the pack of cigarettes.

“your father and I told you to quit, lorenzo.” his mother intervened.

“I will, I promise.” he grinned as he walked away to find a place to enjoy his cigarette.

“would you fancy keeping him company?” his mother changed her tone, sounding sweeter as she spoke to me.

“sure.” I nodded excitedly, hinting a smile as I stood up to follow him. 

I made a little run to reach him, and he slightly turned back but once he spotted me with the corner of his eye, he drew his attention back in front of him.

“your parents let you smoke?”

“I ain’t a kid anymore, aren’t I?” he replied with a cocky smirk. “but they don’t like when I do it.”

I nodded as silence fell between us again and we headed behind a wall, I leaned my back against it and enzo stood in front of me.

“you still have the necklace I got you when we were kids?” he noticed, gazing at my cleavage.

“yeah.”

“it looks good on your boobs.”

“excuse me?”

“I said it looks good with your hoops. your earrings.” he said, but I swore I had heard something else.

“you think they match?”

“yeah.” I could tell he was not staring at my necklace, but he was looking a little lower. though, I decided not to push it further and we kept chatting for a bit until he finished his cigarette.

“did I tell you I’ve got myself a car?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“no, you didn’t.. have you really?”

“yup. wanna see it?”

“ ‘course.”

he tilted his head in the direction of his car and looked at me before we started walking. “I drove my parents here.” he boasted a bit.

“damn, you’ve really grown into a gentleman.” I complimented him, being a bit sarcastic. but he was indeed a gentleman, a sexy gentleman if I might say.

we walked a few more meters before approaching his gorgeous dark red car.

“wow…”

“the insides are even better, come on.” he said as he picked up his keys and threw them up in the air, before catching them with a smooth movement and making his way to open his gem.

“it won’t bite you.” he said as he got into the driver’s seat. I smiled and got in as well.

I admired the insides and as he said, they were indeed beautiful and looked quite luxurious.

“did you pay a lot of money for this gem?”

“uhm… let’s just say that I worked hard for it.” he smirked, leaning against the seat.

“wanna spice this up a bit?” he suddenly suggested as he moved his head to face me. his eyes fell on my cleavage for what seemed like the millionth time that night, before shifting back on mine.

“spice this up?” I echoed slightly confused, tilting my head towards one side. though I knew what he meant by that, I just enjoyed playing dumb.

“yeah, with some music.”

“uhm, sure, why not.” I smirked and he turned the radio on.

(I recommend playing this while reading. check my playlist)

“I like this song.” I spoke.

“yeah?” he spoke back, staring at my lips. I smirked to myself as I noticed how he was not concentrating on what I had just said at all.

“mh-hum.” I nodded as I shifted completely on my seat, facing him with my body as well. I gazed at his lips too.

“would you like to know an interesting fact about this car?”

“yeah.”

“well, it’s soundproof.”

and there I did 2+2. I knew what he had in mind and he was planning on it from the real beginning.

“soundproof, mh?” I smirked. “and how is it useful to you?”

his smirk got wider as he leaned in and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“you’ve grown into a really gorgeous woman, you know that?” he looked at me with a darker gaze, his voice slightly above a whisper.

“I saw you swinging your hips and showing off your little ass as we walked. I immediately understood the innocent little girl I once knew was completely gone.”

my eyes widened for less than a second, before turning back seductive as I listened to him.

“and that little girl, who’s now a menacing woman, enjoined my previous playing on her thigh, didn’t she?” he continued,  his smirk never leaving his face.

“you were crazy for doing that in front of our parents.”

“you didn’t complain.”

“I tried to push your hand away.”

“you didn’t try hard enough.”

“how do you know that?”

“because I know damn well you liked my fingers on your skin, squeezing it and slowly going upwards. I could feel that you were into it… your panties were soaked, doll.”

I sighed. continuing to pretend would’ve been useless. I almost jumped on him, my hands finding his jaw as I held his face close enough to capture his lips in a fierce kiss. he happily wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me onto his lap as he kissed me back. our lips moved so passionately that I moaned every other second.

“fuck, baby… that was what I wanted…” he panted between kisses.

“you taste so good…” I moaned.

“let’s keep kissing then…” he groaned back as we heavily made out. his hand slipped under my dress, finding my drenched panties once again. he rubbed my pussy against the fabric, making me squirm on him, and let out desperate yet muffled moans against his lips.

“fuck… you are completely soaked.” he panted after his hand slid into my underwear — his middle finger rubbed my folds at a slow and sexual pace.

“ughh— mhh..” I clang onto him, my nails dug into his shoulders.

enzo pulled his hand away, leaving me needy of his touch, before starting to kiss me again. I kissed him back as my hand glided from his lower chest to his belt, and then I tugged at it, making him chuckle.

“someone’s impatient?” he teased, leaving some lazy kisses on my jaw.

I hummed in response, backing up enough to give room to my hands and undo his belt. enzo bit his bottom lip.

he lifted his hips up to let me pull his pants down, but without warning, I took his boxers off as well. he let out a low gasp, followed by a groan as he saw his hard cock popping out and standing right there for me. I smirked and immediately crawled back to my seat, before bending over and kissing his tip.

enzo threw his head back and shut his eyes, while my hand stroked his erection up and down and my mouth sucked on his leaking tip.

“ohh just like that…” he grabbed my hair, pulling it almost painfully, and forced me to go all my way down. I slightly gagged but quickly got myself together as I sucked on his dick completely, my lips touching his balls.

I could feel my throat giving me signals that I needed to pull out, but I couldn’t, I was making enzo feel too good.

“ughh! mhh— baby!” he jerked his hips upwards, trying to meet my movements.

I kept going for some minutes until I heard him groan and moan underneath me, so I understood he was getting close. I fastened my pace, trying to satisfy his needs, and in a matter of seconds, he spurted his seed down my throat.

“swallow… go on… swallow…” he encouraged me, panting heavily as he pulled my head back and watched me swallow his cum. I looked at him, not breaking the eye contact as I tasted him on my tongue, meanwhile, he watched me with an arrogant, yet affectionate gaze as his seed dripped down the corners of my mouth.

“backseat. now.” he smirked and pecked my lips, tasting himself on them. I happily moved into the back of the car, laying down on the seats as I watched him do the same thing and lay on top of me.

“you’re so beautiful… you’ve grown so well… fuck…” he groaned kissing my neck like a starved man — but suddenly he pulled away and his hands rushed on him to pull down his pants and boxers fully.

I bit my lip at the sight and in the meantime, I helped him taking his shirt off. he smirked, enjoying how I was as eager as him, and once his clothes were out of the way, he helped me undress as well.

“open up…” he arrogantly spread my legs, making me wrap them around his waist as he lined up against my core. “mhh…” I let out, my nails already digging into his back as I pulled him close to me.

“so wet… I bet you’re so tight too…” he said as he rubbed the tip of his erection back and forth against my folds.

“why don’t you go ahead and see yourself?” I teased him, smirking as I stole him kisses.

“I’m gonna fuck you hard.” he said, his teeth clenched.

suddenly he thrust in. I let out a moan mixed with a gasp as I felt my walls adjust to his size. He hissed, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he slowly started to grind his hips against mine.

“fuck, baby… ohh god…” he groaned in my ear — his thrusts becoming more and more urgent.

I knew our parents were wondering where we were or what we were doing, but enzo’s dick was all I could focus on at that moment. I felt it throbbing inside of me, eager to hit every good spot and make me come undone underneath him.

“ugh— keep going!” I encouraged him as I dug my nails into his back, scratching his skin and making enzo suck in air through his teeth multiple times.

my moans only fueled his hunger, his willingness to come inside of me, and I couldn’t help but give them to him all the time as he pistoned fast and hard. we didn’t worry about using a condom, we didn’t think about it and we didn’t even discuss it — we were too lost in the moment to mention that. I knew I wasn’t on birth control, but my paranoia could’ve waited. enzo was more important.

“ohh, baby! I’m close… please…” his eyebrows furrowed in a blissful expression, letting me know he was indeed getting close.

as his thrusts became more uneven, I began to realize I was getting close too. he was going rough, maybe too rough for me to handle him, and I could feel my body burning due to his harshness, but then I felt it. I felt my orgasm coming.

“enzo!” I cried out, arching my back and throwing my head against the seat. my juices coated his dick, which spurted his hot seed a few seconds later.

enzo grunted in my ear, altering incoherent murmured praises to desperate whimpers. “ohh— baby… god…” he moaned.

I chuckled, my hands caressing his back in a soothing manner.

“you okay?” he asked me, leaving a sweet kiss on my jaw.

I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile and he smiled back.

“we should probably get back to our parents…”

“we should.” he smirked. “but they can wait a little more…”

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

How to Create a Flawless Villain: A Comprehensive Guide to Crafting Your Perfect Antagonist

Every great story needs a great villain. Whether you’re writing an epic fantasy or a gritty thriller, the villain is often the character readers can’t forget. They’re complex, morally grey, and create tension that drives the story forward. But how do you avoid clichés and create a villain who sticks with readers long after the book is closed? Let’s dive deep into the art of villain creation, exploring their psychological makeup, societal role, and relationships with the hero. We’ll also touch on how esoteric philosophies or occultism can shape their worldview, motivating them to chase power, forbidden knowledge, or even reshape reality itself.

Core Identity and Origins

A villain’s origin story is the root of their motivations. Were they betrayed by those they trusted? Once a noble hero, now twisted by tragedy? Crafting a rich backstory will set the stage for whom they become.

Name and Meaning: Choose a name that reflects their essence or offers an ironic twist. Consider names rooted in ancient languages, forbidden texts, or alchemical symbols if your villain is into esoteric or occult knowledge.

Defining Childhood Event: What critical moment led them to this path? A betrayal, a prophecy, or perhaps a dark inheritance? This event should haunt them, driving their desire for revenge, power, or forbidden enlightenment.

Motivations, Desires, and Philosophy

Villains aren’t evil for the sake of it. Their motivations—whether it’s control, vengeance, or the pursuit of something beyond mortality—must be clear and compelling.

Primary Goal: What is their ultimate aim? Power, control, or maybe freedom from their own pain? If they’re driven by esoteric philosophies, perhaps they seek to transcend the mortal realm or unlock the universe's hidden truths.

Inner Desires: Beyond their surface goals, what do they truly long for? To become one with a cosmic force? To destroy the current reality and rebuild it in their own image?

Occult and Esoteric Motivations: Do they crave ancient knowledge? Are they obsessed with dark gods, lost magical practices, or the mysteries of existence? These deeper motivations give your villain texture, turning them into something more than just an antagonist.

Psychological and Emotional Depth

To make your villain fully realized, dig into their mind and emotions. They’re driven by traumas, fears, and warped worldviews—making them unpredictable and dangerous.

IQ and Emotional Intelligence: Is your villain a cold mastermind or someone who operates on gut emotion, manipulating others through fear or charisma? Are they emotionally detached or frighteningly intuitive about others’ desires and fears?

Philosophical Depth: Does your villain have a worldview rooted in esoteric thought? Perhaps they believe in alchemical transformation or view themselves as a chosen agent of cosmic order (or chaos).

Fear and Trauma: What do they fear most? Losing control? Facing an entity more powerful than them? How do their traumas influence their choices?

Powers, Strengths, and Weaknesses

Your villain’s abilities should reflect their inner self. Whether they dominate through sheer strength or subtle manipulation, their powers, and weaknesses make them memorable.

Unique Powers: Can they control dark forces or warp reality? Perhaps they’ve mastered necrotic magic or gained immortality at a great cost. Their powers should align with their motivations—reflecting their esoteric pursuits or thirst for control.

Weaknesses: Every great villain has a flaw. Are they vulnerable to their own hubris, bound by cosmic forces they can’t fully control, or haunted by their mortality? This flaw should not only humanize them but also create a vulnerability in their power.

Relationships and Rivalries

Villains thrive in their relationships with others—especially with the hero. Craft dynamic relationships to give your villain emotional stakes.

Relationship with the Hero: The best villain-hero dynamics are deeply personal. Maybe the hero represents a path the villain once rejected. Perhaps they’re old allies, or twisted reflections of one another.

Esoteric Mentors or Rivals: Who taught your villain their dark arts? Did a mentor pass on forbidden knowledge, or does a rival compete for the same cosmic power?

Arc and Transformation

Villains should evolve. Show how they became who they are, whether through corruption or a gradual descent into darkness.

Origin of Villainy: Were they once idealistic, only to be warped by ambition or dark forces? What pushed them from seeking enlightenment to seeking dominance? Their fall from grace should feel inevitable, tied to their deepest desires.

Villain’s Endgame: What do they ultimately want? Is their goal to transcend mortality or reshape reality? By the end of the story, their final form should feel like the culmination of everything they’ve sacrificed.

Visual and Symbolic Representation

Villains often have visual cues that represent their power or past. Their appearance should reflect their inner darkness and esoteric connections.

Appearance: Do they bear occult symbols, alchemical tattoos, or physical scars from dark rituals? Their look should reflect their journey into darkness.

Symbolism: Consider what motifs represent your villain—death, chaos, transformation. These should be woven into their appearance, powers, and actions.

Legacy and Role in the World

Even after your villain is defeated, their influence should remain. They might leave behind followers, secret societies, or prophecies that keep their legacy alive.

Impact on Society: How does your villain shape the world? Do they leave behind grimoires, magical artifacts, or a legacy of fear? Their reign should leave scars that ripple long after they’re gone.

Villain’s Endgame: Whether they succeed or fail, what was their ultimate goal? Were they trying to unravel reality itself, merge with cosmic forces, or create a utopia in their image?

Twists, Secrets, and Moral Complexity

Villains become iconic when they are morally complex. Add twists to make them more than just evil—they might believe they’re saving the world in their own way.

Secret Past or Hidden Identity: Does your villain have a dark secret, perhaps a heroic past or a forbidden bloodline? These secrets add layers to their character, making them more unpredictable.

Moral Complexity: Does your villain believe their actions are necessary for balance? Are they more tragic than evil, motivated by a cosmic truth that others can’t see?

By incorporating esoteric philosophies and occult influences, your villain can become a driving force not just against the hero but against the very core of your world.

[behoright]

I blinked and suddenly (love countdown series)| a. svechnikov

I still feel a shock through every bone / when I hear I love you / cause now I've got someone to lose

◡◡ ⠀ ⠀ ☕️ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ (˶･ω･˶っ)3 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀.⠐𓈒 ✿⃨ ◌◡◡ ⠀ ⠀ ☕️ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ (˶･ω

summary: part 9.5 as the comeback! and it’s just our man smitten n nervous the whole time

wordcount: 3.5 k

song: valentine - laufey

warnings: 18+. minors dni! includes sexual situations and lots of fluff. also bad proofreading bc I'm tired srry

a/n: it’s been a long time coming, as they say. love yall. 

◡◡ ⠀ ⠀ ☕️ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ (˶･ω･˶っ)3 ⠀ ⠀ ⠀.⠐𓈒 ✿⃨ ◌◡◡ ⠀ ⠀ ☕️ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ (˶･

Andrei woke up in a daze. This had become the new norm lately.

He didn’t know where he was, his eyes struggling to adapt to the darkness that covered each and every corner of the room. It must have been earlier than usual, he thought as he floated in and out of sleep. Feeling the ball of warmth that came from beside him flooded his system with memories. 

The dinner, the ice cream, the kiss. 

Kisses, to be exact, he reminded himself with a smirk. 

How it had all unfolded, finally.

The moments spent together before bedtime. 

The freedom that came when he finally got to touch your body. 

As tentatively as he did it.

He turned towards you as his mind began to spiral in the endless battles that unfolded within him. 

All he had wanted to do was to be near you, to feel you like this. And he had wanted it for so long.

To know that cuddling finally meant an intimacy you couldn’t share with anyone else. 

But last night, when he got to touch you at last, he felt like he was going to combust. 

Andrei rubbed his fingertips against him palm as he thought about the way your skin felt against him in the heat of intimacy. He thought he could feel it still. And he had no clue what he was going to do next. How on earth he was going to walk around still feeling like this. Especially after being granted a moment of relief, with you, finally, and still waking up with a knot in his chest that tied itself all the way down to his growing morning wood. 

He couldn’t even focus on how your back was pressed flush against the side of his body.

It was all so much, torture in the best way possible. 

He wanted to dunk himself in a pool of ice, infinitely.

Despite the situation, it wasn’t unusual for him to stumble into a loop of jumbled thoughts the moment he gained awareness in the morning. His usual medication the smell of coffee and the sound of pucks hitting the ice. 

Ever since he became a teenager, it hadn’t stopped. 

The coil of images.

The overwhelming train of thoughts, the electricity of emotions.

Of hockey, hockey, and hockey. 

His family. Memories from his childhood. 

Fantasies. To-do lists. Plans and travel schedules. Cravings, dreams. And hockey once again. 

Today he felt as if placing a hand on the blurry figure next to him placated him. Even if only a little.

He turned his head to find his phone as he scooted towards you.

The red light from the alarm clock singed his eyes. Just as he thought, it was still early. 

The dread began to take over slowly. Reality was setting back in. He felt like no amount of breathing, no touch could have been enough to calm him down fully, especially not in this sleepy consciousness. 

He’d go back to hockey today, and soon back home. At that moment, he realized that this was a rare occasion. That you weren’t going to be there for the rest of the road trips. 

The idea of you waiting for him alone in his apartment made his heart bolt.

The thought of you sleeping alone, not so much. 

Was this the right choice? 

Andrei had always prided himself as a nonreactive person, despite the mountain of emotions that hid under the muscles. 

He never let his feelings overtake him. It was always kept contained. 

Unless he was on the ice. 

The swirl that lived under his ribcage was the only propulsion he had needed his whole life. And that somehow had ended him here. 

How much he wanted to make his family proud.

How badly he wanted to win more than anyone else. 

And how hard he had to keep himself contained around you.

For years.

From the moment he met you.

At times he wondered if everyone felt this way. 

If every man that had ever played in this league had a secret torch that blasted within them that kept them tied to such a lifestyle.

Or if they were all simply crazy. 

And in reality, he never thought it would come to you in his arms. 

He had never doubted that he would have ended up playing in the majors. There was never a question about it from the moment he put on his first pair of skates. 

But this was different. 

He knew the amount of sacrifice that was required to live this lifestyle. 

And how many guys had given up on their true love. On the woman they really wanted to choose.

Living in the NHL bubble wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t for everyone. 

The fans, the media, the pressure.

How much it took a toll on families and loved ones.

It was difficult for others to relate, to understand.

It was hard not to feel lonely, not to feel hated.

He had seen what his teammates had loved and let go for the sake of kissing that trophy instead. 

And he didn’t want to do that. 

The rumination filled his head tempestuously. 

A stirring next to him, a stretch, and a yawn ripped him out of his anxious thoughts.

Thankfully; Andrei found himself smiling as he watched you come to. He wanted to roll his eyes at himself for how much just looking at you in the mornings inspired in him.

He stayed immobile, half sitting up on a stack of pillows, letting your lashes slowly flutter open.

You looked so peaceful, yet he felt so...messy.

Melting at your every move as he was mentally drowning in worries about tomorrow.

“Hi.”

The simple word made Andrei’s face flush.

Your smile helped his worries take a backseat. At least for now. 

Every morning could have been like this.

He only had to…not mess this up. To just...get it together, find a way.

Protect you from it all. Without losing you.

“Hi.” he said in his morning voice.

He couldn't make the mistake of losing you.

“I can hear you thinking.” you said, sleep in your voice still.

If he wasn't so tense, he would have laughed.

This girl is unbelievable, he thought.

“This is not possible, what you say.” he answered, watching you turn your body fully towards him and nuzzle into his arm.

Andrei let his head fall back in delight, considering the lights were still off.  The rising sun barely peeking into your room.

“I know you, Andrei. Your body clenches weird when you start overthinking.” you said, turning your drowsy gaze up towards him. 

Your eyes still full of dreams, just like his.

He couldn’t look cozier, half of his torso still covered by the thick duvet. All you wanted to do was to be engulfed by him and let the day pass by. 

“And I can tell you’ve been biting your lips.” you continued, gently placing your finger on his torn lip.

Andrei smiled, letting your finger trace off onto his face. Tracing his cheekbone ever so gently.

“Maybe I didn’t sleep too much.” he said. 

Sometimes that way he looked at you made your breath hitch. 

So... intensely.

And he knew he was gawking but, he couldn't help it.

There was nowhere else he wanted to look anymore.

“Yeah, we went to bed late.” you chuckled, thinking about the night before.  “What’s got you up so early then?”

The silence came in between you two, as you let Andrei figure it all out. You had come to love how he needed some internal organization to say what he really meant. 

A way to transform it all into some semblance of a sentence.

“Ah, just thinking.” he sighed, averting his gaze. “I’m having really good time here. With you. I can’t believe this is happening, to be honest with you.”

“Me neither, Drei. But really, I couldn’t be happier.” you said, your face comfortably sitting on his bicep. 

“Me too. It’s just… I’m scared of what will happen when we go home.” he blurted out. 

You suddenly realized how difficult this had been for him to even get out as you watched his chest puff.

Inhale sharply with trepidation.

"Like, we're having too much fun? You're worried about the day to day?" you asked.

"Uh, I don't-. I don't know, maybe. It's just," he said, looking for the answers at the ceiling. “I want to spend all the time with you, and this is a problem.”

It wasn’t a lie. 

“This really seems like a great problem to have.”

He finally let himself chuckle, letting his hand tangle itself in your hair.

Another sharp inhale as he felt you in his hand. He wondered if he was ever going to get used to feeling you.

“You’re right, I just, I don’t want this to change.” he uttered.

It made him feel bad, but he hadn’t had a girlfriend he cared about for years. Not this much, anyway. It felt like he was doing it all for the first time again. It reminded him of how he felt when he had his first crush. Butterflies floating around his abdomen even to just see you, to express himself in any way.

To let the armor drop for one second.

“It will change, babe. It will get better.”

“How are you sure?”

“Because it’s what I want. And I know it’s what you want.”

This wasn’t like hockey. 

And that scared him.

At times, he felt more like a hockey player than a human.

In how he lived, thought and operated.

He couldn’t watch video on this, there was no way to plan in patterns. 

He knew how to move out there, he knew how others were used to playing around him. He knew what player to be to beat others.

There was no handbook here. 

Not with someone he cared so deeply for.

“But real life can be so hard, Y/N.” he said.

“Andrei, this is real life.” you responded, frankly. 

There was something about the simplicity of your statement, said as neutrally, as objectively as possible, that allowed Andrei to let go a little bit more into the mattress. 

A snap, and the fog began to lift.

There was no arguing with that statement. You were right. 

“Going back home will be different than this, yes, but we’ll be home.” you continued.  “And I know, I know, all of this is so time-consuming, and stressful. The games, the traveling. But I know this. And I want to be around you. So we’ll figure it out. As it comes.”

Andrei closed his eyes, let his head lull gently towards you. Relief defrosting into his system.

He felt a dorky smile grow on his face, miraculously.

“And I’ve been around before. I've been to most games, I've slept over, we've gone to dinner countless times. This is new in many ways, but not in most. It’ll be like before except-”

“Except we kiss now.” he said deeply.

“Except we kiss now.” you repeated, his eyes burning into you.

Making your breath catch right into your throat.

In his regular Andrei fashion, he was staring, the fire of his confidence ignited again.

"I can kiss you now?"

"Did you forget I'm yours?"

"Just making sure," he said, leaning down to meet your lips, "that this is not a dream."

The kiss became the nail in the coffin of his worries.

All of it thrown out the window as he felt you, heavenly, on him again.

This was why he never wanted to stop. The shocks of tingles ran down his spine as you deepened it, pushing your lips in his more.

Andrei pulled away sharply, holding your face still. A confused look on his face as his eyes traveled swiftly through your features.

"This is like before." he said, mostly to himself. "But you're my girl now."

He leaned his whole body into you, into the kiss this time, as he swiped his tongue on your bottom lip. With no hesitation, you let him in.

“We can do this all the time?” he asked into your mouth.

“That’s what I want.” you uttered into his lips.

Andrei's body jolted forward as he found himself completely over you, your legs framing his body as he ditched the blanket. He didn't mean to, but he needed to be closer to you. It felt as if his body moved him to tower over you like this.

Through all the worries he had forgotten how hard he had been upon rising. When the first memories of the day were your small hands wrapped around his cock, stroking him into the latest hours of the previous night.

But all he felt now was his bulge pressing harshly against your quivering body, through sweatpants and pjs.

The smell of bedsheets and sleep still sticking to you both.

“I want that too.” he groaned, letting himself push into your cunt slightly.

It felt so good, so liberating. Last night, today. To just, be himself. To let himself be embarrassed in front of you. You called out of him these parts, the facets he never let anyone see. And somehow, it made his cock throb more than anything else had before.

Makeout session fully heated, boiling as your tongues smacked against each other, your bodies beginning to mimic the movement.

Your hips subconsciously tilting to fit in the puzzle of his body.

Closer.

Both of you pressing into the mattress deeper as each breath was taken, letting the sheets adapt to the shape, the weight of you, in heat, together.

“I want more." he said, his breathing getting deeper and heavier, "More than you could think. To hold hands, to, to..."

He was starting to shiver, his back covered in goosebumps as soon as his body became flush with yours. The impact sent a wave of pleasure into his chest that hit him like a ton of bricks. He could feel the flesh of your cleavage push up against his bare skin as he kept his tongue strongly tied to yours.

“To take you with me. Take you out.”

The way his accent became heavier as Andrei grew greedier made your panties seep right through.

Andrei felt so feverish, possessed by lust, even by love, he'd never say it but he could feel it, he was sure of it, this had to be it, he had never felt like this before. The kiss had gotten so sloppy, so panicky, he didn't know whether to keep touching your body, palming at your waist, your breasts, your arms, or to tug at your clothes. He wanted to do it all, he wanted to hold your face, to have you naked under him, writhing just the way you were.

“Have you home all to me.” 

He wanted to be on top of you, inside you, all around you just as much as he wanted to hold you gently, to trace the edges of your clothes with his finger, to place a crown of kisses on your head.

"Travel with me." he groaned, fully undulating his body against yours. "Take you to Russia too, baby."

You smiled, right as he did in that moment too.

Your bodies had fully synchronized. Your breathing matched, dizzyingly inhaling in each other's carbon dioxide. Dampness mixing on your skin, through your clothes, all on your body. Swallowing each other's grunts and moans, whispers of wanting, of care.

He didn't know how long he could have kept this going before losing it completely. He wanted to fully lose it now, to have you whole, to growl as loudly as he could in your body.

“Andrei, babe.” you moaned, sending his eyes to the back of his head.

“Call me again.” he groaned.

Now fully rubbing, letting his hips do the work as he kept changing his mind, kept his needs flourishing and let them all dance as he snuck his hands under your tank top, over your shorts, in your hair, on your neck, your lips whenever you'd pull away for a fraction of a second. Moving the wetness of your spit with his fingers all over your lips, through each crevice, right before he could collide again with you.

“I think that’s my favorite word you say.” he said.

Your tender skin between his teeth, your ass under his grip. Despite the pressure he was thrusting into your pelvis, you could feel him hide his smile into your neck. 

Dork.

"Baby, I think-" you began to say.

"I think so too." he said, reading your mind as he grabbed your clothes. His grip tight onto the hem ready to rip them off, to finally unite with you, fully and totally.

But it wasn't soon before both of your hearts bolted at the noise, shattering Andrei's actions before realization covered you both.

The alarm. 

You refused to move, letting the ringtone continue as you simultaneously closed your eyes. Still shaking, the adrenaline nowhere to go as you had both stilled.

Heavy breaths and pounding hearts.

Just noticing how sunlight was bathing you both completely now.

A smile grew on your face, inevitable laughter shaking your system.

Andrei watching you with the most exasperated admiration, letting a chuckle rip out of him.

"Uh, I have, I have game today." he said, scratching the back of his head as he looked around.

He didn't know if the blush was mostly embarrassment now.

"Well baby, it's going to be one hell of a day for us, isn't it?" you said teasingly, letting your hips roll up one last time. Andrei shuddered at the sudden contact, his body buckling as he fell backward with a groan and a smile.

He covered his face, breathing deeply. He couldn't be happier he could go on his day with you, and with no anxieties about his relationship.

But if he had gone to bed with a pit, with a fire growing bigger and deeper within him, craving more, he had no way to articulate how much it had overtaken him at this second.

And he had no idea how he was going to get through the day with it.

[beenoeila]

A list of underrated fics I adore.

▪️this don’t feel anything like sinking by

@dontcallmebree

A little over six weeks and his knee heals only for his breathing to act up. It may have been a handful of decades—coming up on a century, even—but he never did forget how it felt to wheeze through the night.

Steve sees it coming when Dr. Youssef tells him his lungs are taking a turn.

The year 2032 brings about the Summer Olympics, the coldest winter of the decade, and an end to Project Rebirth.

🔹 Learning to want by @luna-rainbow

Bucky is still trying to piece together his memories, but at least he now had Steve with him.

When Steve asks him if he wanted to meet with his sister, Becca, his response was, "I don't know about wants...I'll start with the shoulds."

Steve and Bucky goes for lunch with Becca. Steve and Bucky dealing with memory loss. Steve and Bucky being mutually pining idiots.

▪️better to speak or die by emilywithoutY (@between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place)

Summers in C. are as endless and hazy as when they were kids. All James wants is to play his part well enough that his mother stops looking at him with that twist of regret in her smile.

The only thing to break the sun-soaked monotony is the arrival of the new summer intern. While the rest of the household—and half the village—fawn over Steve Roger’s movie star looks and understated charm, James finds him aloof and his polite interest near unbearable.

But as they collide in vulnerable moments, the sparks of frustration ignite something neither has the power to stop.

Do you think Jonathan understood what happened that day David first stepped into his father’s court?

🔹The weapon remembers by pushdragon

The Winter Soldier finds old fantasies of Steve in his memory, and takes them for reality.

He's got two days to sort out all his mixed-up history, before he puts himself back in cryo freeze. Harder still, he's got to convince Steve to let him do it.

▪️Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter (@hipsterdiva)

Bucky takes his time, ignoring his comrades’ cheering and Gaiswinkler and Mariandl’s teasing. From his position, Steve only has an oblique view of Bucky’s face, which is mostly in the dark anyway – the strong line of his jaw, a smudge of grease on his cheekbone, a sweaty lock of hair curling on his forehead, his mouth pouting in concentration. Steve itches to draw him, to take out his battered sketchbook and reproduce that instant of perfect imperfection. Steve itches to touch him, push back his unruly curls, wipe away the smudge on his cheekbone, cup his face in his hands and…

Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye.

The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

🔹Till there were no more wolves in the West

by @dharmasharks

“I’m afraid of a lot of things, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

“But this thing sticking in my heart—the part of me that’s yours? It is the best part of me. Maybe the only good part.” His rueful smile wavers. He makes a pained expression.

“What if it’s the only good part?” he asks.

Two Brooklyn boys find themselves aboard an orphan train headed west in 1854. Across farmland, war, and the lawless frontier, a childhood promise helps them find each other again.

(A Western SteveBucky retelling.)

▪️Hiraeth by ixalit

Hiraeth

noun /ˈhɪraɨ̯θ/

[Welsh] A homesickness or nostalgia, an earnest longing or desire, or a sense of regret. The feeling of longing for a home that never was.

🔹Undone by justanotherStonyfan

You’d think, given everything, that if one of them were going to regress, that if one of them were going to break down, it would be Bucky.

(Set mostly after Endgame - canon deaths remain but Steve doesn't leave)

▪️But You Can Hold Me (Only 'Cause It's a Cold Night in Brooklyn) by Voylitscope_speed (@voylitscope)

This should just be two friends getting off after the burlesque show. This should just be two pals both thinking about the girl. That would probably be okay, Bucky thinks.

But then he ruins it all when he says,

"Come here," and puts a hand out to tug on Steve's shoulder.

(Or: Sometimes, Bucky and Steve lend each other a hand, literally. Bucky tries not to be weird about it, but he's always been bad at controlling his thoughts about Steve.)

🔹Midlife Crisis by profoundalpacakitten

Steve isn’t expecting much of anything from life, he’s content to coast by, letting life flow past. Get up, get dressed, get to work, get home, get to sleep, rinse and repeat.

▪️ The Magic Touch by @broodybuck

The soldier is finally free but he has one big problem, he can't finish. Until he meets a man called Steve who apparently has the magic touch.

[goodbyeyellowbrickcloset]

Midnights in Wonderland: Follow ME! Down The Rabbit Hole

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary-wise, what it is, it wouldn’t be, and what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?” – Alice in Wonderland (1951)

I want to be clear: I didn’t discover this sync. But when I first heard whispers of Midnights in Wonderland nearly two years ago, I knew I had to sit with it, comb through every detail, and try to understand why Taylor Swift would structure an album to align with Alice in Wonderland (1951).

What I found was something more layered than I ever expected.

This is not Dark Side of the Rainbow (The Wizard of Oz + Dark Side of the Moon). This is not about Taylor simply being inspired by Alice in Wonderland. This is about time, disillusionment, queerness, waking up from illusion, and realizing the fantasy isn’t real.

If you want to experience Midnights in Wonderland for yourself, here’s how:

How To Watch Midnights In Wonderland

1. Start the 1951 Alice in Wonderland movie and wait until 3 minutes and 31 seconds in. (31 is 13, backwards).

2. Press play on Midnights (3AM Edition) – in reverse order (starting with “Dear Reader” and working backward to “Lavender Haze”). Midnights in Wonderland Playlist

3. You'll notice track 3 (“Anti-Hero”) and track 8 (“Vigilante Shit”) are switched, the theory here is that we believe Taylor foreshadowed this by flipping the phone upside down in Midnights Mayhem With Me (8/3, of course).

4. The sync will end right before the movie concludes at 1 hour and 13 minutes (1:13, of course).

→ I like to have the volume on for the movie until the music starts and to turn the movie volume back on so you can hear the conclusion to the movie.

What you’ll witness is an eerie, stunning, startlingly perfect alignment of music and visual storytelling.

So the question is—why Alice? Why would Taylor choose to layer Midnights over this particular fantasy? Why not The Wizard of Oz, given how deep her Oz references run? Why this story of a girl lost in nonsense, trying to find her way back to reality?

That’s what we’re about to unpack.

Follow The White Rabbit: What Is Midnights in Wonderland Really Saying?

“If you don’t know where you want to go, then it doesn’t matter which path you take.” – The Cheshire Cat

This theory isn’t just about visual syncs. It’s about what the story of Alice means in contrast to what Midnights is trying to say.

Here’s what I discovered while analyzing this theory—a series of questions I asked myself, followed by my own answers.

1. The Intention Behind The Sync

"Never take advice from someone who's falling apart" - Taylor Swift

Q: If this sync is real, why Alice in Wonderland? Why not The Wizard of Oz itself, given how deep Taylor’s Oz references run? A: Maybe because Dark Side of Oz is already a phenomenon, and she wouldn’t repeat it. Midnights is obsessed with clocks, time, and spirals, which aligns with the Alice in Wonderland narrative.

Q: What is she trying to convey by layering Midnights over this particular film? Is it about disillusionment? Escapism? The loss of childhood wonder? A: I think all of the above. Beginning with Dear Reader sets a very sobering tone to the fantastical journey that we embark on throughout Wonderland. The fact that Taylor refers to the audience of the song as ‘readers’, sure it could be about reading her lyrics, but regardless it's a wonderful way to visually introduce the story of a historic fantasy novel. So, yes, I believe that the layering from there on out explores escapism, loss of childhood wonder, and disillusionment.

Q: Could this be a commentary on looking back at your past self and realizing how naive you once were? (Much like Alice waking up from Wonderland.) A: Totally. In the beginning of the movie, before you start the soundtrack, Alice is hanging out with her cat, listening to her older sister read a book while daydreaming about her own fantasy world. As she starts the journey that leads her to the rabbit hole (into what is ultimately a dream), the music begins and we take the journey throughout the movie and album. As Lavender Haze concluding (remember we are listening to the album backwards), the caterpillar blows a puff of purple smoke into Alice's face and asks, "Who are you?" Alice runs into a spiral haze of purple and then wakes up to her sister saying, "Alice?! Will you kindly pay attention and recite your lesson?" bringing her back to reality. Taylor herself recognizes Midnights is a reflection of sleepless nights, and the visual journey ends with her in the same place she started.

Q: Is this a reflection of how Taylor views her past eras? Has she been living in a Wonderland-like dream state, and now she’s waking up? A: Absolutely. Midnights feels like a retrospective album, with each song revisiting a different chapter of her life—almost like flipping through a dream journal filled with past versions of herself. Tracks like Question...?, You’re On Your Own, Kid, and Karma allude to distinct personal experiences, much like a collection of memories pieced together from her different eras. When paired with Alice in Wonderland, the visual alignment becomes striking. Dear Reader sets the introspective tone as Alice enters the unknown, The Great War plays as the animated flowers sing about memories and growth, and Anti-Hero overlays the Mad Hatter’s chaotic tea party, reinforcing themes of identity struggles and self-perception. These moments suggest that Taylor isn’t just reflecting—she’s exploring the dreamlike nature of her past and whether she’s finally waking up from it.

Q: Dark Side of Oz works because The Wizard of Oz has such an intense emotional journey—does Alice in Wonderland have the same impact, or is this sync meant to show how detached or disoriented Taylor feels in this era?

A: Alice in Wonderland doesn’t follow the same emotional structure as The Wizard of Oz—instead of a clear beginning, middle, and resolution, it’s a series of strange encounters that leave Alice more confused than when she started. Syncing Midnights with Alice in Wonderland feels like an intentional way to mirror that sense of disorientation.

Taylor’s songwriting on Midnights is deeply personal, structured like pages from a diary rather than a linear narrative. The album is full of self-examination, contradictions, and fragmented emotions—just like Alice’s journey through Wonderland. Pairing these introspective lyrics with the chaotic visuals of Alice in Wonderland adds depth to both; it makes Wonderland feel less like a whimsical escape and more like a metaphor for the confusion, loneliness, and exhaustion of adulthood. In this way, Midnights feels like a grown-up’s reflection on the instability of Wonderland—what once felt magical now feels overwhelming, and waking up might be just as painful as the dream itself.

2. Alice As A Stand-In For Taylor

"Who...are...you?" – Caterpillar

Q: Alice follows the White Rabbit into Wonderland—was there a “rabbit hole” moment for Taylor that changed everything for her? A: Taylor’s “rabbit hole” moment seems to be the decision to turn her life into art—to use her personal experiences as the foundation of her songwriting. From the moment she started writing about her own emotions, relationships, and struggles, she set herself on a path where reality and storytelling would always be intertwined.

In Midnights, "Dear Reader" feels like the moment she acknowledges just how deep she’s gone. It’s not just about where she is now—it’s about the entire journey that led her here. She’s addressing the listener (the “reader”) as if we’ve been following the story all along, warning us that she’s reached a place she can’t easily escape from. The narrative and visual storytelling of Alice in Wonderland parallels this perfectly. Just like Alice falls further and further into an unpredictable, surreal world, Taylor’s career has been a continuous descent into deeper layers of meaning, performance, and coded storytelling. The deeper she goes, the harder it becomes to separate reality from the mythos she’s created around herself.

Q: Alice constantly shrinks and grows. Does this reflect Taylor’s experiences in fame—sometimes feeling larger than life, other times feeling small and powerless? A: Absolutely. Taylor has spoken often about the duality of being a global superstar while still feeling deeply human. The Anti-Hero music video directly plays with this idea—Taylor appears as a giant at a small, intimate tea party, struggling to fit into a world that suddenly feels too small for her. It’s a visual metaphor for the way fame has made her larger than life, yet unable to fully belong in ordinary spaces.

In the Midnights in Wonderland sync, Alice’s rapid shrinking and growing mirrors this tension perfectly. The first time Alice shrinks to a tiny size happens during Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve—a song heavy with themes of regret, power imbalance, and vulnerability. The constant fluctuations in size throughout the film reflect Taylor’s own struggle with navigating the extremes of her existence—being idolized and scrutinized, feeling untouchable yet incredibly exposed. The world either makes her feel too big, like an overwhelming force, or too small, like she has no real control. Alice’s disorienting experience in Wonderland serves as a powerful parallel to Taylor’s own battle with identity under the weight of fame.

Q: Alice is lost, trying to navigate a nonsensical world. Is Midnights Taylor’s way of expressing the experience of feeling lost, disoriented, or manipulated by the industry? A: Throughout Midnights, Taylor explores the disillusionment that comes with fame, power, and the entertainment industry’s ever-shifting rules. In the Midnights in Wonderland sync, Alice’s journey mirrors this experience—she trusts figures along the way, only to be misled, trapped, or forced into bizarre situations that make no logical sense. This feels like an allegory for Taylor’s navigation of the music industry, where she’s had to decipher who truly has her best interests at heart and who is simply playing a game.

The Mad Hatter’s tea party is one of the most striking parallels. Alice arrives at what seems to be a lively, welcoming space, but the rules of the conversation keep shifting, and nothing she says is ever quite right. This could represent Taylor’s experience in an industry that expects her to constantly reinvent herself, answer to critics, and adhere to standards that change at the whims of those in power.

The Queen of Hearts scene is another moment that aligns with Taylor’s industry struggles. The Queen changes the rules of the game on a whim, unfairly winning the croquet match and demanding absolute loyalty. She disposes of anyone who doesn’t comply. This could reflect Taylor’s past experiences with executives, critics, or media figures who have manipulated narratives, tried to control her career, or written her off when she didn’t play by their expectations.

Through Midnights, Taylor tells a story of trying to make sense of a world that often feels absurd and unfair—just like Alice, who must navigate Wonderland’s chaos while clinging to her own sense of reality.

Q: The Cheshire Cat is known for leading Alice astray while acting like a guide. Are there figures in Taylor’s life who have done the same? A: The Cheshire Cat is one of the most cryptic figures in Alice in Wonderland, constantly appearing and disappearing, offering guidance that is both enlightening and misleading. In the context of Midnights in Wonderland, this character could symbolize figures in Taylor’s life who have influenced her, whether positively or manipulatively, leaving her questioning what is real and what is an illusion.

One possible interpretation is that the Cheshire Cat represents Taylor’s evolving understanding of her own identity—particularly her queerness. The cat’s distinct color palette aligns with the bi-pride flag, and its tendency to appear at moments of confusion or transition mirrors the way queer identity can feel both liberating and disorienting in a world that demands clear labels. If Taylor has spent years navigating an industry and a society that forces her to compartmentalize her public image and private truth, then the Cheshire Cat’s elusive nature could reflect that inner struggle—the push and pull between visibility and secrecy.

On a broader level, the Cheshire Cat might also represent people in Taylor’s life who have played dual roles as mentors, enablers, or even deceivers. Whether industry figures, former friends, or relationships that left her feeling lost, there’s an undeniable theme in Midnights of being led astray while searching for answers.

As the Cheshire Cat tells Alice: “We’re all mad here.” Perhaps Taylor, like Alice, has spent years trying to make sense of a world that thrives on contradiction, only to realize that sometimes, the only way forward is to embrace the uncertainty.

Q: The Queen of Hearts rules through chaos and irrationality—does Taylor see herself as someone who has to play along with the madness to survive? A: The Queen of Hearts is the ultimate symbol of erratic power—ruling through fear, demanding blind loyalty, and punishing those who step out of line. In Alice in Wonderland, her commands make little sense, yet everyone scrambles to obey, terrified of her infamous “Off with their heads!” decree. This kind of oppressive authority feels eerily familiar when thinking about the power structures in the music industry, where one wrong move can result in an artist being blacklisted, misrepresented, or turned into a villain overnight.

Taylor, like Alice, has had to navigate an industry full of unpredictable rulers—whether they be executives, critics, or even public opinion itself. To survive, she has often had to “play the game,” strategically choosing when to comply and when to push back. But much like Alice in the court scene, there have been moments where Taylor has grown in stature, asserting her influence in ways that challenge the power structures around her. The most obvious example is her Lover-era battle for her masters, where she stood up to the music industry’s own version of the Queen of Hearts and refused to be silenced.

However, just as Alice realizes the Queen's power is ultimately flimsy—built on intimidation rather than real strength—Taylor seems to understand that her true power isn’t in conforming, but in outlasting. By staying in control of her narrative, she continues to grow larger in the industry, becoming an entity even the so-called rulers can’t ignore. The Queen of Hearts thrives on absolute control, but Taylor has proven that she can thrive by doing the opposite—reinventing herself, adapting, and refusing to let anyone dictate her path.

In the end, just as Alice wakes up and leaves Wonderland behind, perhaps Taylor is working toward a future where she no longer has to play along with the madness to survive.

3. Midnights As The Anti-Wonderland

“I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.” – Alice

Q: Wonderland is a place of nonsense, fantasy, and illusion. Is Midnights an anti-fantasy, the realization of hard truths in the cold light of reality? A: Yes. If Alice in Wonderland represents the whimsical, unpredictable dream-state of Taylor’s past eras—where love, fame, and identity were experienced in larger-than-life, surreal terms—then Midnights is the stark moment of waking up. It’s the cold, quiet hours spent reflecting on everything that once seemed magical, only to realize how distorted and deceptive it might have been.

Unlike past albums that *supposedly* leaned into storytelling and character work (Folklore, Evermore), Midnights is intensely biographical. The emotions are raw, the self-reflection is sharp, and the illusions have shattered. Where Wonderland thrives on the nonsensical—contradictions, paradoxes, and a world where rules change on a whim—Midnights is structured, intentional, and brutally honest. It takes the experiences that once seemed like fairytales and holds them up against reality, forcing Taylor (and the listener) to acknowledge what was real and what was merely a fantasy she wanted to believe in.

A key lyrical choice in Midnights is her frequent use of “you” instead of specific pronouns or names. This technique makes the songs feel personal yet universal, almost like a diary written in code. It mirrors the feeling of waking up from a dream where the details are blurry, but the emotions linger. We don’t always know exactly who she’s talking to—but that’s part of the point. In Wonderland, identities shift, characters contradict themselves, and meanings are fluid. In Midnights, the themes of secrecy, longing, and disillusionment take center stage, but the details remain just out of reach—mirroring Taylor’s own experience of grappling with a reality that doesn’t always match the fantasy she once lived in.

So if Wonderland was the dream, Midnights is the reckoning. It’s the moment of realization that some fantasies were just that—fantasies. But instead of running from the truth, she lingers in it, analyzing every sleepless thought and making peace with the chaos of both the dream and the awakening.

Q: Is Midnights Taylor waking up from the dream of the past—whether that’s fame, a relationship, or her own illusions about life? A: Midnights feels like a reckoning with the illusions Taylor has carried—whether about love, fame, or even her own identity. The album is deeply introspective, filled with moments of clarity that cut through the haze of past experiences. If Wonderland represents the fantasy—the whirlwind of romance, success, and the world she built around her—then Midnights is her stepping back and asking, Was any of it real?

As I've said, “Dear Reader” sets the tone right from the start of the sync, as Alice falls down the rabbit hole. The song itself acts as a cautionary letter to both the listener and Taylor’s younger self, warning that nothing is ever as it seems. It’s a significant opening because it frames the entire journey as one of reflection—looking back on past choices, past relationships, and past personas with a more critical, perhaps even cynical, lens.

Watching Midnights in Wonderland with the tracklist played in reverse order is particularly striking. The final song becomes “Lavender Haze,” where Taylor pleads to stay in the fog of illusion, resisting the pressures of reality. This mirrors Alice’s own journey: after all the chaos and confusion of Wonderland, she finally wakes up to the mundane reality of everyday life. The dream ends, but what comes next?

That’s the lingering question. Midnights doesn’t necessarily resolve the tension—it sits in the space between the dream and the wake-up call, between nostalgia and hard truths. If this album is Taylor coming to terms with what was real and what wasn’t, then the real story lies in what she chooses to do with that knowledge. Does she stay in the Lavender Haze, or does she finally step into a world of screaming color? That’s the question she leaves us with, and only time will tell how she chooses to answer it.

Q: In Alice in Wonderland, time is chaotic, controlled by external forces (The White Rabbit is obsessed with being late). Does this mirror Taylor’s own struggles with time—her career milestones, aging in the public eye, or the pressure to keep moving? A: Absolutely. Time, both as a theme and a source of anxiety, is central to Midnights. Taylor has always been hyper-aware of time—whether it’s the ticking clock of her career, the way the public fixates on her age, or the fleeting nature of relationships. In Alice in Wonderland, the White Rabbit is frantically running, always worried about being late, much like how Taylor has expressed feeling the pressure to evolve, reinvent, and stay ahead in an industry that demands constant motion.

Throughout Midnights in Wonderland, this theme is reinforced visually and musically. In Bigger Than The Whole Sky, which plays during a moment of reflection and loss, the White Rabbit bursts in, disrupting the moment with his panic—just as Taylor often finds herself forced to move forward before she’s ready. This aligns with how she’s spoken about the relentless pace of fame, where there’s rarely a moment to grieve, process, or simply exist.

One of the most significant moments in the sync happens during the tea party scene, where Bejeweled and Anti-Hero play. Here, the chaotic, nonsensical nature of Wonderland reaches a peak, and the clock—representing control, structure, and the passage of time—is destroyed. This feels like a turning point, both in Alice’s journey and in Taylor’s storytelling. If time is shattered, if the rules no longer apply, what happens next?

Taylor has never been one to let time dictate her narrative—she’s constantly rewriting her own story, reclaiming eras, and challenging the expectations placed on her. But Midnights acknowledges the weight of those expectations, the exhaustion of keeping up, and the moments where she just wants to stop the clock entirely. The sync with Alice in Wonderland only reinforces how deeply ingrained this struggle is in her music, her life, and the world she’s built around her.

Q: If Midnights is about sleepless nights and spirals, does that make Wonderland the dream state she’s waking up from? A: Rather than Midnights being the moment of waking up, it feels like the journey through the dream itself—each song a different chapter of a long, disorienting night.

So, what happens when the dream ends? On The Lavender Edition of the album, Taylor includes Hits Different, where she explicitly sings about waking up—unsure if the person at her door is the one she longs for or someone coming to take her away. It’s a jarring shift, a sudden snap back to reality. If Wonderland represents the escapism of Midnights, then Hits Different is the moment Alice opens her eyes and realizes the fantasy is over.

What makes this even more striking is what follows. In The Tortured Poets Department, Taylor trades the rich, whimsical color palette of Midnights for stark black-and-white imagery, positioning herself in an asylum—one of the most extreme visual representations of being trapped in her own mind. If Midnights in Wonderland is her subconscious spinning through illusions, Tortured Poets seems to be the aftermath—where the magic is gone, and she’s left with nothing but cold, harsh reality.

Just as Kansas and Oz exist in striking contrast, so do Midnights and Tortured Poets. It begs the question: is Taylor waking up to clarity, or just a different kind of illusion?

4. The Soundtrack Choice

“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At tea time, everybody agrees” – Taylor Swift

Q: Why would Taylor specifically create an auditory sync rather than a visual or lyrical one? A: Before Midnights was released, Taylor hinted it was a “visual album,” but instead of traditional music videos for every song, what if the visuals were hidden in something deeper—like Alice in Wonderland?

An auditory sync makes Midnights an immersive experience, aligning with Taylor’s love of layered storytelling. Alice in Wonderland is all about perception vs. reality, and syncing her album to the film could be a way of making us see Midnights in a whole new way—one that questions time, identity, and illusion, much like Alice’s journey itself.

Q: Does she want us to feel the emotional journey rather than just see it? A: The contrast between Alice in Wonderland’s whimsical, colorful world and Midnights’ raw, introspective lyrics is striking. Taylor has always balanced fantasy and reality in her storytelling, and this sync feels like an extension of that—using Wonderland’s playful visuals to heighten the weight of her sleepless-night confessions. It’s not just about seeing the parallels; it’s about feeling the dissonance between escapism and harsh truth.

Q: Is there something about Midnights that lends itself to being experienced alongside a story of confusion, whimsy, and eeriness? A: Absolutely. While Midnights isn't about Alice in Wonderland, its themes of disorientation, self-reflection, and emotional turbulence align seamlessly with the film’s chaotic, dreamlike world. Taylor masterfully intertwines her personal storytelling with Wonderland’s surrealism, making the sync feel almost inevitable—like she used its whimsical setting as a backdrop to amplify the complexity of her own narrative.

Q: Does the reversed track list + song swaps suggest a deliberate restructuring of the Midnights narrative to better fit Wonderland’s progression? A: Listening to Midnights in reverse order undeniably shifts the storytelling arc, especially with how it begins and ends. Reversing the tracklist mirrors Wonderland’s logic-defying nature, creating a sense of disorientation that aligns with the film’s surreal, dreamlike progression. The choice to swap Anti-Hero and Vigilante Shit suggests an intentional reordering, reinforcing the idea of reality unraveling and shifting perspectives.

Alice’s own words—“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't”—are spoken just before Dear Reader begins, a song that reads like a warning to question everything. Taylor’s life and career have often been a balancing act between public perception and hidden truths, making this backward sequencing feel like a direct nod to the “two Taylors”—the one the world sees and the one she keeps for herself. As you watch you'll see alllllll the other alignments that show up. It's truly quiet mind blowing.

5. Lyrical Parallels

“Within that world of my own I could listen to a babbling brook And hear a song that I could understand I keep wishing it could be that way Because my world would be a wonderland” – Alice

Q: In a World of My Own is about creating a world where everything makes sense—does Dear Reader contrast this by saying, “Actually, reality is cruel, so stop looking for a fantasy”?

A: Dear Reader is the antithesis of In a World of My Own. Alice dreams of a whimsical place where the world bends to her desires, but Dear Reader warns against that kind of escapism. Taylor’s lyrics feel like a wake-up call, suggesting that what seems idealized or romanticized is often an illusion. The song hints that the comforting, dreamlike version of reality people create for themselves is a performance masking something far more difficult beneath the surface. Wonderland is a fantasy world of talking flowers and friendly creatures, but Taylor’s Midnights rewrites that story into something sharper and more sobering, where the "rabbit hole" might lead somewhere much darker.

Q: The Mad Hatter’s tea party is chaotic and nonsensical—does this align with Karma’s playful but slightly manic tone?

A: While Karma doesn’t play during the tea party scene, the sentiment fits. In the sync, the tea party unfolds to Bejeweled and Anti-Hero, both of which tap into themes of performance and instability. The Mad Hatter’s world operates on erratic, surreal logic—much like Bejeweled, where Taylor sparkles through the chaos, and Anti-Hero, where she confronts her own demons in a theatrical, exaggerated way. The energy of the tea party, with its dizzying conversations and unpredictable shifts, echoes the hyper-aware, slightly unhinged mood that runs through these songs. It’s the moment Alice realizes she’s truly surrounded by nonsense—just as Taylor grapples with the performative, often absurd nature of fame and self-image.

Q: The Queen of Hearts is a tyrant who demands blind loyalty—does Vigilante Shit speak to taking power back from a controlling force?

A: I think so. The Queen of Hearts rules through fear, demanding obedience and using public executions as a spectacle of control. The fact that Vigilante Shit syncs with this moment in the film feels almost too perfect—this is the final confrontation, the moment of rebellion. The Queen, much like oppressive forces in Taylor’s own narrative, holds power by manipulating the game in her favor, making the rules up as she goes. But Alice, much like Taylor in Vigilante Shit, refuses to play along. The upside-down track list theory that led to Vigilante Shit aligning with this scene suggests an intentional mirroring—this is the battle, the moment of taking back agency from someone who thrives on control.

Q: The White Rabbit is obsessed with time running out—does You’re on Your Own, Kid capture that same sense of fleeting opportunity and loneliness?

A: You’re on Your Own, Kid is drenched in the panic of running out of time, a feeling that mirrors the White Rabbit’s desperate urgency. He constantly reminds Alice that she’s late, pulling her deeper into the chaotic world of Wonderland. In the same way, Taylor’s song wrestles with the pressure of fleeting moments—of youth, of relationships, of self-discovery. The song builds with the realization that time doesn’t wait for anyone, that you have to carve your own path even if it means doing it alone. Much like Alice chasing the White Rabbit through Wonderland, Taylor chases something elusive, only to realize that in the end, she’s entirely on her own.

Q: Alice in Wonderland is a trip—both figuratively and literally. Does Midnights explore the comedown from an era of delusion or idealism?

A: Midnights feels like a self-aware reflection on the illusions Taylor has lived through. It’s an album that acknowledges the high of believing in something, only to later recognize its flaws. Alice tumbles into Wonderland expecting adventure, only to face confusion, absurdity, and power struggles. Similarly, Midnights revisits Taylor’s past through a more jaded, self-critical lens. It’s a journey through memory, through idealized pasts that don’t quite hold up upon closer examination. The album arrived at a moment in her career when she was actively revisiting her own mythology—re-recording her albums, performing The Eras Tour, and, perhaps, realizing that the fairy tale wasn’t always what it seemed.

6. Queerness in Wonderland

“Curiouser and curiouser!" – Alice

Q: Alice in Wonderland has been analyzed as a queer-coded text, much like The Wizard of Oz. Is Midnights engaging with that same queer lens?

A: AB-SO-FREAKING-LUTELY. Midnights is deeply queer-coded, just as Alice in Wonderland has long been interpreted through a queer lens. The themes of disorientation, identity struggles, and hidden meaning that run through Alice are strikingly similar to the way Taylor constructs Midnights. Many of the songs on the album carry layers of queer storytelling, particularly when examined in the broader context of her work. The album plays with secrecy, longing, and a sense of having to navigate the world under a carefully curated image—sentiments that resonate heavily with queer experiences. And when you start mapping Midnights onto Alice in Wonderland, the connections become even harder to ignore.

Q: Wonderland is a world where nothing is what it seems, and identity is fluid—does this resonate with Taylor’s own relationship with self-expression and queerness?

A: Without a doubt. Alice in Wonderland thrives on contradictions—things aren’t what they appear, words don’t mean what they should, and identity is constantly shifting. Taylor’s work, especially Midnights, leans into these same themes. She blurs reality and illusion, weaving coded references into her music and public image. The dreamlike quality of Alice mirrors Taylor’s own career—where what we see on the surface may not reflect the truth underneath. There’s a deep longing in Midnights for a reality that’s different from the one she’s been confined to. The sync with Alice in Wonderland only emphasizes the idea that she exists in a world of contradictions, caught between what’s real and what’s a performance.

Q: The phrase “down the rabbit hole” is often used to describe falling into a new way of seeing the world. Did Taylor have a moment where she “woke up” to a new understanding of herself?

A: Taylor’s entire career has been a long journey through the rabbit hole—one where she has hidden, revealed, and rewritten parts of herself through storytelling. If Midnights represents the descent, then every coded Easter egg she’s left behind is part of that journey. And really, what’s more fitting than the idea of Taylor Swift—queen of Easter eggs—laying metaphorical “eggs” throughout her career as she navigates the world? A rabbit hole isn’t just a place you fall into—it’s a maze, full of twists, illusions, and revelations. The day Taylor stops leaving breadcrumbs for us to follow might be the day she finally climbs out of it. But does she even want to leave? Wonderland is full of color, hidden meaning, and magic. Maybe she’s exactly where she wants to be.

7. The Eras Tour Clock + Time Motif

“If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him!” – The Mad Hatter

Q: The giant ticking clock in the Eras Tour is reminiscent of the White Rabbit’s obsession with time—does this suggest Midnights and Alice in Wonderland are deeply connected?

A: Almost assuredly. The White Rabbit’s frantic anxiety about time slipping away mirrors the way Midnights fixates on late nights, nostalgia, and the haunting passage of time. Taylor’s use of a massive, looming clock in the Eras Tour stage design reinforces this parallel—it’s as if she’s acknowledging that time has always been one of her biggest struggles, both personally and professionally. The ticking clock in Alice in Wonderland isn’t just about running late; it’s about being controlled by time, about feeling like you’re constantly chasing something you may never catch. Midnights shares that same sentiment—reflecting on past moments, lost opportunities, and the relentless forward march of life in the spotlight.

Q: Taylor references time CONSTANTLY in Midnights. Does this parallel Wonderland’s distorted perception of time?

A: Without a doubt. In Alice in Wonderland, time bends, halts, and warps—it’s unreliable, dictated by forces beyond Alice’s control. Midnights operates the same way. The album is non-linear, jumping through past heartbreaks, regrets, and moments of clarity as if Taylor is unstuck in time, revisiting versions of herself that still haunt her. The imagery of clocks, sleepless nights, and “moments that turned into something bigger” all contribute to this sense that she is grappling with time as an illusion—just like Alice. The Eras Tour clock only cements this idea further.

8. If This Was Her Plan, What Comes Next?

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?” – Alice

Q: If Taylor deliberately created this sync, what’s her endgame?

A: Taylor has built her career on storytelling, symbolism, and an almost obsessive attention to detail. She knows her audience thrives on unraveling hidden meanings, and this sync feels like another puzzle she’s left for those who are willing to look deeper. If Midnights truly aligns with Alice in Wonderland, then perhaps the next step is not just waking up from the dream but understanding why she needed the dream in the first place. While some theories suggest The Tortured Poets Department might sync with Dead Poets Society, I haven’t analyzed that theory in depth yet. But what I do know is that Alice in Wonderland is a journey into the unknown, and Midnights is Taylor’s most self-reflective album yet—so wherever she’s taking us next, it will likely continue peeling back the layers of performance and illusion she’s been building for years.

Q: Is Midnights her realization era—her breaking free from Wonderland?

A: I think it’s a turning point, but not the end of the journey. Midnights is deeply introspective, but it doesn’t feel like complete liberation—it feels like a reckoning. The album is full of hindsight, regret, and the desire to rewrite history. If Alice in Wonderland represents a dream state, Midnights could be the moment before waking—where you’re half-conscious, aware that you’re dreaming but not quite ready to leave. She’s still tangled in nostalgia, secrets, and the tension between fantasy and reality.

Q: If she’s leaving clues about waking up from the fantasy, what is she waking up to?

A: I think she has shown us that she’s waking up to The Tortured Poets Department. If Midnights was about navigating the disorienting haze of fame, love, and secrecy, Tortured Poets seems to be the stark, raw aftermath. The color has been drained, the whimsical illusions have faded, and she’s confronting the reality that she still isn’t living freely. The shift from Midnights to Tortured Poets feels like going from a surreal, dreamlike place to a stark, clinical reality—almost like waking up in an asylum after falling through the rabbit hole. She’s still dealing with secrecy and heartbreak, still writing about hidden love and longing, but now the magic is gone.

Q: Does this mean The Tortured Poets Department is her post-Wonderland album—more stripped back, raw, and grounded?

A: Yes, but in a way that still feels unresolved. She’s no longer in Wonderland, but she’s not in “screaming color” either. Instead, she’s in black and white. The shift from the whimsical, metaphor-heavy world of Midnights to the grayscale, sterile aesthetic of Tortured Poets suggests she’s still trapped—just in a different way. Instead of navigating the illusions of Wonderland, she’s now sitting with the consequences of waking up. And the question remains: does she want to stay awake, or does she want to dream again?

Conclusion: Are You Ready To Wake Up?

The Midnights in Wonderland sync isn’t just a coincidence. It’s a conversation. A visual, musical, and thematic experiment in how we interpret Taylor’s work.

It’s her Wonderland, but it’s also ours.

So—have you watched the sync? Did anything stand out to you? What are your thoughts on the connections? And more importantly—if Taylor is waking up, what is she waking up to?

Let’s discuss.

(P.S. If you’ve spotted any especially queer-coded moments in the sync, drop them below. I’d love to hear them.) ✨

[dangermousie]

I have never seen a drama (or a show from anywhere) convey the feeling - emotional and psychological - of what it is like for me to read a truly immersive high fantasy this well before. I am a 12 year old reading about the Fellowship fighting in Khazad-dum, feeling as if I'd glimpsed another, more saturated reality. I am a lot older than 12, reading Sanderson and feeling pulled into the pages. It's high fantasy and a dark fairy tale and a meditation on humanity. GJM has his scripts/plots criticized (especially his endings which are admittedly always ???!!!) and I get that but for me, it never matters because the emotion I feel when watching his stuff is like a hit of serotonin, it absorbs me so much that I genuinely don't care about the plot.

His stories are flawed plot-wise. Not gonna argue there. But his visual storytelling, his sense of place, and his ability to direct his actors (he's making mediocre actors incredible and terrible actors decent), combined with the fact that he likes to explore themes I find interesting (among others, has anyone noticed his fixation on brothers who are not biologically brothers - TJR and CL in MJTY, FSF and MTY in Ice Fantasy - he did not direct but it's his story - and what he's setting up here) basically means that I, never a plot watcher or reader anyway, genuinely do not care about narrative flaws. It's an equivalent of reading a stylist so good that I don't care about the narrative per se. I am a poetry reader after all.

But anyway, back to the drama. I loved ZY's last ditch attempt not to discuss it.

The way it melds into the past, and his carrying her after her master's murder...

The way it melds into her present face...and what he said AAAA

I also got to say that another thing this drama gets which a lot of supernatural stories do not is not just how Other he is, but how it informs everything. It is very much a spirit that was around during her young adulthood (and childhood?) as a friend of her shifu and someone who helped her that is now around and the relationship is fluid and changing and may turn romantic or not but it is never like one between a human man and a human woman.

Oohhhh and the way it melds again...

[schizoidvision]

8 Ways The Schizoid 'Dark Side' May Manifest...

One of the aspects of Schizoid Personality Disorder (SzPD) that is not often fully understood or explored in mainstream literature is how its darker side manifests. Schizoid traits include detachment from social relationships, emotional coldness, and a preference for solitary activities. However, the inner subjective world of a schizoid is far more complex, often shaped by existential questioning that may lead to the emergence of dark thoughts. Here are 8 ways the dark side of schizoid personality disorder may manifest:

1. Existential Angst and Nihilism

Schizoids frequently experience existential angst—an overwhelming sense that life is meaningless or devoid of value. This feeling stems from their emotional detachment and depersonalization, a dissociative state where individuals feel detached from their thoughts, emotions, or body, contributing to a diminished sense of self. Their isolation can exacerbate this realization, leading them to question the purpose of life, existence, and even society's worth. This existential questioning can lead to nihilism, where they believe that nothing in life truly matters.

2. Compulsive Thinking and Obsessive Thoughts

Due to their low levels of external engagement, schizoids may find themselves overthinking or becoming stuck in compulsive thinking loops. These can range from abstract philosophical ideas to dark fantasies involving destruction, death, or control. The schizoid's isolated mind becomes a fertile ground for obsessive thoughts that may reinforce their sense of alienation and mental fragmentation.

3. Dark Fantasies and Escapism

Schizoids often turn to elaborate fantasies as a coping mechanism. For some, these fantasies may involve dark themes like violence, control, or revenge. These fantasies serve as a form of mental escape and may be used to process their sense of powerlessness and emotional distance from the rest of society. However, despite the intensity of these fantasies, schizoids generally maintain strong reality testing and do not act on them.

4. Obsessions with Dark Themes

Schizoids may become fixated on dark, symbolic themes such as death, destruction, or horror. Horror films, dark mythology, and grim philosophical ideas can resonate with their internal conflicts and existential anxieties, often linked to unconscious feelings and conflicts beneath the surface. These obsessions allow them to explore their darker emotions and unresolved traumas from a safe distance.

5. Childhood Trauma and the Fragmented Self

Many schizoids have a fragmented sense of self, often tied to childhood trauma or emotional neglect. This dark part of their psyche can be rooted in internalized negative emotions or negative influences from mistreatment by early caregivers. This unresolved trauma can resurface as dark thoughts, fantasies, or feelings of alienation from others.

6. Emotional Detachment and Confrontation with Dark Realities

One of the hallmarks of schizoid personality disorder is emotional detachment. This detachment allows schizoids to confront harsh or "dark" truths about life without the emotional distress that others may experience. Schizoids use intellectualization as a defense mechanism to avoid emotional distress by focusing on logical reasoning or abstract thought. Therefore, they may intellectualize and rationalize difficult realities, adopting a cold, analytical stance on issues like suffering, death, and human nature.

7. Identification with Dark Fictional and Mythological Characters

Schizoids may find a unique resonance with dark fictional characters or mythological figures, such as vampires, who embody isolation, emotional detachment, and a life on the fringes of society. These characters often symbolize themes of immortality, existential loneliness, and the struggle between the self and the external world—concepts that deeply align with the schizoid's inner experience.

8. Religious and Philosophical Escapism

Some schizoids may turn to religious beliefs, spiritual practices, or philosophical systems as a way to create meaning in their lives and to stave off the darker thoughts of nihilism. These belief systems help them build a more positively focused internal world that provides comfort and distance from existential despair.

Summary…

While not all schizoids experience a "dark side," those who do often deal with complex internal conflicts that involve existential questioning, dark fantasies, and compulsive thinking. The manifestations of these darker aspects are largely influenced by their level of functioning, personal history, and coping mechanisms. For most, these thoughts remain safely contained within the imagination, although they may become a recurrent part of their internal experience. Understanding these manifestations can help in recognizing the unique challenges that schizoid individuals face, and how they navigate a world that often feels empty or alien to them.

Video From My Youtube Channel: The Dark Side of Being Schizoid

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god PLEASE do a short with creep reader giving horrible torture ideas to Host while the contestants look on in horror.

(sorta forgot the short in your ask, but I hope you enjoy)

You are in an office.

The wall directly to your south is missing, but you can't see that far behind you - and so it is still there. A man sits cross from you at the other end of the table. You sense the presence of others in chairs beside you, but trying to make out distinct features from their grainy silhouettes only worsened the dull throbbing in the back of your skull. The amount of attention should bother you, but the significance of that man and yourself overshadowed them like the phantoms they were. Besides you, he's the most important in the room. He's your boss afterall.

Bathed in grey from his suit to his slicked back hair to even his skin, the man nurses an equally monochrome mug branded with the cheeky title of "A Show Host." The only bout of color on him was his tie which was curiously the exact shade and hue as your favorite color, and the book he held in his free hand. A quaint little journal with its lock popped and the key still in your pocket. Your brain screams to steal it back, but same as you can't look anywhere except ahead your body has lost all control of the rest of its motor functions.

The man barks a chuckle at the twisted thoughts you've put to paper. He removes his tie and tucks it smoothly between the pages of your journal, folding his hands neatly on the table as he closes it shut. His excessively wide grin peaks further as your eyes meet where his should be.

"Before we begin our meeting I must say what an honor it is to have such a clever mind in our little studio. Been a big fan of your work for quite some time and I think it's time to put some of your works to action."

The man tilts his sightless gaze towards the table. There are three folders where blank space once preoccupied. You gain control of your limbs as your fingers wiggle in the direction of the one closest to you.

"Those folders contain everything you need to know about the lovely contestants joining us today. Hopes, fears, ambitions, regrets- All you need and more to cook up some delicious punishment for our losers. Anything and I do mean anything is on the table. Give us your deepest, darkest fantasies and we will be more than glad to make them reality. The ball's in your court, and the pen is in your hand."

You open the first folder - gripping the pen in your sweaty palm as you read. As told, the folder is chalk full of notes on some guy just a couple years your senior. Someone's entire life held within rubber bands and pages. You sit in silence for a while. Circling some pieces, crossing out others. The Host watches intently from his end of the table feeling the swell of pride and admiration towards your dedication in whatever part of him resembled a human heart. You set down your tool and gather your notes as you begin your speech.

"Contestant A has severe claustrophobia resulting from locked in a closet by siblings as a child and forgotten for several hours. They also have fears of the dark and needles which are mostly unrelated on the surface. A potential punishment is to lock them in a room with just enough space to move. The walls are covered in spikes, slowly closing on them as time passes. The walls move at different paces so they believe it's safer elsewhere when in reality there's nowhere for them to go."

Silence. The silhouettes turn face each other, muttering amongst themselves with words you can't quite make out before facing Host sitting patiently this whole time. One by one, the silhouettes rise - striking their palms together in a chorus of applause which reaches its peak as one final member joins the frey. Host wipes a fake tear of his cheek. It almost feels...pleasant to receive positive attention for once.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Childhood trauma, the hopeless hope or escape. I knew there was nothing short of genius in you. Keep going."

Host returns to his chair, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as you reach for another folder. Your hand naturally falls on the next one in order, but upon picking it up the letter on its cover is C. Host picks up his cup and holds to his lips as you look up at him. Skimming through the pages a strange feeling settles in your stomach. The same that plagued when writing nearly every entry in your book. You set the folder down and pick up the third. Then the first. It all clicks.

"Contestant C.... Contestant C is someone who tried to make my life a living hell in the past. In spite of this, with your permission I'd like to make them an offer. The other contestants are close friends of theirs. Life long even. Contestant C is now both an star athlete and plays guitar on weekend. They are also selfish and care for no one but themselves. I would like to give them the opportunity to free themselves and their friends in exchange for their dominant arm. If they refuse they are free to leave, following immediate punishment, torture and killing of their allies they must sit through."

Host stares at you - least you assume so given his lack of eyes, for quite some time. So long whatever he was drinking had to be cold by now. His cup turns out to be empty as it rolls across the floor. Thand resting on his chin covers his entire face as he folds, head bouncing off the wooden as his body twitches and jerks with every giggle he stifles. His attempts are in vain as his laughter echoes through the shadows around you, and the unseen crowd behind you. They convulse in ways unnatural foe the human forms they mimic. The sound reverberates from every corner, drowning your thoughts. You pick up the mug at your feet, reading its message for a second of clarity.

"Reality's Greatest Co-Host."

Host gradually regains his composure. He cards a hand through his hair and fixes his collar as he lifts himself off the table. He shutters returning to focus to you having never known more love or appreciation for the human mind than what consumes him now.

"I... could honestly kiss you right now. Forgive me for my brashness, but you have proven yourself a second time as the perfect member of our team. I'd kill to have a look at your brain, but I much prefer it in that pretty head of yours. I simply can't wait to see what you have in store for future guests, but for now let's focus on the ones we have now. We've kept them waiting long enough..

Blinking once, Host stands over you, holding out his hand as bright light blinds your vision. You're no longer facing the table and now in view of the stage hidden behind that wall that never existed. Three people stand behind podiums, each expressing terror, dread, anger or a perfect mixture of the three. Your lips pull into a smile as you take Host's hand and step out onto the stage. The crowd's cheers pitch higher seeing their favorite hosts hand in hand. A whisper soft as a lover's embrace meets your ear as his lips meet your temple.

"In the impossible chance they agree, you don't plan on letting any of them go - do you?"

He knows you so well.

[janeways-coffees]

Ok I'll bite. What is wheel of time about

Glad you asked!!!! The short version is that it's a story about the inescapability of fate and the cycles of violence and peace in the world!

The long version is uh. Well (spoilers)

So like. Theres a big wheel that weaves the fabric of reality, right? And people get reincarnated and their souls get spit back out into new people, okay? That's how the world works. Also there is magic But! There's boy magic and girl magic.

So imagine you live in a post-scarity fake utopia and you're essentially a magic researcher. You discover magic that is neither girl nor boy magic but a secret third thing everyone who can already use magic can use (its genetic). And you just went through like the worst break up. So you use this cool new power!

And end up tearing a hole in the fabric of space and time. And theres this like entity in there that promises all this power and stuff and you're like "uhhhh well i do wanna be president or at least have my PhD unrevoked" (PhD revoked for tearing a hole in space and time) and also your ex has decided the entity is like. Pure evil. Which it is but you can't let him win that argument.

So you and your ex's ex and like 11 other researchers who aren't getting anywhere close to enough funding are like. Ok. Y'know what. Kinda fuck with the entity. Also we really don't like your ex girl he's too goody-goody.

Unfortunately your ex is also a top level magician/physicist and leads his 100 best friends to go seal your excellent hole in reality. Boo. But before he does this the entity "taints" boy magic so all men who can use magic go insane and kill everyone they love. Unfortunately you were also sealed inside the hole in reality and kinda go into statis for 3000 years.

Anyways because all then male magicians are insane now they essentially are walking nukes with no direction and blast humanity back to the stone age. Some of them kill themselves and some of them level cities and some of them try to not use magic but that's like acting someone who smokes a pack a day to quit cold turkey. So. Humanity forgets.

They forget genetic engineering and flying cars and teleportation magic. They remember the bare bones of ancient oaths and treaties but they don't have conext for them. The dimension of snake/fox people you had a longstanding treaty with is remembered as a children's game.

Anyways 3000 years pass and humanity sinks into darkness and then slowly, painstakingly, rebuilds. You're still trapped with your 12 colleages and the entity, but you have some small influence on the world. You command small armies of genetically engineered beings and mutants to slow progress. You manipulate people's dreams in a parallel dream dimension. You still aren't over your ex.

And then finally your ex's soul is spat back out into the world. He's a shepherd from a remote farming village. He's destined to be the most powerful male magician in 3000 years. He will go insane one day because of the taint on boy magic. You still love him. He doesn't even know who you are. Sometimes you can here him in the boy's voice, his stubborness. His ability to love other women.

Wheel of time is this story. Told from the perspective of your reincarnated ex and his 2 best childhood friends (reincarnated battle tactician with unreal luck and a man who has rediscovered wolf-telepathy), his childhood crush (president of the united states of girlbossery), his old babysitter (woman with every anger issue, ever), and his three girlfriends (yes they smoke weed. No you still aren't one of them).

It's a series that redefined how women are portrayed in fantasy. It recently got a television show that is a slightly different turning of the wheel but makes up for it by being explicity gay and having incredible costuming. It has excellent worldbuiliding and excellent character driven plot lines. It's been an absolute joy to reread after 7 years.

[hiperacid2]

Mariners Apartment Complex - Diluc Ragnvindr

.·:*¨༺ Chapter One ༻¨*:·.

.·:*¨༺ tags for this chapter: jealousy, childhood friends, teenage sweethearts gone south, maybe spoliers for dilucs backstory, thoughts of cheating, Donna is her own tag here, angst if you squint. Reader knows shes in the wrong - this has a big fat chance of turn slightly dark content for the second chapter. - word count: 4.7k - crossposted from ao3!!

.·:*¨༺ Summary: It's been years since he changed from his teenage, bright self. But like phoenixes, you've seen him rise from the ashes of the incident that changed the trajectory of his whole life.

How can you not love him like time has never passed? Even with his sudden new relationship you feel like your hearts are connected, two cracked halves of the same whole that fit perfectly. Surely you can worm your way back into the forefront of his mind, right? Even if you know very well you shouldn't?

Attending guests on business dinners at the winery is not a regular nor strange occurrence, however, what is an uncommon sight is seeing Master Diluc without his girlfriend, Donna, glued at his side.

It was no surprise that he was going to end up with Donna, the girl was infamous for being the first thing you heard when you step foot into Mondstadt city with her sighing of his name; 'Oh, Master Diluc…', it's all the poor woman seems to know how to say. If this was a fantasy, she would belong to a temporal loop in which she would be stuck.

You wouldn't call yourself jealous, after all, you've been serving the Ragnvindrs since you were a teenager, thanks to crepus generosity of giving a homeless young girl a roof above her head, yourself promising to be a fast learner and help in gratitude of shelter and a warm bed. That was almost a decade ago, his death a long while past us, with Master Diluc's disappearance for years also left behind for it to be forgotten with all the anguish it brought, all the things that belonged to the shadows and the cover of the night.

You wondered if his touch was as warm as when you two used to sneak into eachothers beds at night to sleep cuddled and warm. One would think 'damn, his girlfriend must be so lucky to sleep each night by his side' but the reality is that Donna hasn't ever stepped foot into the Winery, not even once at night. You're not even sure if she ever did by daylight, too.

Addie left you in charge of manning the maids in the dining room as she went back to lead the kitchen. This left you with the important task of not only making sure the girls did their jobs accurately but also serving the man that plagued your thoughts tonight. The painful reminder of knowing how to read his expressions and seeing how much this social gathering was wearing him down made your heart squeeze for a second, but you couldn't exactly dwell on it right now. Looking at your pocket watch, it was about time to start clearing out plates if no one else was still eating, the desserts should be rolling out in half an hour by the schedule you memorized these past few days.

Approaching Diluc, you want to give him a minute of mercy, away from the constant buzz of voices networking businesses that bounce off the cozy walls of the dining room. Your hands fold over your apron, politely bowing to speak low, face leveled against his ear. "Master Diluc, why don't you go pick the next bottle of wine to serve our guests? I seem to recall Connor deemed the batch as almost finished." A pause, Diluc looking ahead at some point visible to only him. His face hadn't even changed a bit, but he grunted in affirmation. Your voice was low, but airy in an effort to not let anyone else listen in, "a point for everyone, you get to escape a little bit, i can tidy up the plates from the table and you get some valuable feedback on that batch," A pause, "what do you say, hmm?".

You lean back, smiling, speaking a bit more loud to command the attention to you, away from him. "The dessert should be getting out in a few moments, Master Diluc." The corner of his lip twitches upwards at the gesture, almost imperceptible but you see how the tension lessens on his frame for a mere second.

Diluc makes a big movement of dabbing his mouth with his napkin after a gulp of juice, then placing it on the table. You step back and away from him as he speaks, the dining room growing silent for a second to hear its host. "If you'll excuse me, I remembered today my winemaker, Connor, had finished a new batch of wine. I would like to get some feedback from you all." a pause, some murmurs of excitable agreement sounding among the guests. "Perfect, I shall be back." As he gets up from the table, he gestures towards you, "Please don't hesitate to ask her for aid should you need it while I'm gone, she's the right hand of our headmaid, more than capable of helping and directing." He passes a cold, stern glance around the grand dining table, as if daring anyone to disrespect his maid staff; then, he exits the dining hall towards the cellars in search of a moment of silence and calm, his steps controlled but full of urgency to flee the crowded room.

Once Diluc's footsteps faded out, you did a small curtsy at the guests. "Thank you for your patience while Master Diluc returns from the cellars." Your hands now rest behind you, posture straight but not tense. "If you don't mind, my girls will start to pick up your plates and tidy up for the upcoming dessert." Walking opposite to where Diluc left, you raise your voice just enough to be carried through the hallway leading to the kitchen, but not loud enough to disrupt any of the resuming talk in the room.

"Moco! Hillie! It's time! Please bring a new jug of fresh water each!" you walk back to your place on the corner of the room, right beside a nice, big portrait of Crepus. All the guests are taking part in their own conversations, some of them expressing their curiosity towards the new wine Diluc is bringing. Moco and Hillie come walking through the door, carrying three cold water jugs, surely Addie's doing. Surprisingly, as if your thoughts summoned her, she comes walking behind the pair, back straightened and cold, steely gaze analyzing the room. It softens almost imperceptibly when her eyes land on you, and she makes her way closer as Moco and Hillie start tending to the guests.

"Dear, where is Master Diluc?" she says, tone low enough to not draw attention to you both. You look at her from the corner of your vision, then back at the maids tending to the guests, your hands shift where they are clasped behind you.

"He was getting overwhelmed and fed up, so I sent him to fetch some of that new wine with Bulle Fruits from Fontaine, the one Connor thought was almost finished for a bigger batch?" You shrugged "He seemed like he needed the break." A pause, Addie hums in agreement. "It's a good thing y'know who isn't here to add onto that stress though." You feel a slight push of shoulders, playful in nature, slightly scolding like a mother would. "Now, don't be like that, you know well it's not our place to judge his partners." You open your mouth slightly to refute Adelinde, but she beats you to the punch. "No matter how much you love him either now or years ago."

You don't even bother to answer her, this is not the time nor the place to have that long, worn down conversation. Adelinde sighs softly, and it's full of distress over having to remain impartial between the ones she considers her adoptive children. "Why don't you take a break? Take the cart full of dirty dishes and empty jugs back to the kitchen…" Her hand comes to rest comfortingly in the middle of your back and it rubs there small, but soothing circles, trying to mask for the guests to stay clueless as to what the two of you were talking about. "Besides, you're better than me at finishing decorating the desserts." She winks quickly and you chuckle, taking the metaphorical olive branch extended to you.

"Okay, then, let me see if anyone needs anything before I go away." You smile at her and walk towards the head of the table, where Dilucs empty chair waits for him. "Excuse me, can I have your attention for a second?" The conversation dies down as a table full of eyes stare at you, and you briefly understand why Diluc almost ran away from the room, "thank you so much, i will be leaving you all in the care of our Headmaid, Adelinde. As Master Diluc said, should you need something, don't hesitate to ask her," A pause, Adelinde nods her head, face hardened and commanding. "I hope you all enjoy the desserts that will be coming out as soon as Master Diluc comes back. I hope you have a good rest of the dinner." You do quite the elegant curtsy, though small, and promptly get a hold of the loaded cart, pushing it towards the kitchen as the room regains the chatter.

After leaving the cart for the kitchen staff to take care of, you decide to quickly check on Diluc, noticing he has been gone for too long. Was he more overwhelmed than he let on? Were you rusty reading Diluc's body language? No matter, it's your job and responsibility to make sure he is taken care of, you promised Crepus as much a long time ago.

Getting to the cellars without going through the dining room wasn't that hard, the heavy door sheltering the room from the constant buzz of people that can still be heard here. You knock lightly on the wood, before pressing both hands against the door to open it with a little bit of effort. You speak low and smooth as it opens silently, "Diluc? Are you here? You've been gone for too long now." Silence almost blankets over you heavily as the door closes with a soft click, and you hum curiously at the mane of bright red hair peeking from between barrels at the other side of the cellars, then snorting at the childishness of hiding away and far from the inside entrance.

Walking in his direction, you repeat yourself, this time more playful, more as a friend than a maid. Your heart squeezes at that thought, but you forcefully cast that aside for later. "'Luuc…" The sound of your shoes on the floor and the skirts rustling as you walk is the loudest thing in the room, bouncing off barrels and shelves full of bottles and other brewing supplies. He grunts, silent as ever. "You okay there? I was starting to worry, you've been gone for longer than it takes grabbing a bottle and going back…" You look at him, searching for any sign of discomfort in his face and body.

"No… I'm fine, just tired of people sucking up to me for business." He sighs, you frown and look at the shelves of wine bottles to your left and spot an unlabeled one, that must be the wine you suggested. Your hands dance around you with uncertainty as you battle yourself between touching his arms to try to comfort him like you did all those years back or just crossing them to not make any wrong movements. You fail to see how he's looking at your face, searching for something and tracing the contours of your face while you're lost in thought about how to approach this without making him clam up emotionally.

He finally sucks in air slowly, sighing heavily, making heat bloom in your belly at the sound being so close and being the only thing that is breaking the heavy silence in the cellar, but it also makes you feel thorns coiling and constricting around your heart, reminding you that this side of him does not belong to you, his voice breaking that train of thoughts before they fully poison your body. "Don't worry, this is the last business dinner until next season starts." His hand comes up to grab the outlier bottle on the shelf, elegant leather gloves getting into your field of vision and closing around the neck of it. "I'm sorry I made you worry." The liquid inside the bottle dances and sloshes against the dark glass as it's lifted and moved away into his personal space. You sigh and smile, tight lipped, thinking that it could be worse and your heart squeezes once again at that. "It's okay, I don't mind, really." Worse than how painful it is? Your home is here, with them, no matter what and how much your heart feels like it shatters when you see him smile at another woman.

He hums, his gaze feels like it's burning a hole in the middle of your face. "Let's go, Adelinde must be worried about me now." He motions with his head towards the door, bottle firmly grasped in one hand as the other comes to grab your forearm softly, tugging you in front of him and prompting you to walk first. When his head moves, a small lock of hair falls close to his eyes, and you stop in your tracks instinctively.

"Wait, let me…" your free arm comes up to his face to slowly tuck the stray hair away from his face and make it look like it's framing his face on purpose. You realize what you've done and your face quickly warms up, retreating your hand like you just burned yourself. "There, just- Ummm- Errrrr… Let's go." you start walking away, tugging diluc along. His grip never falters nor tightens, your heart feels like it's about to beat out of your chest and you're sure your ears are red as his hair. His hold feels warm and heavy despite the gentleness with which he's grabbing your forearm, as if you were made of glass.

You pull him along as you both pick up the pace, not quite running but still walking pretty fast. Weaving around the hallways you know like the back of your hand, you take Diluc around to the one closest to the dining room. The light feel of his hand on your arm feels heavier than it should, and you're sure that your ears are tinted red. Stopping abruptly a few meters away from the doorway to the dining room, his chest collides softly with your side as he tries to avoid bumping into you, hearing an almost inaudible 'oof' close to your ear that makes your blush bloom even more if it was possible. You start speaking really low, internally grateful that the carpet under your feet muffles both your steps.

"There, shoo, go!" For the first time since you took off with him in tow, you look at Diluc, and you notice him looking at you in a particular way that you haven't seen since before Crepus died. There was vulnerability on his face, cheeks slightly reddened, searching your face like you're about to disappear in a 'poof!' under his grasp just like an abyss mage does when teleporting itself, his hand unconsciously twitches as if to assure himself that you're real. And the first thing you think is 'This is Wrong'. You shouldn't have done that but your relationship with Diluc has always been like a moth to the flame. Is this how Icarus felt drawn to fly close to the sun? The irony of his pyro vision is not lost on you, and you hate how thrilled it makes you feel, the possibility of placing your hand on the fireplace, cradling the flames and interlacing burning fingers.

You shouldn't be enjoying how he's looking at you, and vaguely you think again that this is wrong and that gaze and sentiment should be reserved for his actual partner. Sucking in a sharp but mostly silent breath full of disappointment, you gently pry his hand from your arm, feeling the warmth of his hand through the leather gloves and suppressing the overwhelming need to intertwine your hands. "...Go, 'Luc." Your voice shakes slightly, and the loss of his hold on your arm makes your heart painfully squeeze again, you don't want to look at him in fear of seeing his reaction, the thought of seeing any other emotion than his usual stoicism in his eyes will make you fold. He sighs, and it sounds strained, almost disappointed. "Hm, sure."

You see him walk past you from the corner of your eye, and as soon as he does, you look at his back, flaming red hair standing out even in the dim lights of the corridors. As soon as he disappears from your sight, you exhale heavily, the sound bouncing off the walls of the corridor. Picking up the pace back in the direction of the kitchen, you try to think about your duties and the finishing touches of the desserts that surely are waiting for you, but Diluc's disappointed sigh before you sent him on his way is ingrained in your mind, poisoning every single thought, your feet feeling like they're about to take you there and cause a scene just to feel his touch on your skin again, to make him realize you're here to stay and take care of him.

Once the desserts are rolled out of the kitchen, thankfully being carried away by Moco and Hillie, you go around the manor making sure everything's in place, stress cleaning and leaving everything pristine behind you. Crossing paths with Addie, all it takes is one look at you for her to know something happened during the time where the two of you were missing from the business dinner together in the cellars, her face telling you she feels as troubled as you are. You vaguely recall going back to the kitchen, since any guest seeing you cleaning in the middle of the gathering was not ideal by any means.

Diluc couldn't wait until the dinner was over and he could go back to enjoy the usual silence of the Winery. His hands twitch for the weight of his claymore, finding it a calming presence, maybe he can sneak out to beat up some treasure hoarders that camp either in the Liyue border… or some of the usual hilichurls that attack people in the trails to the Winery? That is if the Traveler didn't do it already… Adelinde is serving the guests the wine you suggested and Diluc is watching them raptly to see how they like it, all the while sighing tiredly behind his cup of grape juice.

He then begins to explain to the guests what the new brew has in it. "We wanted to experiment a little with flavors, so we thought to make a first time limited run of a few batches of our signature dandelion wine with Bulle fruit from Fontaine." The room falls almost silent as he speaks, the guests listen to him and the only sounds heard are hums or wine glasses clinking with the dessert cutlery and plates. "This is by no means the final product, but it's in the final stages." Some people taste the wine eagerly, their faces excited to be able to take part in this exclusive tasting experience. "We… the brewers mostly, of course, hope people like the new flavors enough to incorporate it as a seasonal variety moving forward." Diluc's own wine glass sits untouched besides his juice cup, his distaste for alcohol known to everyone present so no one bats an eye at it being left aside.

As he looks around to watch the guests' reactions to the tasting, his mind can't get over how warm your arm is and how it just fits in his hand. He felt like he was thrown back to when you all were teenagers, and how he and Kaeya used to drag you around with them, making you skip your self-imposed responsibilities knowing neither Crepus nor Addie would scold you for being a teenager just like them. All the nights sneaking off between the vineyards under the cover of the moon, not knowing anything better. Both of you shedding off the titles of youngest Captain of the Knights and youngest maid of the Ragnvindrs just to act like the teenagers you were.

But the reminder of his girlfriend, Donna, feels like someone dunked him back into one of the snezhnayan lakes in the middle of their eternal winter naked while asleep, bringing him back to reality, and making him find himself in the middle of a conversation with someone where he was answering in autopilot. Taking the reins of his consciousness again, he answers to the Liyuean merchant that was to his right. "Thank you for the feedback, please make sure to tell my brewer, Connor, your suggestions, he knows much more than me about this and is better equipped to receive the feedback and apply it to the brewing process." His tone was polite but deflecting, he was right though, no one knows the brews better than Connor. If he relayed the message without knowing what he was talking about, it wouldn't be the same, neither productive to the brewing process.

Some people nod at this comment as Diluc turns to the rest of the guests to say something. "Since we're a lot of people and Connor is already at home as he should be, I will ask that any feedback you may have, be it negative or positive," He makes a pause to let that fact sink in. "I'll ask you to please write a letter and send it here to the Winery for Connor to read and manage." He picks up his glass of grape juice and sips on it to parch his dry mouth, everyone is waiting for him to keep speaking and he feels a vein about to pop under the collar of his coat from having so much attention directed at.

"Nevertheless, I preemptively thank you all for the feedback on the new brew should you have it." Conversation resumes and Diluc breathes deeply as he looks at the wall clock, seeing there's at least an hour left of hearing more business proposals and the chatter of guests filling the usually silent winery.

His mind goes back to you again. Why was he feeling like this? He has a girlfriend already, these feelings for you should have been left with the old Diluc, the one he abandoned when he decided to go on a rampage of vengeance in Snezhnaya. And he can't delude himself thinking this is a fluke, that his need for a moment of calm away from socializing today was a moment of weakness. He knew these feelings very well, the almost familial but too romantic love for you that nothing could ever replace or make him forget about it. A guest to his left taps his arm, a worried expression on their face, Diluc realizes his face must be showing his inner turmoil, he smiles, tight lipped. "I'm okay, thanks…",

Damn himself and his ever wandering mind today, the guest touching his arm discreetly makes him think of how he can still feel the warmth of your hand brushing his hair away from his face still, even after probably more than an hour, he can still feel the phantom of touch from your hands; how they were still careful with him and the touch a bit roughed up from all the cleaning work that entails being a maid. He wonders idly if you still fret over taking care of them with creams and balms, if they still smell like that Glaze Lilies hand cream Crepus gifted you once and you kept buying from that point onwards. Maybe the years made them even rougher, does he even know them by heart still? And a dark, twisted corner wonders how much different your hands feel from Donna's- he pauses his train of thought, realizing he doesn't even remember how his girlfriend's hands feel on his, he never cared to take off his gloves around the woman, showing his scarred hands from fighting.

The sudden weight of someone's hand on his shoulder makes his whole back go rigid for a few seconds, hands tightening ready to summon his claymore in the middle of the dining room to swing it over the table, until he recognizes Addie's motherly touch and her ever lasting smell of home close to him. "Master Diluc, carriages are starting to arrive to pick up guests. They're starting to line up on the road, if you want to start closing up everything here."

He grunts softly in response, seeing the guests pretty much done with their wine glasses and desserts. When there's a lull in the conversation from people seeing Adelinde by him, he leaves his napkin on the table as he stands up, commanding the weight of the attention in the room back onto his shoulders. "Thank you to everyone who lives in other nations for taking the time to travel all the way to Mondstadt, I hope the dinner was to your liking and that you all had the opportunity to make connections with new businesses…" Pausing, his shoulders tense from wanting this to be over with. "But most of all thank you for continuing to support us and our wines, some of you recently since I took over the business, others since probably before my father."

He informs the guests that carriages are starting to arrive to take them either back home or to the nearest hotel. Moco and Hillie return everyone's belongings and coats under the watchful eye of Addie, Diluc oversees and says his farewells to the guests, watchful for any monsters appearing. The lack of you fleeting around the younger maids, replaced by the more strict and applied Adelinde makes him feel distracted, conflicted with his uncharacteristic wandering mind tonight. He really needs to fucking decompress before he accidentally flings his claymore inside the winery or burns through his gloves, anything to get your closeness earlier and the annoying guilt of not personally knowing his so called girlfriend out of his brain.

The Winery falls into the usual calmness after all the guests say their goodbyes and take their carriages away into the city or towards the Liyue border on their way to Wangshu Inn. You were elbow deep into the murky waters of dirty dishes and kitchen supplies in hopes of erasing his flushed face from the forefront of your mind. But of course, nothing related to him will ever leave your head that easily, you've tried so many times, but Diluc is a constant in your mind ever since you came to work for the Ragnvindrs.

The phantom feeling of his secure grip around your forearm is still there, even with the cold water around it as you rinse the soapy silverware and porcelain dishes, it burns your skin in a way you haven't felt in years. The last time you recall yearning for a second of his touch is before he left Mondstadt all those years ago, leaving behind all the people close to him with a hole in their hearts, and yours especially by the way you were left only with Addie, a broken heart, an empty house, and a whole new Kaeya. A childhood friend that looked at you like you were a ghost haunting and tormenting him.

When Diluc came back from traveling, he was bigger, stronger, and more handsome. But he looked like he was plagued by the things he saw during that time away from home, and thinking about the first encounter after his disappearance makes your heart squeeze. He came home with new battle scars, more ragged and roughened up, you know some of them hurt on particularly humid days, or after a long night out doing god knows what and you find bloodied bandages in between his laundry while you collect it. You wish you were blown off the face of Teyvat with one of Klee's jumpty dumpty's when Addie deflects what he does after hours in the city or insinuates that he's with Her. A scowl makes itself present on your face at the thought of Diluc with Donna and not Home, where he belongs.

Unbeknownst to you, tonight would be another night where he's not home, as he's telling Adelinde he might be out until morning, to not wait for him awake as soon as the last carriage is gone from view and Moco and Hillie are finishing tidying and cleaning the empty dining room, leaving them alone in the front of the big house.

a/n: its finally here!!!!!!!!!!!!! i needed this OUTTTTTTTT of my system its been almost a year since i started it. thank you kiri for the support through this madness and reading it on its first rough stages ♡ thanks for reading!! reblogs are appreciaed ♡

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE. this work belongs to hiperacid2

[sluggybunny]

posted a buncha rambling about this on my other blog but i want to be very brave and try to post about it here. warning it's very yappy, i'm not in a good headspace and i esp wasn't last night. but i want to talk about it anyway

this month i started a new little project/interactive game type stuff. it started because i was struggling to write cj and I was in the mood for dark fantasy (turns out that's my niche, i just start TYPING AWAY when it's that). it kind of spiraled and now i'm 120k deep

I don’t have a name for this project, I am very bad at naming things. But the premise/setting is a grimdark fantasy esque world. And there’s this type of magic that is actually more like a parasitic disease.

I really love the idea of magic as something that represents mental illness. And writing surrealism, dreams, memory issues, etc is my fave.

Combining it with a dream I had a long time ago of a world where they used children in war, this type of magic can be learned by anyone but they have to “survive” the initial sickness. And children are more resilient to surviving.

Because magic becomes a useful commodity in society (military, industrial, labor) there is an incentive to have a lot of magic users. So you end up with a society exposing children to a dangerous, not well understood phenomenon in order to shape them into something useful. A lot of children die or suffer very severe side effects that permanently alter their mind or body

That’s the setting, though. The main plot is more concerned with other stuff.

I just like world building fantasy stuff.

I wrote two origins the player can pick but one is sort of shelved until I can figure out the family situation. That one is the noble background and has deeply fucked family dynamics and I’m stuck on 1) did I make this too fucked up 2) I want to use character sprites because I’m an artist(tm) but if they’re related to the protag, how do I make it inclusive

The other one is you’re an orphan sent to a nice orphanage that’s really there to produce magic users. This one has the most content for now, since orphan means no family members I gotta worry about. further background customization would include having beef with the church, evil magic... stuff. this is called the scholar origin

Then there's the main story after all the origins (i want the origins to be kind of lengthy so they can deeply effect all the stuff on the main story, since there are lot of choices within those origins to shape your character) and I started writing it in a sort of episodic way or "arcs". The first arc is in the mountains with a necromancer.

I'm trying VERY HARD to not include complicated mechanics, I just looove coding so much. But I did include some exploring and stats/skills that are chosen in the beginning and can later be influenced... can't help it! 🥲

other stuff:

I kinda wrote in-universe misogyny . Maybe it’s wrong of me but I like settings that include that. Again kinda makes it hard for player options... also i know that's not everyone's jam but i'm writing for myself since I have no plans on making a commercial product

In the scholar origin, you get close friend, your mentor, a knight, and a priest. You can choose a variety of interactions with the, dynamics, etc

If you play female, the knight might be creepy to you. Otherwise he’s actually very likable and cool. I thought that could emphasize the reality of those situations If that makes sense (the predators/creeps in people's lives appearing as Just A Chill Guy To Everyone Else) Your childhood friend has potential to be an incel-like guy, a rival, or truly your closest friend depending on the choices. And the mentor is a major character to the main story and his dynamic with the player is variable. I put in so many options and branching stories, that's really what ended up making the word count when I started writing the script lol. Idk how to put a percentage on it but most of the background/origins are done and i'm midway into the first arc.

I haven't designed any visuals yet, I'm super focused on writing. WILD since i am an artist, you'd think that's what i go to first. But I get stuck in my head too much when making A Public Thing and not just my personal ocs so I'm constantly worried about the designs being palatable. I got to 120k now. It's impressive from an output number but i feel like game itself is barely any content... there's just A LOT of player reactivity. that's my fave thing in any rpg and i always crave more, so that was a leading factor in writing.

if you read any of this, i love you lol

I struggle to complete projects sooo bad but the amount i made for this gives me confidence it's going somewhere. also setting limits on myself so i don't add too much rpg elements (I wanna code a combat system sooo bad but that is some difficult work and I want to actually write interactive fiction pls)

ok good bye thanks to anyone who read it. let me know if it interests you, i'm looking for some homies that like this stuff and would be down to discussing it with me because feedback is key with games

also if anyone wants to be tagged when i talk about this let me know. two people showed interest and i got so excited over that hsfhshrh

[icarustypicalfall]

Reminiscence

König x reader

masterlist

summary: How is it that a fleeting moment, a mere jiffy between reality and fantasy, can grasp our souls and leave us yearning or empathizing for the rest of our limited existence?

warnings: sfw, usual cod violence, wounds, guns, angst?, comfort, ending...?

word count: 2,3k

notes: my autocorrecter turned every könig with the usual o so if you see one pretend you didn't.. also this fic is so random and i have no clue what happened

“my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake”

Colonel König was a man who took pride in everything he did. He lived a long life, serving alongside his brother Horangi in both successful and challenging missions. Little was known about his past, as he guarded it as if it were a sin. However, deep down, one could sense that the colonel carried a burden, a mysterious weight from the past that only he could comprehend.

Once again, he awoke in his office, drenched in cold sweat with a single tear streaming down his face, evidence of the nightmare that had just haunted his brief slumber. He longed to forget, to erase the memories that had plagued him for years. But no matter how much time passed, moving on seemed an impossible task.

König vividly recalled the scene, replaying it countless times in his mind. There were moments when he secretly desired to descend into madness and never wake up, to relive the painful dream over and over until the colours of his memory faded.

His ultimate fear was not death itself, for he had already died when he left, but rather the possibility of forgetting the sound of your beloved voice or the sensation of tender flesh.

December 12 #### [03:24 am]

Location: [classified]

Operation: [classified]

The pain was unbearable, and he desperately wished for anything to end it, even if it meant shutting his shallow breath forever.

As a child, König dreamt of becoming a sniper. He couldn't explain why, but he yearned for that role deeply, idolizing the revered warriors portrayed in the movies he watched every Friday night.

But as he grew older, his dream transformed into a painful reality. He never anticipated that this simple wish would leave him isolated in the wilderness, with no one to share his throe.

At the age of twenty-two, freshly graduated from military training with the rank of private, König quickly ascended the ranks. His towering physique and exceptional abilities certainly played a part, but it was his unwavering discipline and outstanding performance that truly caught the attention of his superiors. He obediently followed every order, earning the respect of sergeants and majors alike.

Yet König did not mind this, for he harboured the aspiration of becoming a leader one day. Perhaps then, his childhood dream would manifest into reality.

He found himself in this particular location, alongside fellow soldiers, embarking on a mission to test their abilities. It was meant to be a swift operation, in and out, dealing with a drug trafficking affair. At least, that's what he believed.

But reality proved to be harsh, mercilessly slapping him across the face. The frontline was a treacherous arena; once you stepped onto it, there was no guarantee of stepping back.

Every soldier eventually came to realize this as they reloaded their guns, with each bullet either ending a life or starting one. It was a painful cycle, where lives were lost and shattered, yet there seemed to be no alternative for humanity to coexist other than beheading their enemies.

König groaned, searching for his comrades who awaited a sign amidst the unforgiving terrain. The house they were about to breach stood eerily silent, a stark contrast to the constant movement of the criminals they pursued. Suddenly, something rolled out from the darkness, making it impossible to discern its nature.

The silence was shattered by screams and cries of terror.

The gas bomb had served as a distraction. König crawled, feeling the burning air and painful lacerations surrounding him. Though he was away from the epicentre, the effects were still noticeable. Slowly, he eliminated the immediate threat and proceeded to infiltrate the house in search of any remaining criminals. It was a poor abode, with an old sofa in the living room and an assortment of cheap DVDs and guns. As he turned, he heard a movement behind him.

König shut his eyes, feeling the searing sensation spreading through his body. The stab wound wasn't deep, but it caused excruciating pain. He winced as he swiftly eliminated the assailant before collapsing to the ground, frantically searching for anything that could staunch the bleeding in his stomach.

"No, not a tourniquet," he thought, realizing the wound needed to be packed with something to stop the bleeding and alleviate the dizziness in his head. Slowly, he stumbled out of the house and into the surrounding woods, struggling to remember where his teammates were. The cowards had abandoned him, assuming he was dead.

Leaning against a tree, König regretted tearing his shirt, as the cold breeze and dampness of the forest began to affect his body temperature. Shivering, he fought to retain the little warmth he had left as he reached for his radio. How could his comrades, the ones he had done everything to keep safe, leave him behind as though he were nothing more than an insignificant pebble in the road?

His knees grew heavy, and he collapsed onto the ground. The radio slipped from his grasp, just a few steps away, yet reaching for it felt like an insurmountable task. With each passing second, König felt his strength wane, and he slowly began to follow the beckoning light. A gentle beam enveloped him as he caught sight of his mother's tender face. She smiled, extending her hand towards him, just like she used to do in the old days when she would walk him to kindergarten and affectionately call him her "Schnecke."

König closed his eyes, surrendering to the cold embrace under the solitary tree.

13th December #### [11:15 am]

"No, Lou, don't wake him up. Go out, you silly dog."

König opened his eyes, feeling disoriented. He couldn't remember where he was, so he rubbed his temples and attempted to sit up. Instantly, he regretted it, as a sharp pain shot through his side.

"Oh no no no, sit back down, you're still injured!"

König almost flinched at the sweet voice and turned to see you. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought he was in heaven.

You smiled at him, a sweet grin, while patting a dog who was wagging its tail happily. König stared at you, mouth agape and in shock. You were magnificent, if not more.

He hadn't expected anyone to be living here. The cabin itself was a sight to behold, with its wooden floors and walls reminiscent of his grandpa's old cabin. He smiled as he noticed the crackling fire, realizing that he wasn't sleeping on a dusty bed with torn blankets. Everything in this small place exuded comfort.

He struggled to sit up but winced in pain before murmuring with a low, husky voice, "A... are you an angel?"

You laughed dismissively, shaking your head with warmth and amusement. He wished he could stay by your side and make you laugh forever.

Taking a breath, you handed him a mug of warm tea. "No, I am not an angel, but you can call me that if you wish," you said, settling in a wooden chair beside him.

König held the cup tightly, taking a slow sip of the tea, just the way he liked it—burning with no sugar. He hummed with satisfaction, noticing that he was shirtless, with large bandages wrapped around his abs and stomach.

You quickly explained, your cheeks blushing slightly. "Lou found you when we were out at dawn. My dad and I brought you here, treated your wounds, and your clothes are drying over there..." You pointed to the fire, where he saw his combat boots and uniform drying.

König smiled, not knowing what to say. He simply stared at you, yearning for you to continue speaking. He would give you anything you desired, even carve his chest and offer you his heart if you wished.

He muttered, now feeling more at ease with you so close. "I am sorry, Engel, for the... burden."

You frowned, and he wished he could bury himself alive at the sight of your small, annoyed expression. "There's no need to apologise," you reassured him.

He appreciated your kindness and refrained from saying more. He leaned back, closing his eyes and enjoying the gentle sounds of the crackling fire and the rain pouring outside.

König was young and had never thought much about the future, but after seeing you, he vowed to move heaven and earth for your sake. He would willingly descend into the depths of hell with a grin if it meant seeing you smile.

König woke up later from his short nap, his stomach partially growling from the enticing aroma of soup cooking. He smiled apologetically, looking at your tired form as you approached him with a shy smile.

"I need to... um... change your bandages," you said, blushing slightly. He rejoiced at your adorable and sweet blush, sitting up and exposing his stomach for you to treat.

Your gentle touch on his skin made him shiver, trying his best to ignore your proximity and the alluring scent of your perfume as you tended to his wound, though it was almost impossible.

Finally, he looked away, wincing slightly as you accidentally scratched his wound. Your small apology and the comforting hand that cupped his knee were enough to make him feel lightheaded. You had already claimed his heart, it might as well be yours completely.

16th December #### [23:35]

In just three days, König had fallen head over heels with you. He believed that this fleeting enchantment was a reward for his heroic deeds. He had the pleasure of getting to know your father, basking in your delightful presence, and listening to the soothing melody of your voice as you read or sang to him.

As the days went by, König discovered some of your secrets —your deep passion for baking and your dream of opening a bakery. Your voice, sweet as honey, captivated him completely. Often, he found himself daydreaming as you enthusiastically shared your plans for the future. Secretly, he longed to be a part of that future, to spend countless nights gazing into your eyes, like a sky full of shimmering stars. He yearned to be by your side, to blend with you into a single entity and dive into the depths of an ocean where no one else could reach.

However, he knew that these moments were fleeting, for he had to leave. With a heavy heart and mournful eyes, he glanced around the cabin, wishing he could express his deep gratitude. He wanted nothing more than to whisk you away from this world, for you, a sweet and kind woman, deserved to be treated like a cherished princess from an old fairytale. His life was filled with terror, sins, and agony, while yours appeared to be nothing but pure bliss.

But he knew it wasn't right. You belonged here, and he was merely a simple disturbance in your perfect, sweet dream.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at you with a sad smile. Pulling you close, he breathed in the scent of your perfume, a blend of sweet vanilla and cinnamon, hoping to etch it into his memory forever. Reluctantly, he pulled away and gazed at you, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"Take care of yourself, Engel... I will come back."

Desiring a bond, something to remind you of him, he knew he couldn't be with you. At least, he wanted something of his to remain close to your heart. Before you could protest, he slipped a bracelet made of red beads onto your wrist, urging you to accept it despite your slight frown.

"It's a gift. Take care of it until I see you again."

Your lips quivered, realizing that this was the end, a potential tale cut short before it even began. There was nothing you could do to change it. Some things just weren't meant to be, and deep down, you already knew that. But Konig was no ordinary man you had met by chance. His eyes concealed a painful past, a gentle soul, and a heart overflowing with love. Finally, you mustered the words, accepting the gift.

"Thank you... I promise I'll take good care of it."

After that night, König never saw you again.

Months later, he returned, only to find the area abandoned, with no trace of his Engel. He lived in denial, refusing to face the reality. He knew you were somewhere in this world, and the mere thought of being close to you but not close enough tore him apart. He searched for you tirelessly, interrogating every individual who might have known of your whereabouts, but to no avail.

König was strong, enduring everything - the grueling training in freezing nights, bullets piercing his flesh, and the heart-wrenching loss of his precious comrades. Yet, losing you had left his heart in ruins. Only God knows how much he despised starting over, burying the past and pretending it never existed.

What have you done? Where have you hidden his heart? Will you give it back?

He sighed, his voice barely a whisper carried away by the cold breeze. Years later, he continued the ritual he had adopted after losing you. Every night, he would gaze at the old scars you had left behind, his fingers tracing the marked flesh, finding solace in reminiscing about your sweet gestures when you tended his wounds.

König snapped back to reality, feeling a reassuring pat on his shoulder from Horangi, his steadfast companion. The bond between them was stronger than that of brothers, providing unwavering support in the face of any adversity. They stepped outside together, deciding to stop at a café for some coffee while keeping an eye out for their next task.

As they approached the café, König's heart tightened at the sight of its name, "Engel." He pushed open the door, a weight of anticipation settling upon him. The familiar scent engulfed him as he made his way to the counter. A woman greeted him with a warm smile, whispering softly,

"Just a moment, and I'll be right with you!"

Her voice and smile, etched in his memory for a lifetime, made his mind wander. And then, he noticed the familiar red bracelet adorning her wrist. It couldn't be possible. He muttered, his voice barely audible, as if he was once again a wounded soldier in the woods, "Engel ?"

[dark-and-kinky-hetalia-scenarios]

Hi, can I request the darkest fantasies of yandere axis members?✨️

I love how you sent this 10 min after i started posting. I love you for it btw, you are now the subject of my yandereness. Congrats! (lol) I will also do the 2ps just for you:D

Anyways here are the fantasies!

1p Germany/Ludwig Beilschmidt

So wants someone to be like a yandere towards him as well, in the bedroom preferably. Basically he wants to be loved like he loves, and he wants to be so secure in the relationship that he can give up all control in the bedroom sexy times

1p Italy/Feliciano Vargas

He wants to let go of all that holds him back and have the trust of his darling for free use basically, this doesn't mean he'll do something you have as a hard limit, it just means that he can do what he wants when he wants and you'll be eager and willing, to a certain extent of course. He doesn't want to really hurt you though

1p Japan/Kiku Honda

He knows this one isn't realistic as he doesn't have magic but he really wants to try to live out hardcore hentai scenarios like tentacles (he is in control of them)

2p Germany/Lutz Beilschmidt

The thought of having someone so devoted to him they would encourage him to kill anyone who looks at his partner is really hot to him. And then ofc fucking them so hard they need medical care while still loving it and begging for it.

2p Italy/Luciano Vargas

Blood, he wants to do all sorts of unspeakable things with blood, period blood, normal blood, doesn't matter. Though never to the point of a blood transfusion unless his blood is compatible and being used for it. The thought of you with his blood is a major turn on. But if you tried to leave him he'd do it if you don't have the same blood types, so you can never leave him

2p Japan/Kuro Honda

so i think for him and a childhood friend it would be to give each other a bit of your souls. Binding you forever, akin to soul mates, meaning that you can keep each other alive with this connection and all sorts of crazy things. And yes reaching out to touch the other's soul via this connection can be very pleasurable and is also part of his desire. The dark part of this is that he will basically own you, as he is proficient in soul magic, a magic anyone can do regardless of other magical abilities, also the hardest form of possible magic. He is so possessive that he wants to effectively own his partner for all eternity, woooo

Some Lore lol

so i haven't touched much on the magic system in my version of this world, but soul magic is what keeps 1p Prussia and 1p Romano alive, as their brothers unknowingly share a part of their souls with them, making that as long as the brother lives, so does said "should not be alive" country

Kuro knows this magic because he's an opportunist and he has a Katana blessed by the gods and it can take his victims souls (including his own, which is why he's super protective of it) and it powers him physically, making him dangerous as fuck. He's the last person you'd want to fuck with, and most of the other 2ps are not aware of this because he keeps his most powerful card a secret. He's not seen as a super powerful 2p, in reality he is one of if not the strongest, this comes through through many aspects, such as a high intelligence, tactical knowledge, charisma, and soul magic.